Trick Play

by Eden Finley

  Lucky too, because Matt only takes two minutes. He would’ve walked out and found me with my hand on my dick. If that’s not the definition of creepy, I don’t know what is.

  The bed dips behind me. “They couldn’t have gotten us a suite with two beds?” he grumbles. His arm is flush against my back, and the heat radiating off him has me burning up. Jesus H. Christ, he’s barely touching me, but it makes me edgy.

  I’m starting to think Damon’s set me up as some sort of payback for something I did to him. This could very well be seven nights of torture.

  Then I remember I’ve signed on to do this until preseason, if not longer.

  Maybe the anguish I’ll cause Dad isn’t worth the effort needed to achieve it.

  “Mmm,” I complain, “Fuck off, Aron.”

  Aron is a damn snuggler. I hate cuddling. He knew that when I started up with him. At first, he was cool with it and left as soon as we were done, but then he asked to stay one night. And then the next. Big red flags right there, but I didn’t end it. I should have, because then I wouldn’t be here … wait.

  His heavier than normal weight doesn’t budge when I try to shove him, and that’s when I snap into focus and remember where I am.

  “Who’s Aron?” the weight on top of me asks.

  Matt rolls onto his back, finally freeing me from the confines of uninvited intimacy.

  I reach above my head and stretch my back out. “No one.”

  “I’m calling bullshit.”

  “I’m calling none of your business.” I sit up and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.

  “It is my business if it’s going to be a problem. Do you already have a boyfriend? Last thing I need is another scandal where I’m a homewrecker, and—”

  “He’s an ex, okay? No, not even that. He’s a guy I fooled around with for about twelve months.”

  “A year? You slept with someone for an entire year and didn’t consider him your boyfriend?”

  Yeah, hard to miss the condescension there, Matt.

  “We were casual,” I say. “We both dated other guys in between.”

  Although, the last few months, Aron kept dropping hints about not doing that anymore. He wanted to come out of the relationship closet and tell our friends we were fooling around, so if we wanted to go home together one night, they wouldn’t bat an eye. God, I was so blind to not see he wanted more than what we’d promised each other.

  “I’m going to the gym,” Matt says and starts rummaging through his suitcase.

  Holy mother of Jesus. “Again? There is such a thing as burn out, you know. No team will want you if you’re injured.”

  “I’m at the peak of my game. I’ve never been fitter.”

  “Then why wasn’t your contract renewed well before the scandal?”

  Hurt flashes across his face before he schools it. “A few months before everything happened, I had a talk with the offensive coach. He said there was obvious distrust on the field and all signs pointed to me being the instigator. I didn’t play well with others, apparently.”

  “You? An asshole to people? I’m shocked.”

  He cracks a small smile. “The team wanted me to go to strip clubs and out after games and be friends with them all. I wanted to play football and then run home and lock the closet door. The less I hung out with them, the less chance of being caught out.”

  I purse my lips. “Okay, that’s what I don’t get. How did you let someone photograph you in that club?”

  “What, you think I handed someone the camera and said please, ruin my life?”

  “You were a hardass about it—not even getting close to your teammates—and then you go and throw it all away for a blowjob?”

  “Moment of weakness. I rarely hit those clubs. The first year in the NFL, I never touched another guy. Hence the tattoos.” Matt rubs his forearm.

  “Right. Because celibacy equals tattoos?”

  “I needed something. Adrenaline, pain …”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Matt sighs. “The first time I hooked up during my second year, it was after a loss. I fumbled the ball on a play that could’ve put us on top. Losses happen, and everyone makes mistakes, but it was the first real fuckup I’d had where the loss could’ve been blamed solely on me. So, I scoped out a club, took a random guy into the bathroom, and then blew him. Then I could claim to be good at something, right?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had the pleasure.” And there goes my mouth again.

  “And you never will,” Matt says and heads to the tiny bathroom to change into gym gear.

  I stare down at my hard cock. All Matt has to do now is mention giving a BJ and my dick wants in on the action. If I hadn’t already realized it, it’s abundantly clear that the stupidest thing I’ve done all year wasn’t hurting Aron. It was kissing Matt.

  After meeting up with the others for breakfast, they decide to spend the day doing some ropes course on one of the outer decks, but I need space from Matt.

  I also need to find an internet kiosk. This morning when Matt went back to the gym, I caved and checked my messages from Aron. They all consisted of a different version of please tell me this is a joke.

  Telling him the truth is tempting, but I signed a non-disclosure agreement. There’s only a select few who know Matt and I are in a sham relationship. Plus, I’m hoping it’ll help Aron move on if he thinks I’m with someone else.

  Signing into the ship’s computer, I open my email and stare at the cursor blinking at me. It’s mocking me, I know it is. I fight the urge to flip it off.

  If the last month has taught me anything, it’s that I have to get straight to the point with Aron. Any pussyfooting about and he worms his way back in. So, I go for the gut punch and hate myself for doing it.

  I’m sorry. I met Matt and it just happened. I didn’t expect to fall so fast, but I have.

  My eyes close as I hit send. No matter what my friends believe or think of me, I don’t like being an asshole. I hate that I hurt Aron.

  A chat bubble pops up.

  Shit.

  Aron: What are you playing at? You don’t fall for people. That’s what you’ve repeatedly told me for a year.

  Noah: I don’t. Usually. Matt’s different.

  Aron: Is this your way of getting me to back off? I told you I was okay with going back to being casual.

  Noah: I can’t talk right now. I’m on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic. With Matt. My boyfriend. The casual thing wasn’t working, and we both know it. I’ve moved on and so should you.

  I hold my breath until the green light around Aron’s name disappears. Before I log off, I open up a new chat window with our friend Wyatt. He’s probably the most nurturing of the guys in our group. Actually, he’d be more nurturing than our friends Skylar and Rebecca too. Those girls can be ruthless, and they’re going to have my balls when they find out I screwed Aron over.

  Noah: Can you check on Aron in a few days? Take him out. He needs to get laid.

  The response comes immediately.

  Wyatt: Have fun with your football player while it lasts. Try not to shit all over his heart too.

  Along with his nurturing nature, Wyatt also has a flair for the dramatic, and it figures he’d take Aron’s side. He should. He’s not saying anything I don’t already know, but it sits wrong in my gut. If I didn’t have the NDA, I’d reassure Wyatt that no hearts were on the line when it came to Matt and me. He’s surly and I’m … I don’t know exactly what his problem is with me, but it’s obvious he has one.

  One night down. Countless more to go.

  Chapter Five

  Matt

  When I arrive at our room in the afternoon, Noah’s on the balcony. He sits with his feet up on the railing which looks too high to be comfortable, but he looks good doing it.

  He lifts his hand and swigs a sip of his beer. His fifth by the look of the empties on the small round table out there.

  Wouldn’t be the first man I’ve driven to
the bottle. Right, Dad?

  My father always blamed us kids for his urge to drink. I wonder if he’s been sober at all since I was outed. I want to call my siblings and ask how everything is back home since my secret went public, but I don’t have their numbers anymore. My parents have gone to extreme lengths to keep me from my brothers and sisters. I’m blocked on all social media, and when I try to reach their cell phones, I’m told the number I’m trying no longer exists.

  “I can feel you staring at me,” Noah calls out and then stands.

  I grab my own beer out of the minibar as he joins me in the cabin.

  “Bit early in the afternoon to be drinking, isn’t it?” I ask.

  Noah raises a dark eyebrow at me and pierces me with his aqua eyes. They’re more blue than green reflecting off the ocean. Why the fuck am I thinking about the color of his eyes?

  “Says the guy holding a beer.” He takes another gulp.

  “Misery loves company, and apparently I’m doing a great job of bringing you down with me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. This”—Noah lifts his bottle—“has nothing to do with you.”

  “Did your obnoxious attitude annoy one of the staff and they pissed in your lunch?”

  He snorts. “Hey, I’m a lovable guy. You just don’t see it.”

  No, I could see it. I could see how his laid-back attitude, sense of humor, and all-round arrogant charm could suck someone in, but I’m not here for that.

  “Uh, Damon finally gave me our schedule.” I reach into my pocket and give Noah the folded sheet of paper.

  “Get to know each other,” Noah says and then laughs. “Without killing each other. Good luck with that one, am I right?”

  “It’s a tall order.”

  “Wait, full spread magazine shoot and interview with Out and Proud Magazine when we get to Bermuda?”

  I take a large sip of beer. “Yup.”

  “Are you going to have a panic attack again?”

  “Not gonna lie, there’s a good chance.”

  “Just think, any time you start to panic, my lips will be there for you. It says here, it’s a joint interview.”

  When I groan, Noah laughs. “You like seeing me squirm, don’t you?” I ask.

  “It’s so easy.” Noah stares at the sheet of paper. “After that, it looks like you go home to PA for a few weeks until a charity benefit thing for … really? LGBTQ Alliance Ball? They’re really shoving the gay thing down people’s throats, huh?”

  I choke on my beer. “Thank you. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

  “They need to see us doing normal shit too. Maybe we can talk to them about having a day where we get papped grocery shopping. Being with me wouldn’t be all fancy cruises and benefits.”

  “Isn’t that all you do?” I ask. “Rich trust fund guy, no job—”

  “I have a job. I just never go to it. They don’t pay me, so why should I go?”

  “Employee of the year, right here.”

  “You want to know what my ‘job’ is?” he asks, using air quotes. “I work on my dad’s campaigns. My official title is strategist, but all that means is I sit in a room with a bunch of stuffy people who claim to know the world, yet they go home and sit in their cushy mansions with their lots of money and ignore the homeless on the streets as they walk by. Anytime I come up with ideas, I’m shut down because I’m the boss’s son with a poli-sci degree and no experience.” His eyes hold helplessness, and it’s the first time I’ve seen any humbleness from him.

  “You want to be a politician?” I ask.

  “Something like that.” There’s something in his voice that makes me think he’s lying, or he at least doesn’t care if he ends up in the White House. “It was the original plan. Not so much anymore.”

  “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

  “It’s not all sunshine and rainbows over here on the trust fund train,” Noah mutters. It’s the first time I’ve seen any real vulnerability from him, and it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know how to respond to it.

  “I’d still prefer that to a trailer trash family from Tennessee with six kids to feed and no food.” That’s not probably how, moron.

  Noah’s arrogant smile returns. “You’re from Tennessee? So that’s where your accent when you’re pissed off comes from.”

  “Taught mah-self real good-like to talk all educated and shit.” I accentuate every word as I would if I were home.

  “Why? Southern accents are hot. Better than New York.” His forced accent on New York sounds more from the Bronx than Manhattan.

  “I guess I associate my accent with the rednecks I grew up with.”

  Noah leans against the sliding door to the balcony. “Okay, this is good. We’re getting to know each other. What was it like growing up with five … brothers and sisters? Or …?”

  “Two brothers, three sisters. Charlene is twenty-one, Jethro’s nineteen, Daisy’s sixteen, Fern is fourteen, and Wade is twelve.”

  Noah whistles. “Haven’t your parents heard of birth control?”

  I can’t hold in the laugh. “Do you say every single thing that pops into your head?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You have a point. Mom and Dad should’ve stopped after me. You know how there are people who shouldn’t reproduce? My parents would be on that list. Maybe not at the top—they didn’t beat us, they kept us clothed and fed, and they weren’t monsters—but they just weren’t … there. Football was the only thing Dad and I ever talked about.”

  “Did they know you were gay before you were outed?”

  I don’t exactly know what the answer to that is. “There was this guy in high school who I used to fool around with. We thought we were careful, but the more time that’s passed, the more I reckon Mom and Dad knew the whole time. When I left for college, they said in no uncertain terms that I didn’t have to return. Like ever. I had a full ride to Olmstead and got a summer job to pay for housing so I didn’t have to go home over the break. Then I was drafted sophomore year.”

  “When was the last time you saw your family?”

  “That day. When I left for New York. I haven’t been back, and they can’t afford to visit. I used to speak to my siblings on the phone whenever I’d call, but I’ve been told to stop calling now too. I guess it was one thing to know I was gay and ignore it, but it’s a whole other issue when photos of me are plastered all over the news and internet.”

  “That’s not cool,” Noah says quietly.

  “It’s what I was born into.” I’m playing it off like it’s not a big deal, but for so long I tried to get Dad to say he was proud of me. Cliché, maybe, but I lived and breathed football because I thought it was what I needed to do to get my parents to accept me.

  There were times I wondered if I even liked playing, but then when I went to OU and the pressure from my parents wasn’t there anymore, I realized I couldn’t live without it. It was in my blood. From that moment, I played for me and me alone.

  Noah pushes off the door and slides past me in the small space to get to the minibar. “I’m getting another beer. You want one?”

  “Uh, about that. I kinda told the guys we’d go to the cigar bar with them.”

  He stops mid-reach for a new bottle. “Cigars and scotch. Even better.”

  Damon huffs in frustration. After drinks at the cigar bar, he follows us back to our cabin to make sure we’re prepared for our interview tomorrow as soon as we hit land, but it’s not going well thanks to an overconfident smartass who can’t take anything seriously.

  We’ve got basics, like where we met, what we studied in college, but Noah must have ADD or something because getting him to concentrate now is like trying to teach a cat how to stop being an asshole.

  “Okay, let’s try an easy one,” Damon says. “What does Matt like to do in his spare time?”

  Noah grunts. “I’m guessing getting blowjobs in nightclubs is the incorrect answer?”

  I gro
an and flop backward on the bed. “I give up. Is he always like this?” Don’t know why I’m asking when I know the answer will be yes.

  “Spend time with you, you dumbass,” Damon says to Noah, ignoring me. “You know, when normal couples love each other, they want to spend every waking hour with each other. Athletes get hardly any time off, so the answer is spend time with you.”

  “But that’s so … cheesy,” Noah says.

  “We need to sell cheese.” Damon’s trying to keep his voice calm, but it ain’t working.

  “Cheddar or Swiss?”

  Damon stands. “From my experience, there’s no point even trying with Noah right now. Sorry, Matt. I tried.”

  “Fuck you very much,” I call after him as he leaves the cabin.

  “How unprofessional,” Noah says. “But at least it worked. What do you want to do now? Go for a drink? Snack? I think they have one of those lame-ass magician shows …”

  I sit up and stare at him incredulously. “You said all those things just to get out of answering annoying questions?”

  He smiles. “You’re welcome.”

  “We need to know this stuff.”

  “No, we don’t. We can wing it, and it’s all basic anyway.”

  “And when we’re caught in a lie or we don’t know something about the other person?”

  “We’re supposed to be a newly in love couple,” Noah says. “We’re not trying to sell that we’re soul mates and always have been. It’s perfectly natural we don’t know every little detail.”

  “What if they ask about your family?”

  Emptiness replaces his normally vibrant eyes. “I’ll handle any political questions. I’ve been trained for it my whole life.”

  “But I haven’t. What if I mess it up?”