Trick Play

by Eden Finley

  “Something like that.” I’m here for as long as he’ll have me. My eyes go to his towel again. God, how I want it gone.

  Matt grips onto it as he walks closer to me, and I can’t tear my gaze away. “I think you’re drooling.”

  I fist my hand at my side. “I am …” I stare at his naked chest, his perfect nipples, his tight abs … damn, those abs. This guy is breaking me, and all he’s doing is standing there.

  “Why are you here?” he whispers.

  I suddenly don’t know. I thought it was for sex—for an in-person repeat of last night—and I definitely still want that, but now that I’m here, I realize … I just wanted to see him. After nine days apart, a video call isn’t enough.

  Shit. Don’t admit that aloud. “I heard Philly has amazing cheesesteaks.”

  Matt laughs, deep and rumbly.

  With Noah-like charm—meaning no tact—I step forward and cover the hand gripping his towel. I open my mouth to threaten to rip it away from him, but it’s not necessary; his hand falls away without a fight.

  “I came here to fuck you,” I say. I’m scared it’s written all over my face—the real reason I’m here: I couldn’t stay away.

  Matt lets out the loudest groan as if I zapped him with electrodes attached to his balls instead of offered him sex. “I wish that could happen, but I have a showing on the apartment in fifteen minutes. I thought you were the realtor when you knocked.”

  I stare down at his towel and back up to his face. “You answer the door to your realtor while only wearing a towel? If you had a real boyfriend, I don’t think he’d be happy about that.”

  Definitely not happy.

  Matt, however, loves my new jealous trait that I didn’t know existed and can’t stop smiling as he says, “I’ll be sure to tell her to keep her hands to herself.”

  Abrupt subject change is needed. “Well, if we can’t stay here, what are we going to do?” I take a step back so I’m not tempted to jump him anyway. “When’s your financial meeting?”

  “Had it this morning, so I’m free.”

  “Okay, so you can show me your city.”

  “You’ve never been to Philly before?”

  “I have, but I want to see it how you do.”

  “Uh …” Matt hesitates. “We could go see the Liberty Bell?”

  “I’m sorry, are we on a grade school excursion? I want to see where you eat, where you drink … okay, maybe we won’t go to that club, but”—I shrug—“show me Matt’s Philadelphia. It could technically be classed as Damon’s homework.” Sure, blame Damon for the reason I want to get to know Matt on this whole new level I’m unfamiliar with.

  “Umm … yeah. Okay.” He nods. “Okay.”

  One would think I asked him to watch me fuck his sister with how uncomfortable he looks, but he shakes it off and heads for the hallway.

  “I’ll get dressed and we can get out of here when the realtor shows up.”

  As if on cue, the doorbell rings. “You put some clothes on, and I’ll get the door,” I say and watch as his ass disappears down a hallway.

  The realtor does a double take when I let her in.

  “Matt’s in the bedroom,” I explain awkwardly.

  “Oh, right. You’re …”

  I force my public-ready smile—the one I had to learn as a kid to stand by Dad’s side at all his campaigning rallies. “Noah Huntington.”

  I shake her hand, but she continues to eye me warily. I want to ask her why she’s staring at me like that.

  She moves about the space, as if she’s the one looking to buy it. “We shouldn’t be long here. You probably won’t have to leave if you don’t want to. Although, it can be intimidating if the owner’s in the home while we show people through.”

  “Don’t need to worry. We have plans.”

  Her smile is tight, and I have no idea what her issue is, but when Matt comes out of the bedroom, it becomes clear.

  Something’s wrong.

  Matt approaches, wrapping an arm around my waist and bringing his mouth down on mine for a soft kiss. I melt against him, not caring about the witness in the room, and push my tongue into his mouth.

  When the realtor clears her throat, Matt pulls away. “Ready to go, babe?”

  I purse my lips at the show he’s putting on for her. “Uh, sure.”

  He grabs my hand, tells the realtor to lock up when she leaves as we’ll be gone all day, and then drags me out of his apartment and to the elevator bank.

  Once there, he lets go of my hand. “Sorry about that. While I was getting dressed, I got a phone call from Damon.” Matt shoves his phone at me. “The more people who see us together, the better.”

  On Matt’s phone, there’s a link to an article about us.

  Trouble in Paradise or Publicity Stunt?

  “They’re onto us? How?”

  “Damon thinks there could be a leak in his office—like with the photographers at the cruise ship terminal—or it could be the fact we left the cruise early and I’ve been spotted here while you’re in New York. It might be speculation for entertainment value, or it could be we’re not doing a good enough job of convincing people this is real.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” I ask.

  “We have to go out in public more. We’ve been hiding, apparently.” Matt pockets his phone. “Whose car are we taking?”

  “I fought an old lady for a spot. I’m not moving my car. I also don’t know Philly.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I dig it out, Damon’s name flashes across the screen. “It’s Damon. Did you tell him I was here?”

  Matt shakes his head and holds the elevator door for me while I answer.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “You busy? I need you to get to Philly for some photo ops with Matt.”

  “Uh … umm, yeah, I’m already on my way. Matt just called.”

  There’s a pause. “That was fast. Okay, so I’ll tip off some paparazzi in an hour or so … unless you’re going to be there sooner?”

  He’s so onto me. “I’ll talk to you in an hour.” I quickly end the call. “I think he knows I’m already here.”

  Matt tries to suppress a smile. “Scared about getting in trouble from the big bad Damon?”

  “He did tell us to stop …”

  “It’s cute you’re scared of him. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “Right,” I mumble and get into the elevator and lean against the back wall. We aren’t doing anything wrong. We’re both grownups. “Hey, maybe I’m just psychic and knew you’d need me today.”

  “Sure, let’s go with that and ignore it was actually your dick that brought you here.”

  “Fine then, maybe my dick is psychic.”

  “With crystal balls?”

  “Wanna touch them? If you rub them, you get a wish.”

  Matt laughs. “I think that’s a lamp, not a crystal ball.”

  “You should try anyway.”

  Okay, so maybe we aren’t complete grownups, but that doesn’t mean this … causal thing, or whatever we want to call it, is a bad idea. Even if my gut tells me otherwise.

  “You should stop joking around before I take you up on the offer and I’m photographed in yet another compromising position. Damon’s going to tip off some paparazzi, and they’ll no doubt be following us.”

  “Yeah, he said that. We have an hour leeway to do what we want before they’ll find us.”

  Matt releases a loud breath and plays with the hem of his shirt. “Do you still want to see my Philadelphia?”

  “Is that a euphemism?”

  My joke has its desired effect. He loses the tension in his shoulders and slumps next to me against the wall.

  “We can go see the Liberty Bell if you’re not up to—”

  Matt reaches for my hand and interlaces our fingers. “I know one place we can go.”

  We’re in the car for over half an hour before he pulls into the parking lot of the very last place I’d expect him to bring me.
r />   “We don’t have to—” I start.

  He parks the car and turns the ignition off. “You wanted to see what my life was like living here? You’re looking at it.”

  I glance through the windshield at the gray concrete building with a giant bulldog metal sculpture out front. It’s intimidating, even to me.

  “Matt—”

  He ignores me and climbs out of the car. I almost don’t want to interrupt him. He stares at the building as if having a moment with it. When he sits on the hood of his car, I tentatively open my door.

  I slowly approach him, trying to figure out what type of mood he’s in. If it were me, I’d be angry, but when I go to sit next to him, he shifts farther back and pulls me in front of him. My ass lands between his legs on the hood of the car, and his arms wrap around my middle. Even though we don’t have to put on a show yet, I don’t stop him.

  His breath tickles my neck when he says, “It feels like my entire life has revolved around stadiums. Dad used to take us to college games because we couldn’t afford NFL tickets. Most of the time it was just Char and me, because the others were too young, but when I think of my childhood, the happiest memories were the games Dad took me to. It was the only time it seemed like he cared.”

  That’s depressing.

  “Did you know you wanted to play football professionally back then?” I ask.

  He shakes his head against my neck. “I was more worried about not appearing weak in front of Dad. I love football—it has saved me from a lot of shit—but the reason I got into it was to make sure Dad didn’t know I liked boys. I mean, I was a kid so I wasn’t one hundred percent sure myself, but the way Dad emphasized it with me made me think he knew all along. Or at least suspected.”

  I lay my hand on top of his on my chest. “What did it save you from?”

  “For one, it got me out of that town. I had this … friend in high school. I wouldn’t say he was a boyfriend, because like when I was with Maddox, we both played the ‘I’m straight but I want to suck your cock’ game. If I wasn’t good enough to play college ball, I’d probably still be in that town, married to some woman and fucking guys on the side. I wasn’t great at school. I did the bare minimum to make sure I got C’s so I wouldn’t be cut from the team. I literally put everything into football. There was no backup. When I lost my contract with the Bulldogs and my entire life was on those rag sites, I … I honestly thought my life was over. And now, sitting outside the place I put four years of my life into, I see both my prison and my saving grace. It got me out of Tennessee, but I was still trapped …”

  “Hiding,” I say quietly.

  “Exactly.”

  I lean back and turn my head so our lips are mere inches apart. Trying to find the right words is impossible, so I settle for kissing him instead and telling him with my mouth that he’s worthy of a life everyone deserves, and he should be able to do whatever he wants.

  I’m not completely convinced that’s football, even if he thinks it is. He says football is the only thing in his life, but he’s never even tried for more. It saved him, and now it’s his security blanket, and he doesn’t want to leave it behind.

  I continue to kiss him, partly to make him try to forget his issues but mainly because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t do the comforting thing; I’m not sure I’d even know how, but I want to. So, I do the one thing I know I’m good at—the physical stuff.

  Matt’s hand wanders up my shirt, skimming my abs, and my pants become uncomfortably tight.

  I have to pull my mouth away. “You’re determined to get me arrested for indecent exposure, aren’t you?”

  “We’re fully clothed.”

  “Keep kissing me like that, and we won’t be for long. How long was the realtor at the apartment for?”

  “She should be gone, but Damon—”

  My pocket starts to vibrate, and of course, it’s him. “Do you reckon Damon has super hearing like dogs? Like if his name is being said in a two-hundred-mile radius, he can hear it?”

  Matt sighs. “Guess that means it’s time to get to work?”

  “I’d rather go to bed.”

  “Of course, you would.”

  The paparazzi first find us as we’re having lunch at a strategically chosen table outside a restaurant in a courtyard area. The view from across the street is perfect for them to set up their cameras, and we pretend to be annoyed but make sure to hold hands on top of the table and smile at each other as we call each of the vultures a name and give them each a backstory. They only get worse the longer it goes on.

  “Baldy lives in his mother’s basement for sure,” Matt says.

  “Where he has a closet full of skin suits.”

  “What are the chances of losing them if we leave?”

  “Probably high, but that’s not the point, is it?”

  Eventually, we move on from lunch, the paparazzi follow us everywhere, and by the time we get back to Matt’s apartment in the early evening, I’m exhausted.

  We did the most mundane things all day. Shopping. Coffee. More shopping. Pretending to be interested in what we were looking at.

  But that’s not the most disturbing part. The thing that makes me unsettled is the fact that even though I hated shopping and the paparazzi were relentless, I had fun. Because I was with Matt.

  I groan when I throw myself down on his couch. “I still have to drive back to New York.”

  “You can stay if you want.” His gruff voice does things to my cock. “I’ll even let you have your own room.”

  I hesitate because I want to stay but probably shouldn’t. We were supposed to have a clean break. It was our perfect opportunity to step back, and then I went and drove a hundred miles just so I could see him.

  End this.

  “Thanks, but I should get back tonight.”

  Matt shrugs as if he’s oblivious to my inner turmoil. I want to stay, I don’t want to go home, but that’s a bad idea.

  “Want to at least stay for dinner?” he asks, and damn it, I think I’m going to cave.

  “If it’s pizza.”

  He scowls.

  “With extra cheese and all the delicious stuff I bet you haven’t been eating since coming home.”

  “Fine, you win.”

  “And beer.”

  “Are you going to stay the night so I can burn all those calories?” He waggles his eyebrows, and now I know without a doubt I’m going to cave.

  “I’ll have to head back first thing. My father’s probably going to flip his lid when those photos hit the news. I told them at the office that I have the flu.”

  Matt grins. “Still can’t believe you played hooky for me.”

  Shit.

  “Umm, well, you know. My psychic dick did.”

  I haven’t seen Matt smile as much as he has today, and I’m beginning to realize I’d do anything to keep it on his face.

  Even stay the night when I know I shouldn’t.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Matt

  I’m late. Very, very late. Noah’s already in his suit and ready for the benefit when I get to his place.

  “Traffic was a bitch,” I complain as I step into his house. “Someone wanted to come look at the apartment, and then they ran late, which put me behind and—” I throw my duffel bag on the ground in haste to kiss Noah hello.

  “Whoa.” Noah backs up before I can touch my lips to his. “Your beard. Or … not beard.”

  I shrug. “Figured I should look respectable or whatever.” My cheeks feel naked, but they warm at the sight of Noah in his tux. He looks absolutely fuckable.

  I push him against the wall right by the stairs in the foyer and force my tongue into his mouth.

  “We don’t have time,” he says but keeps kissing me anyway.

  “Stupid people,” I grumble. “Didn’t even buy the apartment. I need something to take the edge off. Haven’t seen you in forever.” Three days is forever, right?

  “I’m sure you can make it a few hours
without needing to touch me.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true.” Hell, I’d settle for blowing him here in the foyer.

  “Well, it has to be, because any minute now—”

  There’s a knock at the door behind us, and I step back in time for Damon and Maddox to come through the door wearing tuxes. It’s not a surprise Damon’s invited to this too. Although, I’m not sure if it’s because he’s representing me and has been getting almost as much publicity as I am or because he decided he needs to keep an eye on me and Noah. Probably the latter. If Noah and I screw this up, it’s not just my career on the line but Damon’s as well. If we really dissect it, it could put Noah’s dad’s campaign in jeopardy too.

  No pressure.

  “You guys aren’t ready?” Damon asks.

  “What gave it away, Captain Obvious?” Noah says.

  “I can be ready in ten,” I say and run up the stairs. “Where’s my suit?” I yell out.

  “In my room,” Noah says.

  I wonder if Damon will have anything to say about that.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re out the door. On the car ride over to the Plaza, nerves and dread sit in the pit of my stomach. I have to be on tonight, and that always makes me antsy. I have to pretend like my career isn’t in the toilet, that I’m completely happy, and I’m not looking at the daunting possibility that football is over for me.

  I run a sweaty palm down my leg, but Noah reaches for it. Wordlessly, he runs his thumb over my hand, and he doesn’t need to speak to tell me he’s there for me. He doesn’t need to reassure me, that’s not part of his job, but that doesn’t stop him.

  As soon as we hit the red carpet, Noah works the media like being in the limelight is just another day for him. He’s casual and his charming smile never falls. I’m convinced I look like a deer in the headlights. These aren’t paparazzi. This is full-blown professional press outlets. My palms still sweat, but Noah doesn’t acknowledge that. He holds my hand tighter, and it grounds me.

  Once we’re inside, Damon ushers me over to my PR rep, who proceeds to introduce me around to some people who I should know but don’t. They look at me as if I’m the worst gay person ever. One, a guy named Neil, is the head of the National LGBTQ Network who’s hosting the event, so in retrospect, I should know him.