Trick Play

by Eden Finley

  “We’re so glad you could make it tonight,” he says. “Having you here, supporting us—”

  “Thank you for inviting me.”

  I know it’s an honor being recognized and appreciated at something like this, but more people start to converge, and I feel like I’m on the spot.

  “What’s it like being the first out player in the NFL?” a woman asks.

  “Uh, I wouldn’t know. I’m technically not part of the league right now.”

  Everyone seems to purse their lips in unison, and their thoughts are clear as day on their faces. They practically scream the unfairness of it all.

  “Do you think being gay will affect your chances of playing football again?” Neil asks, but it’s not as intrusive as if a journalist asked. He comes across as concerned more than anything else but also somehow threatening. Like if I were to say yes, he’d sic the gay mafia onto the league. The thought alone has me wanting to laugh, but instead, I’m frozen by the weight of the question.

  “There are non-discriminatory laws in place, so it shouldn’t,” I say diplomatically.

  “But that doesn’t mean it won’t,” another man says.

  I pull on my bowtie that suddenly feels too tight around my throat. “I, uh, didn’t exactly come out in the most … umm … gracious way. I was let go on a morality clause.”

  There’s a few awkward laughs, and I tell myself them being entertained at my expense is better than them thinking the same way as the Bulldogs—that I deserved to be let go because of what I did in that club.

  “What does society expect when you’re forced to hide who you are?” Neil says, and I decide I like him, even if I’m uncomfortable with this whole conversation.

  “If you all just came out, it wouldn’t be a big deal,” the woman says, and I grit my teeth. By all, I assume she means athletes, but I don’t want to ask for clarification.

  Noah’s in my line of sight but just out of reach. I try to send a telepathic message asking him to come rescue me, but apparently, I haven’t developed superpowers in the last few hours.

  Dang it.

  As everyone continues to be determined to talk to me, and I’m introduced to more people I should know, it becomes torturous being so close to Noah but apart. We get no time together. We’re both passed between groups of society’s high elite. Everyone wants to talk to Noah about his father, and I’m bombarded with more questions about being an out football player, and by the end of it, I realize I’ve become the very person I feared I would when I was outed. I’m not seen here as Matt Jackson—football player. I’m Matt Jackson—gay football player. None of my teammates are ever introduced as “that married football player” or “the hetero football player.”

  My eyes continue to track Noah through the room as he moves from important person to even more important person. Noah naked is one thing, but Noah in a tux? I almost like it more.

  Almost.

  By the tenth time I’m stopped by someone I don’t know and forced to talk about my public outing, I’m tempted to drink my ass off. That won’t look good in front of the press, so I stay stone cold sober and hate every minute of it.

  The only reassuring factor is knowing that I’ll be in Noah’s bed tonight, hopefully doing unspeakable things to him. Or him to me. Really, whichever. I don’t care. I thought after our Skype session he’d be eager to get inside me, but even during his visit to Philly, where he drove two hours just to fuck me, he chickened out. Not that I protested much. I was worried if I pushed the issue it’d end up with neither of us getting any.

  When I finally pull myself away from people by faking needing to go to the bathroom, Maddox finds me hiding in the corner.

  “How are you holding up?” he asks.

  “I keep trying to find your boyfriend to ask if I can go home yet.”

  “I’d go with you in a heartbeat. Damon’s schmoozing.”

  I eye the swirly dark drink in his hand, and without asking, I grab it and chug the rest. I screw up my face as I look at the empty. “Only Coke?”

  “Didn’t want to get ugly drunk while Damon’s networking.”

  “Do you think if I threaten to get ugly drunk he’ll let me go home?”

  Maddox laughs. “You can try.”

  When I do finally catch Damon, it takes a couple of threats—all empty, which Damon knows—but when he finally says it’s okay, I could kiss him. I don’t though. I’ll go home and kiss the fuck outta Noah instead.

  The thought alone has my pants tightening.

  But, this isn’t my night. Traffic is a bitch again. So, by the time we get back to Noah’s place—a hundred years later—I’m more exhausted than horny. I collapse onto his bed face first, not even bothering to remove my penguin suit. “Thank God, that’s over.”

  “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “It wasn’t horrible, but I had to people. Peopling is hard.”

  Noah laughs. “Kind of the point of a benefit.”

  “You’re used to schmoozing. I’m used to scowling at people to get them to leave me alone.”

  “You’re great with fans.”

  “Because I have to be. If I had a dollar for every time tonight I heard how important gay men in sports are and how more of us should come out, I’d have more money than you.” I bury my head into Noah’s pillow.

  A weight settles on top of me. “I know that side of your job sucks, and I’m sorry you’ve become this gay icon without asking for it, but those people tonight have a point. You can’t tell me you’re the only gay dude in the NFL. Damon wasn’t the only ball player either. The more of you who come out, the easier it’ll get for everyone.”

  “Why do I have to be the guy?”

  I hate that my voice is small. It’s not only being the first openly gay player that I’m worried about. What if it doesn’t work out or if I get a new contract and then get cut, what message will that send to kids trying out for their football team? That we’re not enough? We can’t be the best?

  There’s a reason no one else has come forward. I lost my career because I was outed, and now I have to fight my way back. It’s easy for people who don’t live in my world to say everyone should come out, but they have no clue what it’s like in a locker room.

  “Doesn’t have anything to do with getting caught with your pants down in a nightclub,” Noah says. “In an ideal world, you would’ve done this on your own time, but we don’t live like that.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “One day, maybe.” Kisses land on the back of my neck and then my shoulder. “Did I ever tell you about the time my dad outed me to the entire world?”

  I tense. “What?”

  “When I was caught with Nathaniel, instead of talking to me about it, Dad called his advisors. They said it could be beneficial to the campaign as long as they embraced it and didn’t try to hide it. A few days later, he was giving a press conference telling the world how proud he was to have a gay son.”

  I roll over underneath him so we’re face to face. “What the fuck? That’s never okay.”

  Noah shrugs. “I was out to everyone except my parents. My friends all knew, it wasn’t like I was hiding it, and if I’d protested, I’m sure my father wouldn’t have done it …” The suspicion in his eyes gives away the fact he’s not entirely sure that’s true. “But I’ve had a taste of what you went through, and I know it’s hard. If I could make it better for you, I would.” He lowers his voice as he lowers his forehead to mine. “I’d take your burden and make it mine to give you a break.”

  “Why?” I croak.

  “Do you know how many times I stared at those photos of you in that club?”

  The switch in direction makes me think he doesn’t want to answer my question, so I don’t push. “Did you wish it were you on your knees?”

  “I’ve always thought you were gorgeous.”

  “Even now with my beard gone?” I rub my face along his jaw and neck. I already miss my beard.

  “I did like
the beard. Felt good on my balls while you sucked me off.”

  I laugh and talk without thinking. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

  He stills on top of me, and I know I’ve messed up. It’s only been a couple days since I saw him in Philly.

  “I mean in a I want to fuck you kinda way. Not anything more.” I tell myself I’m not lying. He mentioned balls and made me laugh. Missing that doesn’t mean anything. I just like having someone to joke around with after years of no humor in my life. Something in the back of my conscience doesn’t believe me, but it’s so quiet I can ignore the voice telling me to back away before I become the one thing Noah doesn’t want—interested in more.

  Noah relaxes, blanketing me with his body. “Guess you better start fucking me then.”

  “Suddenly, I’m not so exhausted anymore.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Noah

  Matt’s sleeping face confuses me. Not because he looks more peaceful than I’ve ever seen him, but because I’m still staring at it long after he falls asleep. In my bed. Because I told him to stay.

  Yup. That happened.

  He said he only needed a minute to recover, and then I said it: stay.

  I asked him to stay with me.

  If I didn’t know it already, I definitely do now. I’m so screwed.

  “What am I doing?” I whisper to myself.

  “Huh?” Matt murmurs. Damn. Light sleeper, I guess.

  “Nothing, babe. Go back to sleep.”

  “Hmmlergh.” His beefy arm pulls me against him, and I don’t fight him.

  I didn’t lie to Matt when I said I can’t sleep with anyone else in my bed. It’s not an intimacy issue—though that probably has something to do with it—but the main problem is I can’t get comfortable. When Matt and I were on the cruise, neither of us were conscious of getting close, so I always woke up with him glued to me. That’s when the uncomfortableness creeped in. Not when he was actually holding me. I don’t want to think about that too hard. It might open a can of Why I Don’t Let People Get Close to Me, and I don’t want to answer that question anytime soon. Pretty sure it sits right next to the cans of Daddy Issues and Shockingly Depleted Self-worth.

  Gah, I need to go to sleep. I can freak out in the morning when Matt gets up at stupid o’clock to work out.

  Only, when I wake up hours later with the sunlight streaming through the windows, Matt is still attached to me.

  I nudge him off me. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs getting all sweaty?”

  Matt rolls his hips so his cock digs into my back. “I don’t have to go downstairs to do that.”

  “You really did miss me, huh? I’ve created a monster. How are you going to go during the season?”

  “You’re too big to fit in my suitcase.”

  “Mmm, but your toys aren’t.” Images from our video call make my dick hard, and my body inches closer to Matt.

  “Pretty sure my roommate won’t appreciate that. That’s if I get a contract. I tried to talk to Damon last night about this meeting coming up, but he said to wait.”

  I roll over to face him. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It does when he says it as if he’s about to tell me I have terminal cancer. Then Maddox ran interference, keeping me away from Damon. Although that might have to do with the fact that every chance I had to speak to Damon ended with me asking if I was allowed to go home yet.”

  “Still, doesn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t want to talk about work where anyone could overhear.”

  “Maybe …”

  “You’ll find out tomorrow, so there’s no point worrying about it now.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Matt’s right though. It is easy for me to say not to worry because I have no idea what it’s like to want something as bad as Matt wants football.

  “You know what else is easy for me?” I push Matt onto his back and work my way down his body, laying open-mouthed kisses over his hard muscles. “Distraction.”

  “I like this type of distraction.” His hands go to my head, gripping the nonexistent hair. “But do you have to shave your head? I want something to grip onto.”

  “Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll grow it out.”

  Matt moans, and I love it. I can lie to myself all I want and say I’m doing this for Matt, that he needs it to stop him from thinking, but the truth is, I need it just as much. Sex, I can do. It’s everything else I struggle with. Matt understands that. He’s the only one I’ve been with who gets it, and he doesn’t push for more. When my mouth wraps around his cock, he arches his back.

  Matt grabs me to pull me up so I can get in on the action, but I shake my head. I’m not going to be selfish. I hold him down to stop him from reaching for me.

  Matt fists the comforter and lets me take control. I pull off him just long enough to wet my finger with saliva.

  “Fuck yes,” Matt hisses when I push against his hole.

  I told myself I wouldn’t do this with him. He deserves someone better than me for his first time, and I’ve been determined not to fuck him, but it’s pointless in trying to resist. I won’t go there today, but I know it’s going to happen eventually.

  It’s inevitable, because I’m not a strong man. Not when it comes to him.

  The more time I spend with Matt, the more I worry this guy doesn’t have a number. I might never get him out of my system.

  “Noah …”

  I’ve never heard my name sound so good.

  Matt looks at me like I’m more than my money. No one has ever done that. Even my friends. I don’t help my case by playing the role of entitled asshole, but it’s how I survive. The one time I showed my true self to someone, he ripped my heart out for a college degree and a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus.

  The noises Matt makes as I suck him down go straight to my dick. I want him to come, and I want to swallow it all—something I don’t normally do. Matt knows that, and the few times I’ve done this, he gave me warning. It’s not the taste I hate but the amount. It triggers my gag reflex. Guys in the past have complained about it, but Matt doesn’t care.

  My finger massages his prostate while my mouth works him over, and my own cock begs to be touched, but I refrain.

  “Coming,” Matt says.

  I don’t move away.

  “Noah …”

  I stay with him, loving every drop he gives me. The gag reflex kicks in a little, but not enough for me to pull away. I drink him up and wait for him to stop shuddering. And when he pulls me up this time, I don’t stop him. He kisses me hard and long, no doubt tasting himself on my tongue, and he groans into my mouth.

  “You didn’t have to—”

  “Wanted to.”

  “Noah—”

  Uh-oh. Nope. I know that tone. We’re not talking about it. “I need coffee.” I try to climb out of bed, but Matt’s too strong for me when he pulls me back and rolls on top of me.

  “Not so fast. We have all day for coffee, and I need twenty-four hours of distractions. It’s your turn.”

  As he slides down to return my favor, I welcome everything he’s going to give me. Because it means I don’t have to talk about the real shit going on in my head. I guess we’re both great at distraction.

  I don’t kick Matt out of bed again Sunday night and wake up with him against me. My muscles ache, my skin is marked with bruises from his mouth and punishing hands, and I absolutely cannot care less.

  “What’s the time?” I mumble as a vibrating noise comes from the bedside table.

  “Who the fuck knows.”

  “Are we late for your meeting?”

  “It’s not until two.” Matt finally reaches for his phone and frowns. “It’s OTS.”

  “Answer it.”

  He grips his phone tight. “What if it’s the call telling me not to bother coming in?”

  “Then not answering won’t change that fact.”

  The phone stops ringing, and Matt lets out a loud breath. Then it starts ringing again.
He stares at it as if it might explode when he hits the green button.

  I hold my hand out. “Want me to answer? I can pretend to be your assistant.”

  Hesitantly, he hands it over.

  “Matt Jackson’s phone,” I answer.

  “Noah? Why are you answering Matt’s phone?” Damon asks.

  “Why are you calling him when you have a meeting in”—I hold out the phone and check the time—“four hours?”

  “There’s a … situation going on here. Matt needs to come in immediately.”

  My heart plummets into my stomach and then lurches into my throat. Did we fuck up? Did someone find out we’re not really together? I force myself to take a deep breath and not freak out yet. The way Matt’s staring at me, with those brown puppy dog eyes, I don’t want to scare him.

  “If it’s not good news, it can wait,” I say.

  “It’s got nothing to do with the offer I have sitting on my desk for him. There’s a guy here claiming to be his brother.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Brother? Which one?”

  “Says his name is Jet.”

  I pull the phone away from my mouth. “Jet’s in New York.”

  Matt’s eyes widen. “What?”

  “He didn’t know how else to get a hold of him,” Damon says in my ear. “He’s not talking much. Just asking to see his brother. Got a bit of an attitude on him. Can you guys come in early?”

  “We’re on our way.” I end the call and throw the phone on the bed.

  Matt starts to dress, but I stop him. “We smell like sex. We need to shower.”

  “Fine,” he relents.

  We take a world-record-breaking short shower, and I offer to drive, because Matt’s moving on autopilot. I can hear the silent questions running through his head, wanting to know why his brother’s here, what happened, and how he can fix it.

  “Which brother is Jet? The nineteen-year-old or twelve-year-old?”

  “You remember how old my siblings are?”