by Eden Finley
“Sorry. I thought … well, you know. Bar like this …”
I have to admit Lennon’s smile is sexy as hell. “You thought it was a fake name for a hookup? Come on, who would choose the name Lennon voluntarily? You know, apart from my parents who had absolutely no regard for how many Beatles jokes I’d get in my lifetime.”
“I’m Noah.” I hold my hand out for him to shake.
He holds onto it a tiny bit too long. “Wait. You gave a fake name back. That mean you want to get out of here?”
If a guy like him asked me a couple of months ago, I would’ve already had my tongue down his throat. And while the temptation for a revenge fuck is there, and my cock is interested, I can’t do it. No way. Not because I’m still contractually needed to be Matt’s boyfriend, but because I know Lennon wouldn’t compare.
I may be in love with a guy who doesn’t love me back, but I’m not going to get over it by getting under other guys. That would work if I was moving on from anyone else, but not Matt. I’ve never, not even with Nathaniel, been so gone over a person. Since he left, everything is dull, and I didn’t realize missing someone made the rest of your life suck. I’ve been lagging behind on the business plan for Rainbow Beds because I just don’t care anymore. I still want it to happen, but without the person you’re supposed to spend your life with, everything becomes meaningless. No matter how many homeless teens my program will take off the streets, it will never make me complete. Matt makes me a whole person. I’m not the spoiled rich guy, and I’m not the ignorant, entitled politician’s son. I’m me. The real me.
Lennon’s still expectantly waiting, and I finally find my words.
“Thanks, but, uh, I shouldn’t. I have a boyfriend.”
Lennon sits on the stool next to me. “Is he the reason you’re here at eight p.m. on a Tuesday night?”
Yes. He is. Because it turns out when the love of your life doesn’t love you back, it hurts like a sucker punch to the nuts. Maybe that’s why this place is called Nuts and Butts.
“What’s your reason?” I deflect.
“Wanna get laid. Is there any better reason than that?”
I chuckle. “Guess not.”
“This place is dead, which means I have time if you wanna talk about it.”
“I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me whine about how my boyfriend chose his career over me.”
Lennon’s mouth hangs agape for a beat too long. “That deserves a drink.” He motions for the bartender to give us another round, and that’s how I end up drinking with a Beatle.
Lennon puts in extra effort to cheer me up and is a great distraction when he tells me about all the times his name has given him issues, and I know his misery shouldn’t be funny, but with the self-deprecating way he tells it, there’s no option but to laugh.
A strong hand lands on my shoulder. “What are you doing?” Damon barks.
“Talking to Ringo Starr. Seriously, the guy’s name is hilarious.”
“Making me love my name even more, Noah,” Lennon says.
“Did you forget your name is This Ass Belongs to Someone Else?” Damon asks.
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound quite right,” I say.
“Is this the boyfriend?” There’s something suspicious or surprising in Lennon’s tone that I can’t work out.
“Oh, good,” Damon says. “You haven’t totally forgotten about the guy who offered you the world and you rejected it. You can’t be pissed about that.”
I stand so fast, my barstool skids across the floor. “Well, ain’t that some more bullshit right there.” Ain’t? I’m talking like Matt now? I shake it off. “I rejected him? He’s the one who was offered a contract in New York and didn’t tell me. He’s the one who moved to Chicago when he could’ve stayed. He’s the one who chose football over me.”
“If you believe that, then clearly you’re not as smart as you think you are. Why do you think he wouldn’t take a contract worth ten times more money than his contract in Chicago? Forget for a second it was in New York. Say Seattle offered him the same contract, what would make him say no to a shit ton of more money?”
“He said he wanted the ring. That’s more important to him than anything. Including me.”
“The Warriors haven’t won a Super Bowl in decades. Yeah, they have a chance this year, but New York has just as much a shot. He was willing to give it all up. For you. You said no, so he took the Chicago contract.”
“He wanted me to ask him to stay. That’s different to giving it all up for me. That’s me forcing him to give it up. He wanted the decision taken out of his hands so that when he regretted leaving football, he could blame me for his misery.”
Damon takes a few steps back, and his scrutinizing stare burns into me. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”
“Well, what am I supposed to believe? Enlighten me because I’m obviously missing something.”
“He’s an idiot for not telling you in the first place, but it’s also not my thing to tell. He asked me to keep quiet, and if he wasn’t my client, I wouldn’t listen, but I’m going to keep my word. He rejected millions of dollars. For you.”
“Why?”
Damon’s lips form into a thin line. “Does the name Rick Douglas mean anything to you?”
“No idea who that is,” I say.
“He’s the owner of the New York Cougars,” Lennon says behind me.
We both spin to face him. “How do you know that?” I ask.
Damon narrows his eyes. “You were at the press conference.”
Shit. Fucking shit. I’ve messed up big time. “You’re a journo?”
Lennon at least has the decency to look guilty when he nods.
I charge toward him, but Damon pulls me back as Lennon throws up his arms in surrender. I try to think if I’ve said anything that could be misconstrued or taken out of context, but all I can remember talking about so far is his stupid name. Shit, and the fact my boyfriend doesn’t love me. “You followed me here for a story?”
“No, I didn’t follow you. Me being here was a coincidence, but I saw you, wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was you, but maybe, I thought I might’ve been able to get a story if I got you drunk enough.”
I lunge for him again, but Damon still holds me.
Lennon seems unfazed at my advance. “Then I realized your story’s the same as every other football wife out there. Trust me, you don’t have anything anyone wants to read. No one cares about the hardships of missing family while being paid millions. First world problems and all that.”
“Did you just call me a football wife?” I ask.
“You know what I mean. You’re the only gay couple—”
“Out same-sex couple,” Damon corrects like it makes a difference. “Let’s go, Noah, before you say anything else he’ll use to make your life harder than it already is.”
“So because I’m a reporter, I’m automatically the enemy?” Lennon asks. “Bitter much, Damon King, an almost-MLB player from years ago, who got stung by a shoulder injury?”
Damon pales.
Lennon stands. “Look, I’ll make a deal. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear Rick Douglas’s name or look into why Matt Jackson turned down a giant contract with the Cougars. I work for Sporting Health Magazine. We’re not a tabloid. We want real stories. And all it’ll take is an exclusive interview with a gay ex-athlete turned sports agent, and I won’t mention anything other than what was given to us at the press conference today. You disappeared from the sports world, and now suddenly you’re back as a hotshot agent representing the most controversial client in the sport, and you came out of nowhere. And now you’ve signed an up-and-coming hockey player. I want your story.”
Damon sighs. “Deal.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say quietly, hoping Lennon doesn’t hear. There’s a reason Damon never did the interview thing after his injury. He was a mess for a year afterward, and it’s still a touchy subject.
Damon turns to
me. “Go to the team’s hotel. Matt’s in room twenty-five oh seven.” He takes out a hotel keycard and hands it over. “Talk to him. I’ll keep this guy at bay.”
I hesitate, because what if what Matt has to say is something I don’t want to hear? Of course, it’s not what I want to hear. If it was, he would’ve told me before he moved to Chicago.
“Trust me,” Damon says.
“You know, whenever anyone says that, it makes me trust them less.”
Damon practically shoves me toward the door. “Go.”
I get one block in the direction of Matt’s hotel before I pause. The name Rick Douglas appears in my subconscious. While I continue to walk, I Google his name. I have to scroll past a whole heap of football shit to find what I’m looking for. Other than owning the Cougars, he’s a businessman who owns a whole range of different corporations in different industries. A lot like …
“Oh, fuck no.” I don’t have to search his companies to know he has to be involved with my father in some capacity.
My feet move faster, the anger in me growing. Where I’ve been dreading to hear what Matt has to say, now I have an urgency for it. It has me running through the hilly streets of Milwaukee trying to get to him. And almost dying in the process. Holy shit. Need air. Stat.
I make it to the hotel, only to be stopped by security. My chest heaves, because screw running, and I put my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.
“Hotel … guest,” I pant and pull out the room key Damon gave me. “In … rush.”
The guy steps aside, and I’m back to running again. From across the lobby, I can see the doors to the elevator shutting, and I push my legs harder. The dude in the elevator sees me coming and doesn’t do anything to hold the doors open. Asshole.
It takes two years for the next one to arrive, and by the time I get to Matt’s door, the adrenaline pumping through me is far from gone. I don’t even bother with knocking and use the key.
All six foot three of him, with tight drawn muscles and that sexy as fuck ass, paces the small area between two queen beds, but he freezes when he sees me in the doorway. “Noah.”
My heart stutters, and I’m stuck in a riptide that’s determined to pull me toward Matt. The only noise to fill the room is the loud click of the door shutting behind me. All the anger, hate, and suspicion morph into lust, want, and need. If I didn’t so desperately need to know what my father did, I’d jump Matt now and ask questions later.
“What did he do?” I ask.
Matt’s brow scrunches. “Who? Damon?”
“My father,” I say through gritted teeth.
Matt goes from confused to surprised as his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He turns his head and refuses to look at me. “Oh. Umm, that. Damon said he—”
I continue to struggle to breathe, and my chest rises and falls hard. “The only name Damon gave me was Rick Douglas. I connected the dots.”
“It doesn’t matter what your father did or didn’t do. All you need to know is staying in New York wasn’t an option. If it was, there would’ve been no contest. If you’d have asked me to stay, again, no contest.” He tries to take steps toward me, but I step back until I hit the door.
“I need to know,” I say.
“Why? All it’s going to do is piss you off.”
“You turned down millions of dollars for me.”
Matt shrugs. “You’re an idiot for thinking I even contemplated taking it. What I feel for you is worth so much more than that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper.
“In not so many words, I was told he could make your charity go away.”
All I can do is blink at him. This guy … he’s it. He’s the guy.
He’ll fight for me. Defend me. Protect me. Choose me above all else—even football if I let him. Which I won’t. But that’s not the point. The point is, Matt is the person I didn’t think would ever exist. The person who’d love me and all my bullshit. The person who could go head to head with my father and come out on my side.
“I didn’t want you to lose the only thing you’ve been excited about in your life,” he says when I don’t say anything. “When you talk about Rainbow Beds, you’re complete. You become animated and passionate, and I know you once told me you’ve never had that. I didn’t want to tell you what he did when you weren’t going to ask me to stay. I broke our deal by falling for you—”
“No. We broke our deal. I think I’ve been in love with you since the minute we landed in New York and you pointed out how spoiled I am. It was all very romantic.”
“What, no love for the guy you met on the cruise?” Matt asks.
“The angry gym rat? Not so much.”
“Hey, you realize I’m still that guy …”
I shake my head. “You’re so much more.”
“Can I please kiss you now?”
“Fuck yes.”
We meet halfway, our mouths coming together too eagerly for either of us to pull back in time. Teeth clash, and we break into simultaneous laughter.
“Ow.” Matt holds his mouth.
“Oops.”
“Am I bleeding?” He moves his hand and bares his teeth.
“You’re all good.” I step closer. “Perfect.” This time when I move in, I go slow. My hand moves into his hair as my lips press softly against his.
Matt moans and grabs my ass with his big hands.
“I’m moving to Chicago.”
Matt stiffens. “W-what?” His hands remain holding me against him, but he pulls his head back.
“I don’t want to live without you, and you can’t give up football for me. You are football. You were willing to give up everything, so I’m the one who should get over myself and actually do it.”
Granted, the only other time I gave up everything for someone, it backfired and I was left in New Jersey getting a poli-sci degree from a sporting college. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, I would’ve transferred to Harvard or Yale or any other Ivy League my dad would pay to get me into, but I finished my degree at Newport to spite him.
But Matt’s different than Nathaniel, and I’m not the naïve eighteen-year-old I was back then.
“What am I leaving behind?” I ask. “I love New York, but—”
“Your charity.”
“Pretty sure Chicago has homeless gay teens too. It’s depressing I can take my charity anywhere, but it works in our favor.”
“My contract is only for a year. If you set it up here, and then they cut me—”
“Rainbow Beds is nowhere near ready to be launched. We’re still in the planning stages. And if it stays in New York, we can work something out. I can fly back and forth when you’re on the road, and your season’s only five months … less if you don’t make playoffs, but I have faith.”
Matt pulls back. “You know how long football season is?”
“I looked it up.” Yep, I’m totally gone for this guy. I’m scheduling shit.
“Okay, and what about your dad? He’ll cut you off if you do this.”
“I’m so horribly scared about that,” I say dryly. “Let him leave his fortune to my cousins who don’t believe I deserve a claim to the Huntington fortune anyway.”
“You’d give up millions of dollars for me?”
“Would be more impressive if I wasn’t worth more than my father, but sure, let’s go with that.”
Matt playfully shoves me, but I grab his arm and bring him against me. I don’t want to ever stop touching him. Ever. Might make football practice hard, but I’m determined I can pull it off.
“If it makes you feel any better, if I had to choose between you and my money, you’d win. Always. You’re the only person who’s ever understood why I’m the way I am, and I’m in love with you, you dumbass.”
The smile Matt gives me makes breaking down my walls and putting my heart on the line worth it.
He touches his forehead to mine. “I’m in love with you too, idiot.”
“You speak to me wi
th such affection.”
“You started it,” Matt mumbles.
And I finish it by gripping his shirt and dragging him backward toward the beds. I turn and push him down, but he quickly stands again. “That one’s Talon’s, and I don’t think he’d appreciate us fucking in his bed.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Now we’re in a serious relationship and shit, isn’t the sex meant to stop?”
“If that’s what you think a relationship is, I’m out. Right now.”
I bring him close and breathe him in. “I really did create a monster when I took your virginity, didn’t I?”
“First, you didn’t take my virginity. And second, my coaches will be able to blame you for my lack of concentration because all I’ll be able to think about on the field is your end zone.”
“Mmm, speak football to me. Ooh, in your Southern accent.”
Matt’s lips latch onto my earlobe and then trail down my neck. “Instead, how ’bout I fuck you so hard you cain’t remember your bank balance and the only thing fallin’ from yer lips will be mah name?”
I groan. “I know this isn’t the point, but I already don’t know my bank balance. Unless a lot is an official currency.”
“Get on the bed,” he growls.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m on my back faster than a virgin on a hooker. We shed our shirts, shoes, and socks, and Matt drops his pants and boxers, while I fumble with my stupid jeans.
Never go designer jeans. Stupid buttons instead of a zipper.
“Do you have supplies?” Matt asks.
That stops me short. “No. Don’t you? You’re the one who moved here.”
“Not in Milwaukee. Who was I going to fuck at training camp?”
“Who was I going to fuck here when we were broken up?” I throw back. “You don’t even have lube for jerking off? I was tested after Aron, and I haven’t been with anyone—”
“Nrgh.” Matt bites his knuckles. “There is nothing I want more than to go bareback with you, but I didn’t bring lube. Again, training camp. Didn’t think I’d have much downtime to jerk off.”
“Hotel freebie lotion?” The whine in my voice is hard to hide.