SAXON JAMES

To Simon.

No, you will never read this.

Chapter One

Everything about my house is the same.

And yet, totally different.

I glance over at Liam as he zips up his bag, the finality of the sound cutting through the quiet.

“Is that everything?” I don’t want to ask the question. My voice hitches on the way out.

He gives me a rueful smile. “Not like there was a whole lot to grab.”

I feel his words like a stab in the chest, because he’s right. We’ve dated for six years, and I’ve lived here for the last three, yet everything that belongs to him manages to fit in the one bag. Rubbing my jaw, I feel the urge to apologize again.

“Don’t,” Liam warns, and he actually manages a small laugh. “This isn’t on you.”

But that’s definitely how our break-up feels. “I should have done more.”

So help me, the little shit rolls his eyes. “Do we really need to go over this again?”

With a sigh, I drop onto my couch, trying to forget the nights we spent here. He can say this has nothing to do with my football career all he likes, I think we both know that if I’d come out a while ago, this wouldn’t be happening now. As a wide receiver, I can catch a throw from a football field away, but I didn’t catch on that this is where our relationship was headed until it was too late.

Liam drops his overnight bag onto the coffee table and flops down beside me. His big brown eyes hold all the sympathy in the world for me, but there isn’t an ounce of regret. “You didn’t even cry when I suggested we end things.”

“Neither did you.”

“That’s my point.” He takes my hand. Small, pale fingers link with my thick, dark ones. “For the last six months, we’ve just been two friends hanging out. It’s not like we’ve been having sex, and I can’t remember the last time I stayed over.”

“It was—” I frown. Not last week. The one before? How the fuck can’t I remember that? I drop my head into my free hand. “How the hell did we get to this point?”

“You’re incredibly focused. And yeah, we agreed you should keep your sexuality to yourself while you played but I guess I didn’t really know what that meant. But when I spent more time at events talking to your teammates than you…” He sighs. “I’m tired, Taryn. I want to travel, I want someone who loves me so much he’d risk everything”—I go to cut him off but he talks over the top of me—“and someone I love so much that I’d never expect him to.”

“You don’t love me anymore.” It’s not a question, just resignation.

“And you don’t love me.”

I wish like hell I could deny it, but he’s right. “What do I do without you?”

Liam stands up, stretching out his neck as he reaches for his bag. “You don’t need to be without me. We’ve been friends even longer than we were dating. Not right away, but… maybe we could have that again.”

“Maybe,” I mutter. But now this is it, the weirdest urge to beg him to stay comes over me. I won’t, because he’s completely right. But the change seems way too big for me to handle. Liam pauses in front of me and his fingers press against my chin, coaxing me to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being the best boyfriend you could, given the circumstances.”

The smile I give him feels as dry as my words. “So not a great one then.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. You’ve always been incredibly sweet, and if you were that amazing for a guy you weren’t in love with, I can only imagine how you’ll be with someone you are.” His pink lips curve into a small smile then he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

Just as he turns away, I snatch his hand. But I don’t know what to say. It’s that panic again, that fear of change, and after a moment of waiting, Liam squeezes my hand and leaves. I hear his footsteps descending the stairs and a moment later the front door opens and closes, then…

Silence.

A silence so big it seems to ripple through the whole house. It makes it feel emptier than ever, even though Liam barely took more than his clothes.

Jesus.

I run my nails over my short hair. “What the fuck do I do now?”

My only answer is the lonely silence, stretching out around me.

Chapter Two

As I leave the office, my eyes feel dry and scratchy every time I blink. I left my glasses at home again, and while I hate wearing them most of the time, they’re necessary when I’m sitting in front of a computer screen all day.

Ahh. I rub my palms into my eyes, welcoming the relief. I’ve wrapped up most of my work for tomorrow, so tonight I’m really looking forward to letting off some steam.

Rainer answers on the first ring and agrees to meet me at a bar two blocks from my apartment in Newark. I swing home to change out of my button-up that stinks of stale office air fresheners and high stakes punting, grab a shower, and pull on a black Henley and some jeans.

The last thing I want is to wear my glasses while I’m trying to pick up, but with my eyes hurting the way they do, I seriously consider it. Some guys out there like nerdy work-a-holics. In the end, I put my glasses back down and scrub at my eyes instead, wishing I could handle contact lenses.

It’s dark by the time I walk the two blocks to Oscar’s Garage, and even for mid-September, it’s not too bad out. The fresh air is a nice change from the recirculated air in our office.

Oscar’s Garage is our usual haunt and Rainer’s already at the bar when I walk in. There are booths on a raised platform on the far side, a huge dance floor at the back of the room, and pool tables lined up near the entrance. Normally Rainer would be holed up in one of the booths—it’s easier to size up potential one-nighters that way—but it’s easy to see why he’s steered clear.

There’s a huge group up there, occupying almost all the space and being noisier than the normal crowd. I slide onto the stool beside Rainer and lift my eyebrows toward the commotion. “Party, you think?”

“Nope. It’s the Sharks.”

I hum as he orders me a drink and lean back a little to try to get a better view. The Sharks won today, and since their game was at the stadium a few blocks away, I’m not exactly surprised to see them here.

Trying to block out the rowdy group, I turn my attention to the rest of the bar. It’s busy for a Sunday, and I can only assume it has something to do with the mass of recently victorious NFL players. Not that I mind. The more people here, the more chance I have of hooking up.

It quickly becomes clear, though, that no one is interested in paying attention to anyone who hasn’t spent the night tackling sweaty dudes, which is unfortunate considering that’s exactly what I want to spend the night doing.

“This blows,” I moan over my beer.

Rainer shakes his head. “I wish it blowed. I don’t think we’re gonna get far here tonight.” Which is surprising, because Rainer never has a problem hooking up. And now he’s back from Ibiza, his fresh tan makes his hair look blonder and his eyes look bluer—I would have assumed he’d be fighting guys off.

I don’t want to admit defeat, but after another half an hour with absolutely no interest, I figure it’s time to move on. “Should we head out?”

“Damn, I thought you’d never ask. Grenade?”

Even when I’m desperate to get off, gay bars aren’t really my scene. I never have a problem finding a guy willing to go down on me then and there, but what happened to conversation? Flirting? The thrill of is this happening or not happening? At Grenade all it takes is some heavy eye contact, grinding on the dance floor, and then you’re in a bathroom stall with your cock buried down some rando’s throat.

“Let me take a piss first,” I say, resigned to the fact that’ll be all the action I get tonight. I stop by the bar and order a shot that I throw back before moving on. I cringe against the taste as I turn into the hall leading to the bathrooms.

Considering how busy the bar is, the hallway is clear and the bathroom is empty. The smell of piss and alcohol blankets the urinal, so I rush through my business as quickly as I can before finishing up and washing my hands.

As soon as I glance in the mirror, I regret not wearing my glasses. Even my own face doesn’t look right through my hazy vision. It lowers my standards massively, though at this rate, tonight is probably going to be a bust. Usually by now, I’m buzzing with energy and alcohol and have hit the dance floor at least once. Tonight… nothing.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

Not that I have a whole lot of other choices. Most of the guys I had on rotation have paired up and moved on, but my job makes that nearly impossible. Bookmaking follows the NFL roster, and with three game nights a week it doesn’t leave much time after balancing the books and taking the next round of bets. Still, I take what life throws at me, and so far, I’m making good money and living a comfortable life, even if I don’t have time to share it with someone.

Things could be worse.

I grab some paper towels as the door swings open, and a guy stumbles inside. He barely glances my way as he heads for the urinal, and while I’m all for letting people get on with their business, there’s something about the way he’s leaning into the hand propped on the wall that makes me think this guy is way past wasted.

I clear my throat, but he still doesn’t notice me. I wait until he finishes up. “You doing okay?”

He turns sluggishly, tugging at the zipper of his fly. Something about him seems really familiar, but I can’t pinpoint what it is. We definitely haven’t met before, but with my blurry eyesight and his cap, it’s nearly impossible to tell.

He doesn’t answer, just stumbles over to the sink and pounds his hand against the tap until it turns on. The guy is a complete mess. I try to stop my eyebrows from creeping upward, but the effort is useless at this point, and frankly, he’s paying me next to no attention.

I cross my arms and lean into the wall, figuring I might as well watch the train wreck unfold since I have nothing else going on tonight.

He flicks his cap back as he shoves his hands under the water and splashes it on his face, but the cap’s pulled down low again almost immediately. I grab a bunch of paper towels and hand them over to him.

“Feel better?”

He grunts, drying his face.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Neanderthal,” I reply.

The guy blinks as he turns his head, seemingly trying to focus on me. “Do I know you?”

“Do you know anyone at this point? You’re trashed.”

“Eh. Nothing new.”

“Sounds healthy.”

He grunts again, leaning his hip against the counter, which I guess is as good a signal as any to keep this going.

“Want to tell me why you decided to write yourself off tonight?”

Snort. “Jesus, where would I even start?”

“I’m assuming you started with the first drink and it all went downhill from there. Are you celebrating or sulking?” I hesitate before adding, “Or that bad at holding your alcohol?”

“Supposed to be celebrating, permanently sulking, and I’m normally way better at holding my drink, but I haven’t eaten today.”

It takes me a moment to realize I’m looking up at him which is a nice change. Tall guys are my type, but it’s rare I find one this much taller. And he has tattoos that start under his sleeve and end at the elbow of his left arm. Tattooed guys are definitely my type. Still, I don’t know where to go with everything he’s unloaded. I guess I’m supposed to ask about the first two things, or even why the hell he hasn’t eaten today, but it all feels a bit too personal to get into while standing in a disgusting men’s bathroom.

“Okay, I’m going to be real with you here. While any other night, I’d love to stand around chatting through your issues, I’m here to hook up, so I’m going to head out and try to make the most of it.” Even if a tiny part of me recognizes it’s probably a lost cause.

He chuckles. “Go get some pussy.”

I cringe, and I’m not sure if it’s the assumption or the bitter tone he uses that makes me react that way. “No pussy for me, but thanks for the support.”

That gets his attention. His tight jaw loosens, and if I could see them, I’d bet his eyebrows were near his hairline.

“You’re…”

“Queer as fuck.”

I’m expecting him to take the usual step away, but instead, he subtly shifts closer under the pretense of turning his back to the sinks. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been watching for it. The guy clears his throat and looks down as someone else enters and makes their way toward the urinal, throwing us odd looks. Nothing I’m not used to, and yeah, I’d probably be doing the same if I walked in on two guys hanging out by the sinks.

The man washes his hands, still looking at us without looking at us, and the guy next to me tugs his hat down a bit farther.

I should follow the man out, find Rainer and leave, but curiosity has always been my enemy. When we’re finally alone again, I offer a smile. Wanting to tease him a bit, I take a moment to give him a really obvious once-over. His arm muscles are one of the first things I notice as well as his incredible square jaw. He looks to be in crazy good shape, and everything about him is dark. Dark skin, coarse stubble, and short hair almost fully hidden by his cap. By the time I meet his black eyes again, they’re wide, like he’s in shock over being checked out. Yep, I’m getting a vibe from this guy that he’s maybe interested but deeply closeted

“Well, good talk.” I’m pretty content staying here, but I want to test him. If I’m right, he’ll either let me leave—no loss there—or if he’s desperate enough…

A hand grabs my arm before I can take two steps.

Bingo.

He lets go before I turn back to him, but sorry, man, the damage is done. Now I know exactly where his head is at. What I don’t know is where this is heading.

If we were at Grenade, I’d have my tongue down his throat by now, but his hesitance is cute and probably more of a turn on than it should be. I don’t say anything, not wanting to make it easy for him. Instead I leave him enough silence to feel like he needs to fill it.

“Ah, I… thanks. For talking, I guess.” He huffs out a breath, and I get the feeling he wants to say more. This time, I help him out.

“I might be totally off base here, but I feel like there’s a lot you don’t talk about. Like maybe how similar our tastes are.”

He rubs the back of his neck, basically confirming my theory.

I push on. “That kind of shit can eat at you, so you might want to think about finding someone to talk to.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“You don’t even know me. And you’re drunk. That doesn’t count.”

“Maybe it’s easier because I don’t know you. And… you don’t know me.”

I tip my head to the side. He’s right about that. Sometimes it’s easier to let things out with people who have no preconceived ideas of who you are. That said, I’m not so sure I want to play the role of shrink when I’ve got so much else going on in my life.

“I tell you what, give me your cell.”

He hesitates. “Why?”

“I’m going to put my number in there, and if, when you’re not drunk, you feel like talking, you’ll have someone to reach out to.”

He stares for a moment, all dark and brooding, before attempting to slide his cell from his jeans pocket. And he must be well and truly wasted because he can’t even manage that.

It must be the liquid courage that makes me step forward, dig my fingers into his pocket, and slide out his phone. I’m doing my best not to look at him, not to focus on his drool-worthy arm muscles that work beneath his dark skin as he lifts his hand to unlock the screen.

I focus on getting my number right, still, this close to him, I can’t block out how good he smells. The potent smell of alcohol is balanced out by whatever scent he’s wearing.

I flip the phone around and his hand comes up between us so he can look at the screen. My number is saved under A Friend which I thought sounded marginally better than “Bathroom boy.”

When I finally give in and look up at him, he’s already staring at me. His eyebrows are bunched together, and his dark eyes are wary. This close, he looks even more familiar, like when you briefly knew someone years ago but can’t remember from where. Fuck, I wish I’d worn my glasses.

I don’t mention the familiarity, in case we’ve hooked up before. He clearly isn’t up for anything like that tonight—unfortunately—because I have a feeling he’d be a good lay. And I also have a feeling Rainer’s found a hookup, or he would have been in here ages ago.

The guy clears his throat, as though he’s only now noticed we’re blatantly staring at each other. “I’m T,” he says.

I smirk a little at him only giving a letter, but I play along too. “E.”

T’s face relaxes for the first time since he stumbled into the bathroom, and damn if it doesn’t make him look even hotter. His gaze slides over my face, tracing down my body. Warmth builds in my stomach as he pins me with a heated stare, and if he wasn’t so drunk and confused, I’d push him up against the wall. I’m still kind of tempted. We’re so close. I try to focus on his incredible, full lips but my vision isn’t cooperating. Which isn’t such a big deal when he shifts subtly closer and my skin prickles at his body’s warmth.

So instead, I step back from him. “You’ve got friends out there, right?”

“Yep.” He doesn’t sound happy about it. Maybe they’re not close? Maybe they’re work colleagues? That would explain why no one’s come looking for him either.

“Great. Well, maybe I’ll hear from you, maybe I won’t.”

T looks like he wants to say something else, so I quickly leave. Taking advantage of drunk guys is a solid no in my rulebook, and I don’t want him making that decision harder than it already is.

Especially when something else is harder than it should be.

I check my cell as I head out, finding a text from Rainer letting me know he was leaving. Fine by me. I take a cab the few blocks back home, resigned to spending the night with my hand.

And for the first time in a while, that thought doesn’t depress the fuck out of me.

Chapter Three

I groan, long and drawn out, but it does nothing to ease the pounding in my head. We won our game yesterday, and then… I’m pretty sure I must have gotten fucked up and passed out. It wouldn’t be the first time lately.

My muscles protest as I push up and stumble across the hotel room to the bathroom, trying not to wake my teammate Zane. He’s out of it though, which is lucky because the door slams closed behind me way louder than I mean it to.

After throwing up my guts, I dunk my head under the running faucet. The cold water feels good, but as soon as I switch it off again, the pounding and churning and stink of bad decisions hits me again.

Kill me now.

I slump onto the ground, legs thrown out in front of me, a long groan echoing from my chest. Everything sucks.

I’m still in last night’s clothes, so I was clearly well past the point of coherence, and I shift a little to try to pull out my phone. The light burns my eyeballs, and I cringe as I dim the intensity.

Like every night after I get shitfaced, I check Google alerts for my name, and once I’ve made sure the only hits are from the game yesterday, the dread in my stomach starts to lessen a little.

For now.

Until the next time when missing Liam gets too much and I drink until I forget. I drop my cell and press my hands against my eyes, knowing this isn’t healthy. In the moments when I’m not missing what we had, I can think clearly. I know drinking isn’t the answer, and I know that I’m quickly heading to a place I won’t be able to come back from if this goes on much longer, but every time I lurk Liam’s social media pages and see his life going on without me, this cold panic hits and I’d do anything to make it go away.

It’s been a month and a half and there’s only so much time football can fill. A yawn stretches my mouth, and I push back up, heading out to grab some ibuprofen.

Zane is lying on his back watching me, eyes narrowed at the early morning sunlight. He’s pissed I’ve woken him again, but imagine how pissed he’d be if he knew I was gay and he was lying there with barely a sheet bunched up around his waist.

Not like I’d look, but try telling anyone that.

I’m down to my last few pills, so I take them and crawl back into bed, trying to remember anything from the night before. We won the game—bringing us to one win and one loss—did the press conference, showered and went to a bar. Where I sat and drank. And drank. And got hit on by chicks which made me drink even more.

Something else nags at my memory, though. It’s just a feeling. Surprisingly, it’s a pleasant one, but I can’t place it for the life of me.

I finally get up properly at lunch time to drag my ass onto the team bus. It’s over an hour and a half to get home to Philadelphia, and thank god my hangover has eased enough for the ride to not be complete torture.

This is normally the point where I’d text Liam to tell him I’m on my way home. I open up my contacts, scrolling down to his name, stupidly hovering my thumb over it. I’m turned a little away from Zane who’s talking smack with O’Brien about what he got up to last night, and I wish their conversation was enough to keep me distracted.

I sigh, long and pathetic. Zane shoots me a look, but I ignore him, turning instead to my messages. Hopefully my sister will meet up with me for dinner, and maybe that will help take my mind off it. It’s not like she was ever convinced we’d last.

But when I tap on my message icon, an unsent text opens.

You’re realgy easy 2 talk 2. and cute. Ca8 I say you;re cute? Iw anred

What the damn hell? It ends there and I’m so damn happy it does. How drunk was I? Who the hell was I texting? The number is saved under A Friend which gives me exactly zero clue, but that weird pleasant feeling from this morning comes back. Even if my brain doesn’t remember the person, my body clearly does.

It has to be a guy, and I’m suddenly very worried I got drunk enough to flirt with someone in front of my team. But they’re not acting as if anything is out of the ordinary, so maybe I’m okay. I quickly delete the nonsense text, deliberating over sending a far more sober one. But what the hell do I say? “Sorry I got blackout drunk last night and don’t remember who this is? Think you could help me out?” I cringe at the mental image.

I want to delete the number and move on, but I’ve never been someone who can leave questions unanswered. I know I’ll write back eventually, so might as well get it out of the way now.

Me: On a scale of “one” to “never-text-me-again,” how drunk was I last night?

I hit send before I get a chance to second guess myself. Did I give the guy my number? Does he know who I am?

Oh shit, does he? Panic surges through me at the thought this guy is off telling his friends all about the drunk football player who hit on him. Did I hit on him? Was it… more?

No way. Even drunk I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have crossed that line.

At least I hope not.

Jesus. Speculation about my sexuality is the last thing I need at the moment. I’ve never felt comfortable telling the team I’m gay, no matter how many times I’ve wanted to, and it would be a huge fucking joke for the universe to out me right after I lost Liam over it.

We’re an hour into the trip, and I’m sweating through my shirt with anxiety that

A Friend still hasn’t written back, when my cell chimes with a text.

A Friend: Pretty far from a one, but not as bad as never-text-me-again. You were lingering around “too-drunk-to-hit-on” though, which was mildly disappointing.

I smirk, both flattered and nervous.

Me: Only mildly?

His response is instant.

A Friend: I’m trying to play it cool, you know, so stop fishing for compliments. We’re both well aware of how hot you are, but even if you weren’t drunk, I doubt I would have hit on you anyway.

Okay, so he says I’m hot, says he was disappointed nothing happened, but now he’s claiming nothing would have?

Me: I’ll play along. Why?

A Friend: Because you’re “permanently sulking,” remember?

I clear my throat before finally fessing up.

Me: I don’t, actually. I don’t remember anything. I found your number in my phone.

A Friend: Well, don’t you make a guy feel special?

A guy? It doesn’t read like the genderless “guys” so it gives me hope A Friend is a he. Hopefully a he who knows how to keep a secret.

Me: Sorry? Honestly, I don’t know why I’m texting a complete stranger. It’s kinda weird.

A Friend: Yeah it is. Haven’t you ever heard of stranger-danger, T?

Me: I can hold my own. So… can I ask for your name again?

A Friend: I’ll give you as much as you’ve given me: E.

Me: Wait, you don’t know my name?

A Friend: Nope, all you’d give up is a letter. I’m cool with that though, privacy and all.

I try not to get my hopes up. If he doesn’t know my name, then he clearly doesn’t know who I am. Of course, he could be lying, waiting to get a whole story on me before leaking it to the highest bidder, but… I’ve been lonely. So lonely. And there’s no harm in talking to someone, right? As long as I keep it low-key and stop with the flirting, I won’t give this guy anything he can use against me.

Me: Now who’s talking to a stranger?

A Friend: True, though I at least remember how we met. So… I know you don’t remember, but I told you maybe you should talk to someone about whatever it is you’re so conflicted about. I’m not sure where you are or who you’re with, so I won’t specify, but we both know what it is. I gave you my number in case you needed someone, but don’t feel obligated to make that someone me.

I frown at my screen, because yeah, I clearly know what he’s talking about. It seems to be all I can think about these days. Surely I didn’t come out and tell him, though—I never talk about it.

Me: Can I call you when I get home?

A Friend: Yeah. Sure. How long will that be?

Me: About half an hour. We’re almost back in Philly.

A Friend: Philly? As in Philadelphia?

Me: Where else would I mean?

A Friend: Wow… I didn’t realize you lived so far away.

That’s good. If he’s surprised by where I live, then he really must not know who I am. The rest of my team wasn’t hard to miss last night, and surely everyone—even people who don’t follow the NFL—know the Sharks come from Philly. Again, it could be lies. But while I’ll be careful, I like to see the best in people.

Me: You live in Jersey?

A Friend: Yep. Moved here about three years ago.

Me: Where from?

A Friend: Places. It’s a long story, and I really only have the emotional capacity to focus on one person’s crisis at a time.

Me: Maybe we’ll come back to that.

A Friend: Maybe we will.

I stop texting at that, my head a mess. There’s still a vague pounding in my forehead, but it’s easy to ignore most of the time. Most of the time being when my head is cycling through possibilities.

E—whoever he is—sounds like an okay guy. I frown a little, trying to remember last night, trying to find a face to put to the letter, but I still come up empty. Maybe I could ask him to video chat? Or for his real name so I can stalk him on social media?

But if I did either of those things, he’d expect me to reciprocate and that’s not going to happen.

I’m antsy all the way back to our home stadium where we climb out of the bus, wave each other goodbye, and take off. My car is waiting in the exact place I parked it, and thank god, it’s only a ten-minute drive back to my house. I’m tired, and I really need to shower, but damn if I’m not desperate to hear E’s voice.

When I’m finally home, I dump my bags and jog up the stairs. I concede that a shower isn’t optional at this point, and I kind of feel bad for Zane having to sit next to me smelling like a mix of beer and sweat.

Not pretty.

After my shower, I inspect the wicked bruise blooming on my side from a good hit one of the defenders got on me yesterday. It’s not too bad, but it’s going to be tender for a while. I quickly pull on a shirt and some sweats, almost desperate to get E on the phone.

Sitting on my couch, my mouth is kind of dry as I look at the number. I have no reason to be nervous—I don’t even know this person—but that doesn’t stop my hands from getting clammy.

At the last moment I grab a bottle of water and my cap, pulling it down over my face. It’s all I was wearing last night and if he didn’t recognize me then, he’s clearly not a sports person. Hitting Video Call, I remind myself to breathe.

The phone rings once before it connects and—wow. The guy on the other end is… well, I can see why I let him give me his number.

He’s got really dark blond hair pulled back in a hair tie, dark lashes, and the most incredible full lips I’ve ever seen. My stare trails to the beauty mark just above the left side of his mouth as he hurriedly pulls off his glasses.

“You could have warned me you were video calling.” His unexpectedly deep voice goes straight to my cock.

“Umm… hi.” I inwardly cringe at how squeaky my voice sounds.

E doesn’t seem to notice, though. His slightly panicked look melts away. “Hey, yourself.” His eyes narrow suddenly. “You’re wearing your hat again.”

“Yep. I do most of the time.”

“But you’re at home.” His voice carries a hint of laughter.

I shrug, but he can’t see it with the way I’m holding the phone. “I’m shy.”

This time he really does laugh. “Somehow I doubt that. But since all I can see is your nose and that jawline I was drooling over last night, it seems like someone doesn’t want me to know what he looks like.”

“Cute and smart. I’m glad I got too drunk for you to hit on, but not too drunk for you to give me your number.”

“I didn’t give you my number so you could call and flirt with me.” He lifts one eyebrow shrewdly, and my eyes are glued to the way those perfect lips tilt up in the corner. “I was genuine about talking.”

“Are you single?” I ask.

His eyes narrow a little, but I know my question has piqued his interest. “Yes,” he says, guardedly.

“And are you gay?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t see the harm in flirting while we talk. Do you?”

A light smile crosses his face as he props his cell up and lies back on his sofa. “Guess not.”

“Good. Because if you were opposed to it, I’d have to hang up now.”

“Oh yeah, and why is that?”

“Now who’s fishing for compliments?”

“If you want to hand them out, I’m definitely not going to say no.”

I laugh a little. “I’d have to hang up because I don’t think we could get through a whole conversation without flirting.”

E tucks his hands up behind his head, and I let my gaze roam over the nice muscles in his arms. “You nearly managed it last night.”

“Damn, I wish I hadn’t gotten so drunk. I wouldn’t have stopped you if you had made a move.”

“Yeah, you would have.”

I blink. “Why the hell do you think that?”

“Because we were in a public place. Closeted guys don’t tend to kiss guys in public restrooms.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“You couldn’t have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign.”

My face blanches. I feel the color fade from my cheeks as I wonder what I did to be so obvious. Does anyone else know? It seems unlikely considering no one has mentioned it.

“Hey, don’t freak out,” he hurries to say. “Only because I was paying attention. That’s the only way I picked up on it. I’ve been with a few closeted guys, and let’s just say, I know the signs.”

I grumble a little, hoping it sounds like I’m not happy about the whole obvious comment, and not that picturing him with another guy sends a flare of something through me. It’s pretty hot to imagine.

“I have three questions,” he suddenly says. He’s watching the ceiling above him, no longer focused on the phone, but I can’t drag my eyes away.

“Shoot.” As nervous as I am over what those questions could be, I can refuse to answer any that are too personal.

“Okay. First, what were you supposed to be celebrating yesterday?”

“Ahh…” That question is pretty high on my list of things not to answer. “A work success.”

“Promotion?”

“No, nothing like that. Me and my… work team… we met a pretty big goal of ours.”

“Wow, that’s great,” he answers, without pushing for more details. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks…” I rub at the back of my neck. It’s not like I’m lying, but I haven’t given him the whole truth either.

“Second question: why are you permanently sulking?”

I sigh. “I’m not sure if it’s too early to be talking about that embarrassment.”

His attention snaps back to me. “Well, that’s got me interested.”

I chuckle as he rolls onto his stomach, moving closer to the screen.

“The whole point of giving you my number is so you can tell me stuff like this,” he says, kindly. Like I should trust him. I don’t—he’s a complete stranger—but I want to.

“My boyfriend left me,” I finally say.

He whistles low. “Yeah, that’s rough.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“But… I thought you were in the closet?”

“I am. Mostly.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I think for a moment, considering talking about my ex with this guy. “No, not really. Liam’s in the past now. But we were together for six years, so it’s been hard.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Almost two months now.”

E hisses in a breath. “Think he’ll come back?”

“No. I know he won’t.” I don’t mean for my voice to sound so bitter. “Anyway, enough about him. I can’t really complain, with this view in front of me.”

E smiles, but there’s a tinge of sadness there. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “But I’ve done the upset thing. I’m at the point where I want to put the hurt behind me.”

He nods, and it’s nice talking to someone who seems to understand. But the last thing I want is to get into too much and have E think I’m still hung up on my ex. Which I am. I know I am. But also… if anyone can get me to move on, maybe it’ll be E.

“You had a third question?”

“Yeah.” His soft tone quickly turns teasing. “Why didn’t you eat yesterday?”

It’s not what I expected, and a small laugh jumps from me as I wonder how much I told him. “I never eat when I’m nervous.”

He hums, narrowing his hazel eyes. “Interesting. And with that, I don’t feel like I know you any better at all.”

For some reason, that kind of bugs me. “What do you want to know?”

He opens his mouth to reply when there’s a noise on the other end. E quickly sits up, disappearing from view. There’s another guy’s voice, and I’m worried for a split second that maybe he lied about not being with someone, when that someone’s face fills the screen.

He looks smaller than E, with blue eyes, blond hair and a little turned up nose.

“Oh, Elliot, you didn’t lie! He’s a real hunk.”

I’m about to angle my face down more when the phone is quickly snatched back up and E’s gorgeous—flushed—face is back. “Sorry, sorry. Rainer often lets himself into my apartment and apparently doesn’t understand the words ‘get out.’”

I smile. “So, Elliot, huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. You know my name now. Do I get yours?”

A first name isn’t a lot to go off, but Taryn isn’t the most common name, and I’m worried if I give him that much, he’ll make the connection. “Do you mind if I keep that to myself for a bit?”

Elliot’s eyes narrow. “Should I be asking you if you’re single?”

“I told you I was.”

“Yes, but that could easily be a sob story to draw me in.”

I scowl, even though he has every right to point that out. “I’m not like that.”

“Okay…” His eyebrows knit. “You’re very secretive, though.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head but I don’t elaborate.

“Come on, honey!” Rainer urges from off screen.

“Are you going somewhere?” I ask.

“Yes, well some drunk guy cockblocked me last night, so now I’m desperate enough to try again tonight.”

I clench my jaw against that answer, wishing I was still in New Jersey so I could be the one he hooks up with. I’m kicking myself that I missed the chance.

“What was that?” he asks, the tension finally leaving his face.

“What?”

“That… snort.”

“There was no snort.”

“Totally was. Are you jealous?” His perfect lips stretch into a smile.

“Don’t be so damn ridiculous.”

He hums. “Okay… but so you know, if you were…” He leans in close, hazel eyes looking huge. “It would make me so fucking hard.”

I catch my breath at his words as I watch him look down, then back up again with a grin.

“Oops. Too late.”

The line disconnects, and I stare at my distorted reflection for a second before I let out a little laugh. Oh boy, Elliot is going to be trouble.

I flop back on my sofa, letting his face fill my mind. Damn… he’s so gorgeous I wish I’d made a move last night. My eyes drift closed as I picture pushing him back into a wall, his hot mouth on mine as I drive my fingers into his hair. My breathing picks up as I imagine him kneeling, undoing my fly, and slipping my cock between his perfect lips.

Sliding my hand under the waistband of my sweats, I grip my shaft, giving it a solid stroke, substituting my hand for his mouth. As I work faster, I see myself gripping his hair, pumping my hips until I’m hitting the back of his throat. Until he’s moaning around me, scrambling to undo his own pants so he can jerk himself off.

Oh damn… It’s so hot, my orgasm builds quickly, before crashing over me in waves.

I cry out, my whole body drawing tight, cum spurting over my hand, leaving a sticky mess inside my underwear. Collapsing back into the cushions, I try to catch my breath.

My brain is struggling to work out what happened, but what I do know is that image was fucking hot.

But then I remind myself of what Elliot’s plans are for the night, and I come crashing down from my high. I shouldn’t care. I know it shouldn’t matter how many guys he’s with because the likelihood of us seeing each other again is next to zero, but damn it if I don’t feel jealous anyway.

Chapter Four

From Thursday morning through Monday night, work takes over my life. I’m only supposed to work a standard eight-hour day but there’s no way I’d be able to keep my clients happy, balance the last week’s winnings, and prepare the odds for the coming week in that short amount of time. So I get to the office at seven, and I’m usually there until at least seven at night.

Most of the other people in the office have the same level of commitment. Gary, the owner, barely leaves his office except to follow up on us all, and Suzanne is our administrator, so she doesn’t have the same heavy workload as the rest of us. In all honesty, I like being busy. It fills the time I would otherwise spend moping around my apartment. I mean, what do people actually do outside of work? Meet for drinks? Surely that would get boring, night after night, week after week. Having someone to come home to would be great, I guess, but what happens when you reach the stage of takeout and TV every night. Where the hell do you go from there?

I laugh and shake my head. That’s not something I have to worry about for a long time. I’ve made good money in the two years I’ve been working at Lewers and Co., and I plan to make a fair bit more in the next five. That’s all I’m giving myself. By the time I hit thirty, I should have enough to be comfortable until I find a job I love.

Bookmaking isn’t exactly a steady industry.

It isn’t exactly a legal one either.

My cell buzzes with another text from T. We’ve been going back and forth over the past couple of days and even made some time for another video call last night. I like talking to him, and thank fuck I don’t have to play the part of shrink because I sure as hell don’t have a degree. Or enough common sense, for that matter. He’s usually winding down from his day when I get home from work, and I wish he didn’t live in fucking Philly because I would have liked to see him again.

I fish out my phone and check the screen. He’s sent me something totally random—he seems to a few times a day—as though he puts the first thought he has into words. I’m not sure what to make of it, but at least he’s not cagey and calculating like a few of my past hookups.

T: Just saw two people on a tandem bike. Reckon it’d be twice or half as hard to ride?

Me: I’d say twice as hard.

T: Well, you’re the numbers guy. Decisive. I like it.

I almost slip up and say “I like you” but that’s about the dumbest thing I could possibly think of. Sure, he’s fun to talk to, and I spend most nights thinking of him while I jerk off, but I have no clue who he is. No name, no details, and I doubt I’d recognize him without that damn hat on.

He’s still T, who has a killer jaw, silky dark skin, a smart mouth, and works with some kind of sport.

I snort at that. Like how my work is something to do with numbers.

The secrecy is odd. I’m not sure whether to hate it or love it. For right now, it’s a turn on. It’s fun and new, but I can see it getting old fast. I don’t want a boyfriend, and unless he comes back to New Jersey soon—preferably not still hung up on his ex—he won’t be a one-night stand either. So why am I continuing this thing?

I don’t write back. There’s no point other than to ease his fragile ego back into dating land, and I’ve got way too much shit on my plate to deal with some closeted Adonis.

The more he tells me about his ex, the more I sympathize with his ex. A six-year secret relationship? What the hell is wrong with this guy?

I snort and turn back to my laptop, flipping my phone face down to be safe.

During NFL season, I spend the first half of my week checking team lineups and team matchups and balancing the odds on certain players getting benched or injured. There are odds on who will score first, what the winning margin will be, and people have already started betting on who will make the Super Bowl and who will be MVP. It’s exhausting trying to stay on top of it all.

So no, I’m definitely not looking for a boyfriend.

Seven o’clock hits, and I couldn’t stay later if I tried. There’s a game on later, but I’m done taking bets for tonight. I tuck my glasses into their case, stow away my laptop, and start the walk home. The sun is already dipping low on the horizon and most of the buildings around block out the light and cast dark shadows over the sidewalks. This is my favorite time of year. The evening air is cool but not cold, and I swear the scent of pumpkin spice lattes is everywhere—which I oddly hate to drink but love to smell.

I haven’t checked my cell in a few hours, and I know by this point, I’m being stubborn. If T has messaged me, he’s hardly waiting around for me to write back when he’s well aware I was at work.

Still, when I pull out my phone and only find a text from Rainer and a few social media notifications, I can’t stop the way my shoulders droop. I adjust my messenger bag, not sure what to do now. This is perfect, really. No text means nothing to write back to.

I shake my head and read the one from Rainer asking me to head out tonight since I ditched him on Monday. I decline, using the excuse of being tired. I am tired, but really, I’m not feeling it, and that’s not an excuse Rainer would accept.

Instead, I pick up some takeout noodles and head back to my apartment. It never feels like home when I walk in. My apartment is tiny, the cheapest I could find in a neighborhood that wouldn’t terrify me, and while it’s clean and I have decent furniture, I’ve never bothered to settle in. It’s not part of my five-year plan. As soon as I have enough money, I’m going to move somewhere slower, smaller, and get a job I can be proud of.

Fuck knows what it will be.

I shower, pour a glass of wine, and collapse on the sofa with my dinner. It’s barely warm by the time I dig in, but I don’t have the energy to care. Working long hours leaves very little time to indulge in anything.

And it’s that thought, more than the nagging urge, that has me pulling out my phone and tapping on T’s number. I lean back, gazing out at the view of the city, listening to the ringtone sound over and over.

It goes to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. Leave a message.”

I hang up and toss my phone on the table my feet are propped on. It shouldn’t be a huge surprise he didn’t answer since he said he was going out with some work friends.

Almost as soon as that thought enters my mind, my phone lights up with a text.

T: Out for work drinks. Call you later?

My stubborn side makes me refrain from replying. If I agree that he can call me later, it’s like I’m admitting to sitting around here waiting on him, like I don’t have anything better to do. I’m not that type. I’m about to open the message from Rainer and change my answer, when my cell lights up in my hand.

“I thought you were out,” I say as soon as I answer.

T’s warm laugh comes down the line. “I am. They’ve moved on to girl talk, though, so I stepped away.”

“What was it you said to me that first night? ‘Go get some pussy’?”

I can almost hear him cringe over the line. “Did I really say that?”

“You really did. I had to go home and bleach my ears.”

“Yikes, sorry.”

“You can make it up to me when I see you next.” I’m only teasing—kind of—but my words are met with silence.

“I do want that,” he says in a low voice. “I just…”

I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t leave me hanging.”

He huffs a breath. “Sorry, I don’t know how to say it.”

“Are you back with your ex?”

“God no. Nothing like that.”

The slight tension that settled over me eases. “Then why don’t you start by using words, and we’ll go from there?”

“You’re a funny fucker, aren’t you?”

“And you’re a bit of a potty mouth. What am I going to do about that?”

“I’m sure you can think of a few ways to shut me up.”

His deep, rumbly voice makes my cock twitch to life. “Do go on.”

“No way.” His light laughter is back and I can only imagine how adorably flustered he probably looks. “I’m in the middle of a bar.”

“Your point?”

“You know I… I can’t.”

I hum. Yeah, I do know, which is why this whole flirting thing is a bad idea. But T is a voice on the other end of the phone, so what the hell does it matter? “I wonder if I could shut you up with my mouth…” I tease.

“I mean, you could try. Can’t make any promises, though.”

“No?”

“No. It would have to be something really persuasive to shut me up.”

“I could gag you, I guess…”

“Hmm… getting closer.”

“Something about my cock…”

He bursts out laughing, a great dirty bark of a thing, and it brings a smile to my face. “I think we have a winner.”

“Next time you’re in Jersey, maybe.”

He falls quiet again and it doesn’t escape my notice that it’s the second time it’s happened right after I mentioned meeting up.

“Or not,” I say. “That’s fine too.”

“Look, I’m definitely interested, but… I need to think about some things first.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“I’m sorry, Elliot. I swear it’s nothing you’ve done.”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” I roll my eyes.

“No, seriously.”

“Yep, right.”

He growls at my response. “Look, I have to fly out for Chicago tomorrow, and I’ll be pretty busy the next few days. Can I call when I get back? I… I like talking to you.”

That placates me. “I like talking to you too.”

“Good.” I hear the grin in his voice. “So what are you doing on this awesome Thursday night?”

The last thing I want to do is tell him I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself over takeout. “Nothing tonight. Rainer wants to go to a club tomorrow night, though.”

“Sounds… fun.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he finally talks again. “Once I get back Monday, I have a few days off. Maybe we could… maybe… catch up or something?”

Or something? I try to hide how appealing that sounds. “Yeah. I usually take Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, so we’ll see what we can organize.”

“Awesome.” He sounds relieved. “I work Wednesday, but Tuesday might fit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s some commotion in the background and a loud shout. “I better go,” T says.

“Okay, but I figure I should let you know I’m not a dating guy. If we meet up, it’s for one thing.”

T chuckles. “What, you don’t do friends?”

“I have one. Don’t have much time in my life for another.”

“That’s sort of sad.”

“Nah, it just works for me. But anyway, think about it. I’m happy to meet up, but if we do, I fully expect that meeting to be conducted naked.”

T goes quiet again while he processes what I’m saying. “I want to say yes…”

“But the ex-boyfriend thing, I know. If you’re not over him, it’s fine, and we can still talk like we have been. But if we meet up in person, I’m just trying to be upfront about what I want.”

“Noted.” The smile is back in his voice. “I haven’t really done this. It’ll take some getting used to.”

“Aww, my sweet summer child. I’ll go easy on you.”

“You better not.” The growl is back in his voice, and I have to press down on my dick to stop it from perking up at the tone.

“Hmm… in that case. With any luck, T, in five days, I’ll be choking on your cock.”

And I swear to god it sounds like he spits out his drink a second before the line goes dead.

Chapter Five

Thursday night is boring as hell, and I end up going home early, not able to let go of the image Elliot put in my head. On Friday, I spend the flight to Chicago and the afternoon training session so distracted that my coach yells at me to snap out of it. I contemplate flipping him the finger, and when I manage to resist, I’m a little proud of my maturity.

The more time that ticks by, the more torn I feel. Every time I picture his pretty lips, a surge of blazing hot lust passes over me, and I have to grit my teeth at the thought of passing that up, but in order for anything to happen between Elliot and me, I would have to reveal to him who I am. And to do that, I’d have to trust him a whole hell of a lot.

Zane and I share a hotel room the night before the game and decide to get to sleep early. As one of our defensive linemen, his build is ridiculous, and I swear he takes up most of the queen bed by himself. But Zane can be an oddly contemplative guy, and as we lie there in the dark, he starts his usual play of the random things going through his head.

“You reckon God’s a football fan?” he asks.

I shrug even though he can’t see me. I’ll never admit to anyone, but these moments are some of my favorites. “I think he’s probably more into drama. Otherwise why would he have made humans so damn dramatic?”

Zane laughs, rough and raspy. “Good point, man. Who do you suppose would win between Captain America and Batman?”

“Well, apparently Batman beat Superman, so…”

Zane snorts. “I know. That’s some bullshit.”

“Agreed.”

We’re quiet again, and it’s a nice, peaceful quiet until Zane speaks again. “How many worlds and universes like ours are out there? I mean, we can’t be the only ones in a never-ending universe, right?”

“I’d like to think there are a heap. With creatures who are all so totally different, and those differences are celebrated, rather than criticized.” I’m saying more than I normally would, but that kind of world is something I ache for.

“Yeah, man, that’d be awesome.”

He has no idea. He’s huge and good-looking and straight. White and rich. The world is basically made for him, and yeah, I’ve got my fair share of privilege, no doubt about it. But after what happened with Liam, I wonder if maybe it wouldn’t have been better to never have played ball in the first place. I love the opportunities, and the travel, and the money. Heck, I love the game and the fans too. But it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that I can’t have it all.

Honestly, having Elliot to talk to this week has been a life line. It’s nice to have someone with no bias listen to my shit. And it’s nice to listen to his too. Though I really could do without knowing when he’s going out. I don’t need to picture him getting laid.

It’s been months since I saw any action and at this point, I’m nearly desperate for a hookup. It seems like my best options are heading to a dark club for an anonymous quickie or taking Elliot up on his offer. Both of those things risk my secret getting out, though.

“Alright, kill, marry, fuck—Jennifer Lawrence, Scarlett Johansson, and that hot Cobra’s cheerleader who’s always eye-fucking the hell out of you.”

My stomach twists at his question. It isn’t the first time he’s given me one of these, and it’s always so much effort trying to figure out what the right answer is.

So I cop out. I close my eyes and start to deepen my breathing, letting out the occasional soft snore. It’s not ideal, and I have to keep it going for longer than is comfortable, but eventually Zane falls asleep, and I’m left in the dark with my thoughts.

***

The stadium is fucking insane. If there’s one thing I love about this job it’s running out with my team to a deafening roar of support. We have one win and one loss under our belts and I’m determined to add another win tonight. We beat the Bombers in the preseason, but I’m conscious not to let myself get carried away with that.

The first half is close, way too close, and as I’m slammed to the ground for what feels like the hundredth time, I get up a little slower, begging for the halftime buzzer. My uniform is drenched in sweat, the shoulder pads are uncomfortable, and I’m desperate to take my helmet off and wipe the sweat from my eyes.

We get in a few more yards, and on the fourth play, our quarterback, O’Brien, goes for a trick play, and hands the ball off to me. I dodge the first defenseman who comes at me and sidestep the next. The halftime buzzer sounds as I’m slammed from the side and driven into the ground. A sharp pain shoots through my shoulder, and I barely hold back my gasp as the opposing player jumps up.

“Fuck,” I pant, curling over a little from the pain, before clenching my teeth and brushing it off. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had a little bump. It’ll be fine. Coach doesn’t need to know a thing.

I follow my teammates down to the locker rooms, and it’s a rush as we break off to change our uniforms or stretch out tight muscles. I head into the bathroom to take a piss, then join O’Brien and Edgerton, the other receiver, who are having a discussion about changing up some of our plays.

Michals turns up the Bluetooth speakers in his locker and some heavy bass shit echoes between the metal lockers and cement walls. I bounce on my toes, ignoring the ache in my shoulder, and stretch out my arms, trying to keep my muscles loose. A trainer calls out the three-minute mark as Coach comes in and spits plays at us like nobody’s business, then it’s time to head back out.

The next quarter we go touchdown for touchdown, and the never changing gap is wearing on us all.

By the time we go into the final quarter, I need extra motivation. The adrenaline hit I get with each game is starting to ease, and my muscles are sending me a great big fuck you. And that’s when an idea hits me.

If we win, I’m going to arrange to meet up with Elliot.

If we lose, that’s my sign to back the hell away.

Though honestly, I’m not sure I’ll follow through with either, but telling myself I will keeps my head in the game. I’m way too scared of being outed to follow through, but I’m also pretty fucking desperate to stick my dick in something.

I shake the thoughts away, pulling my helmet back down and making it to my position.

Play passes so fast all I think of is the ball. Running. Not getting tackled. We make ground then lose it again, but the guys are getting riled, digging deep and pulling out everything they have. We’re early in the season, but we can’t afford a loss.

O’Brien is yelling out calls as I retake position. I pull in a long, slow breath attempting to forget the pressure of what could be our last play. We’ve only got a few minutes left on the clock with two points to make up, and I can’t afford to make a single mistake.

The play starts. After the snap, O’Brien immediately makes a long pass out to Edgerton who’s tackled right away. The same thing happens on the second and third down, until we’ve barely gained three yards. It’s disgraceful. The half back is getting set up to run, but I can tell the defense is already prepared for it. “Yo, O’Brien!”

For a second, I think he hasn’t heard me—he’s definitely pretending not to have. But he’s sizing up the defense, and at the last moment I catch it, a tiny nod. This is it.

The ball snaps back and I run, pushing myself faster than I have in a long time. He passes, and I choke back my nerves, picking up the pace. I throw my hands out at the last possible moment, and the ball thuds into my arms before I pull it back to my chest. I’ve barely taken another step when an opposing player slams into me. His shoulder hits my chest and drives up into my throat before I’m thrown to the ground. I land hard and cough from the impact, but O’Brien pulls me to my feet and slaps my shoulder in triumph.

“Another four!” he shouts, and thank god we’ve made the ten yards.

The last minute of the game is a mess of passes and running and catching, until our center hikes the ball back to O’Brien, he sidesteps a defensive player, and runs right into the end zone.

“Fuck yes!” I shout, pounding my fists into my chest a second before Zane jumps on me. The noise from the crowd is deafening.

I start to laugh and Zane joins in. No matter how many times we win, I will never, never get over this feeling—like my chest is inflating to a million times its size. The memory of the deal I made with myself tries to creep in, but I brush it away. I’ll deal with it later.

Right now, we’re celebrating.

The team heads out for drinks, and we take over a huge area in the bar like usual. I pound back shot after shot high on our win. It all goes straight to my head. And it’s not like I’m complaining, but the more I drink, the looser I get with my words. Like I have no damn control.

Elliot hasn’t messaged me all day. He barely messaged me at all yesterday too, and I don’t like the feeling he’s pulling away. I want a hookup. But mostly, I want to hook up with him.

I know I shouldn’t message him when I can’t even see straight, but I pull out my cell, blinking down at the bright screen. Pulling up his number, I start typing.

Me: What are you doing? I’m out with the team, getting wasted and thinking about you.

I contemplated writing “thinking about your ass” but thought that was going a little too far. I’m about to shove my cell back into my pocket when his reply comes through.

A Friend: Team? I thought you were away for work?

My eyes widen, probably comically from the feel of them. How the hell do I get out of this? I’ve told him I do something with sports but never gave him any details. Then again, if I’m going to tell him who I am, he’s going to figure that part out anyway.

Me: My work team. We’re getting a drink after work.

My heart is beating stupidly fast because there’s no way he’ll buy that answer.

A Friend: Call me when you’re done drinking yourself stupid.

That’s it. Nothing else to give me any hint as to what he’s thinking, but whatever it is, he doesn’t want to chat about it over text. Is he pissed I’m out? Is that a tone I detect in his bullshit message?

Me: Why? Are you out fucking someone?

A Friend: Not your business if I am.

I’m about to send him a rambling, incoherent response when another shot is slammed down in front of me. It’s the distraction I need, but the next one isn’t. And neither is the one after that.

By the time we stumble out of the bar, I’ve got a stage-five jersey chaser on one side, and Zane trying to help me walk on the other. We wave down a cab, and I fall into the backseat. The girl climbs in after me, immediately throwing one leg over mine and turning in to kiss my neck. I have no idea how we got to this point, but the alcohol wears off enough for me to throw open the door I’m leaning against.

“Nope,” I say, falling out of the cab and almost eating gravel. “Not interested in that.” I slam the door, and a minute later, the cab pulls away. Guess she wasn’t picky about whether she left with me or Zane, and thank god for that.

The street swims a little, and I pull my cap down farther over my eyes. There’s still a ton of people out, and I can barely make out which way is forward. I throw out my arm to hail a cab, but the driver ignores me.

So does the next, but finally a third one slows and pulls over. I climb in and hesitate a second before giving the hotel name. I know I’m supposed to call Elliot, but I’m not in any state to talk to anyone right now. Squinting at the bright screen, I type out a message, and after reading it approximately thirty times, I finally hit send.

If Zane and that chick are fucking, I’ll have to find another room to stay in.

Thankfully when I get back, there’s no sock on the door and no telltale grunts coming from the room. Either they’ve gone back to her place or on to another bar. I honestly don’t give a shit. I also don’t give a shit that Zane’s bed is closest, so naturally, it’s the one I fall face first onto.

I’m out before I even get a chance to kick off my shoes.

Chapter Six

Work the next day is intense. The Sharks won a game everyone assumed they’d lose, so now my clients are placing last minute bets on the Monday night games to try to recoup some of their losses. That one game made my boss a heap of money, but my clients are ready to murder me. I have to keep reminding them, over and over, that it’s all a part of the business. You win some, you lose some. It doesn’t help.

I stifle a massive yawn. I’d stayed up later than I’d ever admit, waiting for T to call, and after I’d gotten a drunken text that I couldn’t make sense of, the disappointment kept me up later. I smile softly, remembering our last conversation. If he had called there’s a good chance I would have stayed up until an unreasonable hour. Whenever we talk, I find it almost impossible to hang up.

I’m sorting through numbers for the Statesmen’s game tonight when my phone rings. I consider ignoring it, but it’s my personal one, and I have a good feeling it’s either Rainer calling to make plans for tonight, or T calling to… who knows?

I stretch my arms out, almost touching either side of my dingy little office, before grabbing the phone and answering it. I don’t need to check the display to know it’s T, because if it was Rainer, he would have launched straight into it. Instead, all I’m met with is silence.

“Usually the person who makes the call speaks first.” I keep my voice even, although I want to give him shit for not calling last night. Rationally, I know that’s not fair. He doesn’t owe me anything.

T’s groan drowns out my annoyance. “I think I’m dying.”

“Okay, before I give you my automatic response, you’re being melodramatic, right?”

“No. Really. Help me, Elliot.”

I stifle a laugh because that’s a hungover tone if ever I heard one. “Are you dying from alcohol poisoning?”

“Probably.”

“Then no thanks. I’ll sit this one out.”

He doesn’t respond at first, and I check my screen to make sure the call’s still connected.

“T?”

He sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was gonna make up some excuse, but really I got blackout drunk and passed out as soon as I got back to the hotel.”

“Alone?” I try to throw some teasing into my voice, like I would if he were Rainer, but it’s hard not to get sulky when I want to be the one going to bed with him.

Silence again. And yeah, I kind of can’t believe I even asked, but I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess. If I didn’t ask, I would have dwelled on it all day.

T chuckles. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Definitely alone.”

And god help me, my anger is swiftly replaced by relief. This little back and forth we’ve got going on is ridiculous. The more we talk and the longer I go without seeing him, the more I want to say fuck it all and drive out to Philly.

He clears his throat. “So today’s Monday.”

It only takes me a second to work out what he’s talking about. “Yeah, so it is.”

A rough sound comes down the line, like he’s rubbing at course stubble, and immediately I’m thinking of what that stubble would feel like on my neck, my thighs, my ass…

And that’s enough of that. I press down on my crotch before it can react, willing my dick to behave. I’m at work for fuck’s sake. “Thought anymore about tomorrow?”

T sighs. “Maybe…” He doesn’t finish that thought, and my eyebrows pull up at the hesitation in his tone.

“Maybe?” I prompt.

“Umm…” He sucks in a deep breath. “I’ll be back in Philly in three hours. I thought… maybe…”

Nothing. “There’s that word again.”

“Maybe I could come see you?” he suggests in a rush.

My cock twitches to life, and again, I have to tell it to behave. “That’s a lot of travel for one day.”

“If you don’t want me to come, just say it.”

I want him to. I’m almost fucking begging for it. But I already asked one dumbass question on this call, and I’m not making the same mistake again. I’ll play it cool because that’s who I am. No matter how T might have me all twisted.

“Oh, I want you to, but you remember what I said?”

T scoffs. “How the fuck could I forget?”

It’s lucky he can’t see my grin.

“You made me a promise I’m cashing in on,” he growls, and I have to close my eyes for a second against the surge of lust his words send through me.

“I don’t really know if heartbroken is my type, though.” I’m treading carefully, trying to test out where his head is. The last thing I want is for hot sex to turn into a sob fest.

“Hmm… what is your type then?”

Deflecting. I’m not sure I like that response. “Depends on the mood I’m in.”

“Which means?”

“Think about it, big guy.”

Even though he’s silent, the exact moment it hits him is obvious. “Huh,” he says on a breath. “So what kind of mood are you in today?”

I weigh my options. Do I go out and try my luck? I’ve never had much of an issue finding someone to hook up with. But someone who looks like T? That’s a little more difficult to manage.

And tonight, I’m definitely in the mood for…

“I’ll follow your lead.”

He chuckles, all rough and sexy. “You might regret that.”

“I’m confident I won’t.”

He laughs again, and the sound is hot as hell. I’ve always been attracted to a guy with a sense of humor.

“You realize if you come over, you’re going to have to tell me your name?” I point out.

He hums. “Funny, I got the impression you were down for anonymous hookups.”

“Are you calling me easy?”

“Not at all.”

I cock an unimpressed eyebrow he can’t see. “Sounded that way. But I’ll have you know, I always ask for names first.” I pause. “I need to know what to scream out, after all.”

T groans, and there’s suddenly a lot of noise on the other end. “Fuck, we’re heading out. But… tonight?”

“Yes.” I don’t even try to play hard to get. “I’ll be home at eight.” Fuck watching the game.

“Text me your address,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’ll meet you there.”

Chapter Seven

I’m the very definition of “thinking with your dick” as I get home, quickly shower, and scrub every part of my body I can reach, ignoring the way every muscle aches. I change and jump into the car without pausing to think any of this through.

If I pause, even for a moment, I might chicken out, and I want this too bad to let that happen.

There’s no denying Elliot is a sexy motherfucker, but if I’m honest, that’s not enough to get me to risk so much. Every conversation we have makes me that much more confident he’d never out me, but as much as I believe that, there’s always a chance. There’s always a chance he’ll be the guy who runs to the press and exposes the one thing I’ve given everything to hide.

Am I stupid for trusting him? Maybe. So why does it come so easily? Why is it every time we chat, I can’t keep the dumb smile off my face and can’t stop thinking about the conversation hours later?

My hands grip the steering wheel tighter as I head up the freeway toward New Jersey. I’m still an hour away, which means I have a whole hour left to change my mind. But then I picture Elliot’s lips and long eyelashes and my cock twitches at the thought of finally seeing him face to face. He looks lean and tall, and I can’t wait to see him close up for myself. But mostly, I want to hold him and feel his skin against my skin.

Groaning, I adjust myself as I change lanes, and when I reset the cruise control, my phone starts to ring. I hit answer on my steering wheel, assuming it’ll be Elliot, but instead, Liam’s name flashes up on the console.

“Ah, hey?” I answer cautiously.

“Hi, Taryn. How are you doing?”

I frown at the weird pitch in his voice. “Good, thanks. How are you?”

“Yeah, good.” It’s like I can hear him smiling. “I saw the game last night. Looks like the team is really coming together.”

“Let’s not get too excited. It was one game.”

He laughs softly. “Always so hard on yourself.”

“Hmm…” I don’t expand on that. “Why are you calling me?”

Liam sighs. “Just, I dunno, checking in. I meant it when I said I’ll still be here for you.”

“Umm… yeah.” His words make sense, but it’s all a bit much, too fast.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “It’s weird, I know.”

“It is.”

“I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t get mad, but I know you don’t have a lot of people to talk to, especially about you know, so I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

It all suddenly makes sense. “Ah… so this is a pity call?”

“Taryn…”

“It’s cool, I get it. But for the record, I’m talking to people just fine.”

“Well… good.” There’s an awkward beat of silence. “So. Where are you off to? It sounds like you’re driving.”

I tense at the question. “Ah, going to see a friend.”

He doesn’t answer right away. I thought my answer was safe and unassuming, but clearly, I let something slip because his answer isn’t what I expect.

“Be careful.”

I press my lips together. “He’s just a friend.”

“You don’t need to lie to me.” The smile is back in his voice, and while I admit to wanting to hear a little jealousy there, I don’t pick up on anything. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to move on, but be smart about it.”

“Smart,” I scoff.

“Yes, smart. You can’t hook up with just anyone, Taryn, but you also can’t be in a relationship right now. Make sure your friend can be trusted. I’d hate to see you outed before you’re ready. Especially after everything we went through.”

Liam’s right. With him, it was easy. We went from college to the real world and kept the same lines drawn we always had. He knew me before the NFL happened, and I never once questioned if I trusted him.

“Well, with you gone, I have to take my chances.” It’s a low blow, and I know we made the right call, but there’s part of me that just wants to be bitter about it.

“Taryn…” It’s his cut the shit tone. “That’s not fair.”

I sigh. “Look, I gotta go.”

“I know, I know. And I meant what I said. It’s okay for you to move on.”

Something about his words makes me feel sick. “Have… have you moved on?” Even as I ask it, I don’t want to know.

He sighs. “I’ve got to go.”

It’s as good as a confirmation. I hang up without answering him.

I’m tempted to turn the car around and head home to wallow in self-pity, but then I remember that while Liam might have moved on, I’m about to as well. And Elliot is as good a person to move on with as any.

I put my foot on the gas before I can talk myself out of it.

Yep, I’m “thinking with my dick” personified.

Jesus.

I get to New Jersey and check the address Elliot gave me. As I pull up to the curb in front of a rundown apartment building, the nerves in my stomach twist tighter. Is it possible Elliot’s a serial killer? Am I really this fucking desperate to get laid? Who am I kidding? I’m risking my entire career to be here. A little potential murder isn’t going to throw me off now.

I suck in a deep breath, grab my cap, and try to swallow back the uncertainty threatening to overwhelm me.

“Shit…” I quickly tilt the rearview mirror down to check my face. There’s nothing on it, so there’s no more reason to delay.

Cool air hits me as I climb out of the car into the night. There’s barely the faintest trace of light out on the horizon, but the dirty brick buildings around here have thrown the street into shadow. I reach the door and buzz the number Elliot said.

The time between the obnoxious buzz and an answer stretches on. It’s already past eight, so he’s got to be home by now. But damn, what if he’s changed his mind? Would he do that, knowing I’ve driven an hour and a bit to see him?

I cringe at that thought, because if that doesn’t make me sound desperate, what the hell will? Stepping onto the street, I lean back and look up, trying to pick which apartment is his.

“T?”

I jump at the voice, but relief sweeps over me at the sight of Elliot jogging along the sidewalk. He’s carrying a takeout bag, and his hair has been pulled back into a short ponytail, a few chunks falling loose around his face. His defined lips pull back in a smile as he holds up the bag. “I grabbed dinner.”

My stomach knots on itself as I take him in properly for the first time. And yeah, he’s hot as hell, but even as I’m looking at him, I’m remembering our endless conversations and the way we seem to just click. It adds even more pressure to a moment that’s already short-circuited my brain.

I cock an eyebrow he won’t be able to see. “I didn’t realize this was a date.”

“Don’t worry.” He smirks as he pulls out a key to unlock the door to the building. “I figured we’d need some energy for the night ahead.”

I lick my lips, barely able to keep still. His wide shoulders in that dress shirt… the long line of his neck… I’ve hit the fucking jackpot. And knowing that he’s just as fun to talk to as he is to drool over has me beyond nervous.

Because I still have to tell him who I am.

I’m sure Elliot still hasn’t gotten a good look at my face. I want to keep it that way for as long as possible, but with every step we take up the dingy stairwell, I’m so aware of my time running out that I barely take the time to check out his perfect ass. And it is perfect. But I won’t be able to properly appreciate that until I’ve gotten this over with. I’m practically vibrating at the thought.

On the third floor, Elliot turns and heads down the hall. “Now I’ll warn you, it’s not much. And I’m not being modest about that. I literally rented the cheapest place I could find.”

He’s not lying. The door he opens to his apartment has paint missing, and there are dints in the frame. The wooden floors are scuffed, and the entrance light is a bare bulb that throws harsh yellow light through the space. As soon as he clicks it on, I quickly angle my face down, hoping my cap still hides most of my features.

I follow him through to the living room, awkwardness setting in. Is this what every hookup is going to be like? A long stretch of awkwardness, fucking, then more awkwardness. Is that even something I want to go through? The nerves in my stomach flutter with excitement and I decide that yes, we’re doing this.

Elliot sets the takeout on the counter before turning to me. I quickly drop my face again and he starts to chuckle.

“What’s going on, T? You don’t seem like you want to be here.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t drive over an hour for just anybody.” I manage a smile. It’s not genuine.

At least Elliot makes an attempt to smile too. “Why don’t you want me to know who you are?” His words aren’t accusing, though they’d have every right to be.

I’m hovering in the small space between the living room and the kitchen counter, and if we’re having this conversation, I might as well get comfortable. I cross over and drop onto his couch.

“I’m not out at work because coming out means risking my career and facing a whole lot of shit from a whole lot of places.”

“That’s not cool. There are laws to stop that kind of discrimination, you know.”

A bitter laugh falls from my lips. “Maybe. But people have other ways of fucking your life up.”

There’s a clatter and the sharp click of plastic containers opening. Elliot doesn’t respond for a minute until he crosses back into the room, hands me a bowl of Chinese food and a glass of wine, then collapses onto the couch next to me.

Instead of digging in, he sets his bowl on the table and leans back. “If it helps,” he says quietly, “I’m not wearing my glasses, so I can’t see you clearly. Maybe we do… whatever tonight, and then that’s it. You don’t have to worry about me outing you, and we both move on.”

I frown, spearing a chunk of beef with my fork, then chewing it slowly. “So… we wouldn’t talk anymore?”

“If you don’t trust me, there’s not much point, right?”

“I guess, but I really like having you there.”

“I’m not a replacement boyfriend, T.” His words are soft, but anger flares through me.

“Exactly. So why the fuck are we sitting around eating and drinking wine? And talking about feelings?” I drop my bowl on the table, still mostly full.

Elliot chuckles and leans forward to nudge it back toward me. “Eat your fucking food. Like I said, you’ll need your energy. It’s going to be a long night.”

My cock twitches at his suggestive tone, and the anger seeps out of me. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

I shovel dinner down as quickly as I can, then follow it with my wine. Elliot watches me, and I’m a little worried he was lying about the glasses thing earlier, but if he was, it’s way too late to back out now.

“Did you mean what you said? That I don’t have to tell you who I am?”

His face scrunches up a little. “I don’t know. It’ll be weird not knowing your name and not being able to see you properly…” He leans back into the backrest, knees spreading as he slides down. I can’t help it as my gaze drops along his stomach to his jean clad thighs. Damn, he’s pretty.

I haven’t had a one-night hookup in… ever. Liam and I got together pretty quickly in college, and before him there were a couple of guys I messed around with in high school. But one-night stands? This is all new.

And if I think about it, it doesn’t seem fair to ask so much from Elliot.

I clear my throat. “Where are your glasses?”

“In my work bag. I took them off because they make me look nerdy. I can still see without them, but it’s pretty fucking blurry up close.”

I stand up and head for the messenger bag he threw on the ground. His glasses are sitting in the side, and I quickly grab them before dropping down beside him again. “Please understand that I’m trusting you.”

Elliot hesitates, then reaches for the glasses. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I do.” I pull off my cap and run the other hand back over my short hair. “But before I tell you, I need you to delete all of our messages.”

His face is blank. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“No,” I sigh, running a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I know it’s an asshole thing to ask.”

Elliot’s eyes narrow a little as he tries to focus on my face. “Yeah, fine,” he mutters. Pulling out his phone, he slides on his glasses, pulls up our messages, and deletes them all.

A little of my tension lessens. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. Because I am. Because this whole situation sucks.

“I know you are.” He still doesn’t look up.

My stomach is in my throat as I reach out and tuck some of the loose hair behind his ear, letting my fingers hover by his neck. Touching him for the first time. His eyebrows draw tight, and he finally looks over.

And, goddamn, he’s gorgeous. The glasses set me off, and any of the awkwardness I was feeling completely disappears, replaced by this overwhelming need to slide my hand behind his neck and pull him to me.

He stares at me, a slight frown between his eyebrows.

“Do the Philadelphia Sharks sound familiar?” I ask.

That’s when recognition hits him. His eyes widen a tiny bit, and his pouty lips part. “You’re—”

“Taryn Adderson. Yeah. Now do you understand?”

“I do,” he breathes, running a hand over my jaw. His face scrunches up. “I’m sorry, but we can’t do this.”

Chapter Eight

I’m speaking through the shock, not even fully aware of the words coming out of my mouth. Taryn… Adderson? A football player. A big time football player is sitting on my couch, wanting to hook up—is this a prank?

I want nothing more than to offer myself up on a platter for him. To grab his shoulders, shove him back into the couch, and go down on him before he has a chance to catch up with what’s happening.

And I can. He’s giving me that option.

But I’m also not an idiot.

It takes every bit of my self-control to stay put.

Taryn lost the guy he was in love with to keep his career, if he knew what I did for a living…

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head and pull back. Congrat-u-fucking-lations, Elliot. You’re a real mature adult.

“W-what…” Understandably, he looks lost. “What’s happening?”

I groan, leaning forward to rake my fingers through my hair. If only I could go back and take my glasses off and forget who he is. I take a breath, forcing myself to sound in control.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know it sucks, but trust me when I say you don’t want to go through with this.”

He blinks. “I’m pretty sure I do, so you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“I don’t want to get into it, but our jobs… don’t go well together.”

“Are you a journalist?” His eyes widen in panic and he goes to scramble off the couch, but I catch his arm.

“No, no, no. Definitely not. And even if I was, I swore I wouldn’t out you. That stands. I’m not a dick.”

Taryn snorts. “He says as he’s throwing me out.”

“Look, I don’t owe you anything.”

“I never said you did. I don’t expect you to bend over for me just because I drove out here, but a little explanation about why you suddenly find me so repulsive would be nice.”

“Repulsive?” I can’t help it, I laugh. There isn’t a single goddamn thing that could be considered repulsive about him, and every second he sits there is making it harder and harder for me to keep my resolve. “You’re basically the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“So…?” He throws his hands out to the side, and the poor guy looks seriously confused. My resolve drops a little. He’s been traveling all day, he played a game that he absolutely dominated last night, and he hasn’t hooked up since he broke up with his ex.

He needs this. I need this.

But fuck, I can’t. I definitely, one hundred percent can’t. It would be selfish and messy and… hot. He’s so hot. Those arms could lift me and pin me to the wall, and I can just imagine how much passion Taryn would put into a kiss. My blood is running hot and even as I try to convince myself that this is not okay my control is barely holding on by a thread.

“But… and we…” I swallow. It’s his big brown eyes that do me in. The moment they connect with mine I know I’m a goner. “Fuck it.”

I’m across the couch and straddling his lap before my brain catches up. “I really want to kiss you,” I mutter, staring at his lips. “But I shouldn’t.”

Too late. Taryn takes over and the second his lips meet mine, all control goes out the window. His mouth claims mine, greedy and insistent and the second my tongue grazes his I moan. My head is trying to remind me of how stupid I am, but no one saw him come over, so it’s not like one time is going to change anything.

Yep, I’m a selfish asshole sometimes.

But there’s no way I’d be able to turn away now.

“This is tonight only,” I mumble against his lips. Slowly, I ease out of the tight hold he has on my hips and make my way toward my bedroom. “Coming?”

Taryn doesn’t need to be asked twice.

I’ve barely reached the bedroom door when he grabs my hips again, and Taryn’s stubble lightly scratches my neck. He hums against the soft skin, and it takes all of my self-control not to answer the sounds he’s making. His lips brush over my ear, my hairline, and down to the arch where my neck meets my shoulder. Each kiss is soft, sweet, but getting more insistent with each passing moment.

I go into my head, trying to focus only on the way his kisses run over my throat and prickle my skin, and I’ve almost managed to control my lust when Taryn bites down on my neck. Hard. “Argh.” His fingers dig tightly into my hips, and I let out a gasp, completely taken aback at how great it feels. He pulls away a second later to soothe the bitemark with his tongue, but that bite perked my cock right up, and now I know exactly what I’m in the mood for.

“Sorry,” he breathes, not sounding sorry at all.

So I take a subtle step back and press my ass against him. I feel exactly what I’m after right away. “Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

Taryn growls against my neck, forcing my hips away again. “I… really want to be rough with you.”

“Then stop handling me with kid gloves.”

He finally releases one hip, his hand sliding up my ribs and across my chest, to lightly cup my throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, but I sigh at the teasing. “I’m not so sure you can handle it.”

I reach back, and in one motion, I grab his stupid hat and drop it to the ground. “Why don’t you try me, big guy?”

Before Taryn can get a good hold on me again, I duck away from him and cross the small room to my bed. He doesn’t make a move to follow. He just stands in the doorway, watching my every move, and I’m not sure which is hotter—his dark eyes watching me or him touching me.

I collapse onto my unmade bed, not wanting to discard my shirt as I’d prefer that was something he did. But even with that massive bulge in his pants, Taryn stays put, panting slightly, like he’s trying to get himself back under control.

Maybe I should be trying to get myself under control too.

Maybe I should be remembering who he is and what I do, but honestly…

Fuck that.

The thought of someone his size completely letting go makes me shiver.

“I know it’s been a while for you,” I tease, “but it usually helps to be in the same room as the person you want to fuck.”

“I…” He squeezes his eyes closed for a second. “Shouldn’t we, I dunno, talk about what happened?”

It takes every bit of self-control I have not to roll my eyes. Instead, I start to pop open the buttons on my shirt. “You really want to talk right now?” As my fingers work, my focus drops to his broad chest, the definition under his t-shirt, his hips, and his long solid legs. I finally make it back to his face, finding Taryn’s gaze trained on my fingers.

I work open another button, slowly dragging my hands to the next one, loving the feel of his eyes on me. By the time I free the final button, Taryn’s jaw is clenched so tight, the muscle is sticking out.

“Fuck it.” He reaches back, grabs his shirt, and pulls it over his head in one swift move. My eyes widen at the sight of all that brown skin wrapped around drool worthy muscles. With three heavy steps, he closes the distance between us, immediately yanking my shirt from my shoulders and tossing it on the ground.

I shiver as one hand smooths over the small of my back while the other buries in my hair. His fingers curl into a fist and grip tight, tilting my face up toward his. For a moment, Taryn doesn’t make another move. He’s breathing slightly heavier than normal as his dark eyes sweep over my face, pausing to take in certain details.

I wait, curious.

His lips part and almost form a word. I’m not sure what he’s planning to say but Taryn swallows back whatever it was and leans in instead. The feel of his lips brushing over mine is a complete contrast to the tight grip he keeps on my hair. I’m panting, itching to touch those muscles I caught a quick glimpse of, but I keep my hands at my sides, letting Taryn take control.

Finally giving in, I grab his neck and pull him closer, deepening the kiss in a second flat. Taryn surges forward, tongue warring with mine as he pushes me back on the bed, climbing up to cover my body with his. As soon as his hot chest seals against mine, my hands drift lower—over his shoulders, down his back, across his ribs—until I’m gripping his hips, thumbs resting over his hard abs. And oh hell, it takes everything in me not to groan.

Taryn’s hand slides farther across my back until his arm is tight around me, then he nudges my legs apart and settles between them. He presses his cock against mine, and my brain nearly explodes. It’s so hot, so fucking hot I immediately grind up into him.

I scramble for his fly, not giving a shit about anything other than getting to feel him. I’ll jerk him off, suck him, let him fuck me, I don’t care. All I know is I need him naked.

As soon as his fly is undone, I push up toward Taryn, and flip us so he falls back onto the bed. Going straight for his neck, I inhale a scent that’s fresh grass and toasted marshmallows. Taryn fucking Adderson smells like fucking marshmallows. I almost laugh, but my dick gives a throb, making it clear exactly how much I love that smell.

I finally leave his neck and run my tongue over his collarbone. I pause for the briefest moment to take in his broad chest, tight muscles, and narrow hips, until I’m practically humping his leg, then I toss my glasses aside. To distract us both, I lean forward and clip his nipple with my teeth.

“Oh, fuck, Elliot.” He groans, breathing getting shallower.

Feeling bold, I kiss down his chest, then linger when I reach his stomach, and trace my lips and fingers over the ridges of his abs. He’s so fucking hot. He could literally have anyone. I’m dangerously, worryingly close to lifting my rule about one time only, but there’s no way I’m making a decision while I’m hard as a steel rod.

Forcing myself to move on from his abs, down along his perfect V, I finally reach the elastic of his boxer briefs. I’m out of control, running on auto pilot, as I lick one long stripe between his hipbones. Easing up, I tug at Taryn’s jeans and he lifts his hips a little to help me get them off.

Even with the boxer briefs separating me from what I really want, I can see the exact outline of Taryn’s cock. It’s impressive, and I can’t stop my hand from running down the length. Taryn hisses, bucking his hips up, and I chuckle quietly.

“If you like that, you’re going to love this.” Leaning forward, I wrap my mouth over the head of his cock. The cotton dampens under my tongue and the heat from my breath warms the cotton. This time, I can’t stop my groan. I need him.

Without missing a beat, I release him, grab the waistband of his underwear and yank it down. His cock jumps free, slapping back against his stomach, and I stare at the long, hard length for a moment before I wrap my hand around the silky skin and bring it back to my mouth.

With nothing between us, my tongue traces a line over his slit, tasting the precum already leaking out. All it does is leave me wanting more.

I lick around the head, then down his shaft, feeling my way along all the bumps and veins. His pubes are trimmed short, and I wonder if he did that specifically for tonight. For me. When I reach down to draw one of his balls into my mouth, I hum at how hot and heavy it is. I can’t stop glancing up at him, taking in his face. Lust has darkened his eyes and his mouth is parted, chest expanding quickly with each breath. But the emotion in his expression… something in my stomach flutters, and I quickly focus back on his abs.

Taryn’s hips stutter, and I have a good feeling he’s not going to last long. I hurry to yank open my chinos and release my throbbing erection. It’s both a relief and a tease to finally touch myself, and I move back up, taking Taryn into the back of my throat. I start to stroke myself as I bob up and down while my free hand rubs his balls.

Panting, dangerously close to the edge, I pull off with a gasp and meet his heavy stare. “What happened to being rough, big guy?”

Taryn’s eyes widen a little. He stares at me, panting, with the type of glazed look that tells me he isn’t really with it.

Hell, neither am I.

Slowly, he reaches for my head. Hands slide over my cheeks until his fists both close in my hair and he eases me back toward his cock. My mouth opens eagerly, and Taryn slides in slowly, teasingly.

Then he lets loose.

Whatever reservations Taryn was trying to hold onto disappear as he fucks up into my face. His grip is almost painful, and I gag once or twice as the head of his cock rams down into my throat. Tears start to leak out as I try to swallow around him, but Taryn doesn’t let up, and the rougher he gets, the faster my hand moves. I’m jerking my cock so hard, almost detached from reality, and when Taryn starts to grunt and picks up the pace, that’s all it takes.

My balls draw up and my hips jerk forward as cum shoots from my dick. I moan around Taryn’s cock and his rhythm trips, stutters, before he shoves forward and cum hits the back of my throat.

A long groan rumbles from his chest as I swallow down every last bit. Slowly his hold relaxes, and as I start to lick his cock clean, he smooths a hand over my face, catching the stray tears.

Then I make the mistake of looking up at him.

His expression is soft as he watches me and it knocks something askew in my chest. I can’t look away.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

I hurry to wipe my hand on the sheet and crawl up the bed. His pupils are still blown wide and as soon as I’m close enough, he pulls me down into a kiss. His hand steadies the back of my neck and despite what happened barely a minute ago, he’s gentle, slow as his tongue strokes mine. That loose piece in my chest vibrates, but I force the feeling away.

Taryn’s fingers trail lightly from my cheek to my throat and he pulls back enough that I can make out his slightly shocked expression.

“Did I hurt you?”

His question makes me laugh. I flop down onto my pillow, needing some distance, and spare him a grin. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Oh, shit. Elliot, I—”

“It was hot.”

He pauses and frowns a little. “You liked it?”

I hum, resting my hand where his fingers were a second ago, swallowing against the dull ache. “I shot my load like a firehose. So yeah, I think we’re good.”

Taryn’s wide smile stretches across his face as he kicks off his jeans and tucks himself back inside his briefs. He collapses next to me, closing his eyes. Then, like he can feel me watching him, he squints one eye open and peeks out at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll head off in a minute.”

“You’re leaving?” I don’t know why that thought is so odd. Usually I’m hurrying guys out the door after we’ve both come. It’s usually right around that time that the discomfort kicks in.

“You made your stance on tonight perfectly clear.” He sounds annoyed.

“Well, Philly is a bit of a drive. You should stay tonight and head home in the morning.”

Taryn’s eyes are closed again, but it’s clear he’s thinking hard. “Okay, cool.”

“I mean, you’re already here. Seems stupid to make you turn around and head home now.”

I shift a little as Taryn rolls toward me and fixes me with a frown. “I said, cool.”

“Good. Alright then.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Elliot…” I shiver at how deep Taryn’s voice goes when he says my name. “If you want me to leave, say it.”

That’s the weird thing though, I don’t. Even before he showed up and I got a look at him in real life, I had been planning on him staying the night as we traded mind blowing orgasms. I’ve gotten one out of him, but I definitely wouldn’t say no to another. I reach out and run a hand over his bicep and up to his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

He kisses me again. “Gladly.”

Chapter Nine

The last thing I want to do is be one of those creepy guys who watches people while they sleep, but there’s something about Elliot’s face that I like to look at. And his chest, and his arms, and his… damn, he’s pretty.

It’s late morning by the time he starts to stir and I can’t blame him. We were up most of the night, making the most of our one time together, and while that might not be my choice, I’ll respect it. That said, I didn’t want to skip out while he was still sleeping because I need to be clear on what happens next. Is this it? Or can we still talk as long as we’re both aware fooling around is off the table?

That would be a damn shame. Last night was one of the most enjoyable of my life.

And even though I knew we had a timer over our heads, I didn’t fuck him. Damn I wanted to, but then I’d look at him and those fucking butterflies would start again, and I knew if I wanted to be able to walk away today, that couldn’t happen.

Elliot is like a lifeline in an intimidating world of dating. Sure, I could hide in the closet my entire life, but I’m a relationship guy. It’s not even really about the sex but knowing I have someone, a partner-in-crime, who has my back, who’s always there.

I snort and drop back, stretching my arms above my head. Always there. What a joke that sentiment is.

Elliot lets out a groan and rolls onto his side, slowly starting to breach that place between sleep and awake. His eyes are unfocused as they come into view so I reach over him, bumping his shoulder slightly with my chest, and grab his glasses.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice sounding rough as gravel.

“Hey…” I don’t want this to be awkward, but I feel like that’s unavoidable. After such intense chemistry, I can’t stop replaying the way Elliot said this was one night only. It seems like such a waste. “Sorry. I’ll head out soon.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit surprised you’re still here.”

Ouch. “I slept late.” The annoyance is clear in my tone as I throw off the covers and go to stand up. Elliot’s hand latches onto my forearm before I can make it too far.

“It’s not a bad thing…” When I don’t go to move again, he eases his hand off me and flops back against the pillows. “Most guys normally bail before we get to this part.”

“What part?”

“The dreaded morning-after goodbye.”

I shift around, enough to look at him but not enough to get comfortable. “Why is it dreaded?”

“Because it’s awkward as shit.”

“Maybe you’re the one who makes it awkward.” I cross my arms, very aware of the fact I’m only in my underwear. And given my cock was rammed down his throat last night, that thought shouldn’t make me feel nearly as exposed as it does.

Elliot shrugs, drawing my attention to his tan, lean shoulders. “You’re still a rookie at this, so I’ll go easy on you.” He winks.

“I’m likely to be a rookie for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not like I can go around hooking up with people.”

He hums. “You’ll have to find a dark club somewhere, and you’ll be a pro in no time. I don’t think there’s a person alive who’d turn you down.”

My cheeks start to feel warm. “Except you, apparently.”

Elliot sighs, pushing up to face me properly, gripping the sheet in one hand to cover his hips. “Oh no, even I’m not exempt from that list.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but there’s plenty we didn’t do last night that I’d love to try out.” My mouth goes dry as I make the suggestion.

“I agree.” His words climb, making me aware of what’s coming next. “But…”

Groaning, I push to my feet. Without looking at Elliot, I hunt down my jeans and tug them on. “I might be a rookie, but I know what that word means.”

“Are you mad?”

“Nope.” But I am. “You made it perfectly clear this wasn’t a repeat thing.”

I try not to look at him, try so hard to ignore the way his dark blond hair brushes his jaw and the way his lips curl up, prettily perched beneath his beauty spot. Most guys are small compared to me, but Elliot doesn’t feel little or fragile, he feels—fuck it. I’m not going down that road. I yank on my t-shirt then start the hunt for my hat.

“Over here,” he says dryly, pointing toward his side of the bed.

I grunt out a quick thanks, jam the hat on my head, then make for the door. I’m already out of his bedroom and halfway down the hall when I realize I can’t leave yet. If I walk out of here without my answers, I’ll go crazy the whole way home. With a heavy sigh, I turn on my heel and make my way back, the creaking floorboards giving away my approach.

Elliot’s lying back on the bed, arms over his face, and when I clear my throat, he peeks out from beneath one elbow. “You’re still here.”

I shrug. “Rookie, remember?”

He chokes back what sounds like a laugh. “Why?”

“I know you said last night was it, but we don’t have to stop talking… right?”

He eyes me, and I don’t like the way his expression settles on regret. “It’s probably best.”

“Well, why?”

Elliot hides back behind his arms but the hitch in his voice gives him away. “Because it’s the smart thing to do.”

“Football players aren’t exactly known for being smart.”

“Stereotyping are we, Taryn?”

I lift my bulky shoulders. “If the sneaker fits.” I can’t do this. I can’t walk away from here knowing we won’t talk again.

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hear the soft groan Elliot lets out, but it carries across the room toward me anyway. Finally, he sits up, throws off the sheet, and I get a view of his bare white ass before he wriggles into some shorts. Commando. I urge my dick to settle at the sight of all that gorgeous toned skin.

“Come on. I’ll make us some coffee.”

I leave Elliot’s room again, this time following him to the other end of the derelict apartment. Once we’re in the kitchen, he flicks on the coffee maker then turns, crossing his arms over his chest and propping back against the counter.

“I don’t exactly have the most, ah, impressive career out there,” he mutters.

“Why would I care? Even if you… I dunno, clean toilets, it’s still a hardworking job.”

Elliot shakes his head. “Maybe I should have said what I do isn’t the most legal career.”

I recoil a little, even as he hands over a mug of coffee. “Are you a rent boy?” I try not to let those words freak me out because he’s been nothing but trustworthy so far, but I can’t stop the way my heart takes off at a gallop as my career flashes before my eyes.

Elliot snickers. “No. Actually…” He pauses to scratch the end of his nose. “I’m a bookmaker. My whole job is to take money from men who are betting on men like you.”

I suck in a breath. Not legal is right. And given that betting is illegal in the US, associating with someone involved in the industry definitely won’t reflect well on me.

“My job is assessing how NFL players are fitting into their teams and what kind of on-field presence they evoke. Then I work stats on who will get touchdowns and who will score first, that kind of thing.”

“How the hell can your whole job focus on me and my teammates, but you didn’t recognize me when we met?”

Elliot flicks the arm of his glasses. “I wasn’t wearing these. Plus, I might study the teams on paper, but I don’t know what most of you actually look like. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you guys wear helmets out there.”

“Okay…” I draw in a long breath and place my coffee cup on the counter before crossing my arms over my chest. My head is a mess with this new information and what it could mean for my career, yet the only thought I can latch onto is that I don’t want Elliot to disappear. “I guess I still don’t know why we can’t hang out.”

The look Elliot gives me is half pity, half exasperation. “Because, T, you’re watched, closely, and imagine the kind of shitstorm that would come if our friendship got out right after you fumbled a pass that lost the game. Imagine if you made some honest mistake in a game where my clients bet big against your team. A mistake that made a lot of people a lot of money. What do you think would happen then?”

“People would think I threw the game.”

“And then?”

“I’d be dropped, blacklisted.”

“Bingo.” Elliot drains the rest of his coffee before placing his mug in the sink with a dull thunk. “That’s why we’re saying goodbye.”

I let out a long sigh, knowing he’s right, but wishing desperately that he wasn’t. This whole situation sucks, but even without weighing the pros and cons, being kicked out of the NFL isn’t an option. “Why do you do it?”

Elliot shrugs, and I try not to focus on the light hair on his chest. “Money. It pays well.”

“So do a lot of other jobs.”

“Not as well as this one.”

I cast a quick look around because if he’s earning good money, it’s definitely not going into this place. But it’s not something for me to worry about because like he said, this isn’t going any further. I pat my pockets to make sure my keys, wallet, and phone are all accounted for, as I swallow back the lump building in my throat.

“Well…” I don’t want to leave, but at this point, our conversation is only heading one way, and it’s pointless to try to prolong it. “I guess I’ll head out.”

Even with those words, I don’t make a move, and Elliot rounds his kitchen counter with slow, measured steps. “I guess so.”

He’s not smiling, but his pretty lips tilt upward a bit anyway.

“Ah… thanks. For last night,” I say.

“No worries, rookie. It was good for me too, obviously.”

I smirk. “I should damn well think so.”

“You do have a magic mouth, I guess.”

“All truth.” Finally gaining a little confidence, I grab his bare waist and tug him toward me. “Kiss goodbye?”

“Like I can say no to that,” he whispers.

His lips crash against mine for a brief moment before I pull away again. His hair tickles my fingertips as I run a hand down the side of his face, taking a moment to look at him. The corners of his lips lift in a half-hearted smile and for the briefest moment, I can tell he regrets this as much as I do.

No more hesitating.

I press one more kiss against the lips I won’t be able to forget, throw out a see you around, and leave. The main door lets out an obnoxious creak as I close it behind me, and the click as the door latches sounds so final, I flee the building before I give up my resolve and go back.

***

After another hard practice there’s nothing I like better than catching up with Zane at The Hanger. We order a plate of buffalo wings each and because we go with water instead of beer, we’re at least attempting balance. That’s what we tell ourselves anyway.

“Lahna saw me out with Jessa and went absolutely crazy,” Zane says, shaking his head. He’s sitting in the booth opposite me and as the biggest guy on our team, he takes up almost his whole side of the seat. “What is it with people and thinking you’re exclusive just because you’ve fucked a couple of times?”

I raise my eyebrows, immediately remembering the other night. Could I have managed something casual with Elliot? “Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t date.”

“You should. I don’t know how you’re so calm all the time. I swear, if I didn’t hook up regularly my balls would explode.”

Urg, why are we talking about this? I snort, trying for playful but not sure I pull it off. I move my water out of the way as my wings are set down.

“Seriously,” Zane continues, not caring that the server is right there. “I know some people who are always keen to share. They’d lose their shit at a chance with you.”

I mentally cringe, holding it back since he doesn’t realize the reality of what he just said. Losing shit is literally the worst-case scenario. Holding back my smile I say, “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

Thankfully food is enough of a distraction, and Zane turns all his attention to the dish in front of him. I do the same, and we sit there eating, barely breathing, as we polish off the plates. Nothing we have to say could be as important as inhaling our food.

“Okay, here’s a question for you. Why don’t you use a hookup app or something?”

“Why are you so concerned with my sex life?” I laugh, almost impressed that Zane is keeping a conversation on track for once. At least I would be if that conversation didn’t have to do with my biggest secret.

“You’re literally my best friend on the team, and yet you’re the only one I’ve never heard talk about a partner.” He eyes me in a way that makes me shift in my seat. “I figured you might be nervous, and I just wanted to make it clear there’s no reason to be. We can talk about this stuff.”

I smirk, wondering what Zane would really say if I told him about the dick I had down my throat the other night. We might not have fucked, but we both put our mouths to good use. But… maybe I could explain the situation without actually explaining the situation? I’ve gotta admit a second opinion would be nice.

“I met someone the other night. We’ve been talking, then we hooked up and…” I almost say “he.” “Now they want to cut ties.”

Zane starts to laugh. “How shit are you in the sack? Is that why you don’t take people home with you?”

I ball up a napkin and lob it at his head. “The decision was made as soon as they found out who I was. The other night, they weren’t wearing their glasses and couldn’t see me properly. The thing is, it was so fucking hot. Easily the hottest sex I’ve ever had.”

“So what’s the issue? Fuck and forget seems your speed.” Zane smooths out the napkin I threw and uses it to wipe off his fingers.

“I think I like… them.”

“And they’re not interested?”

It’s a relief when he doesn’t say “she” because now I don’t technically feel like I’m lying. I’m not sure if it was on purpose on his side or if he’s just mirroring my language, but it makes it easier.

“I think they are. But let’s just say the NFL wouldn’t be too happy about our relationship.”

“Why?” He laughs. “Do they play for another team?”

At first, I think he says “the other team” and then his actual words register and they aren’t much better. Does he… No. He’s chuckling to himself. It was only a joke. One he doesn’t know was uncomfortably close to the truth.

“Look, it’s something like that, okay? I don’t really want to go into it, but…” I swallow, remembering what Elliot looked like sleeping. “Do you think I should message them anyway, or…”

“Can’t hurt.” Zane props his elbows on the table and leans forward. “I mean, don’t get stalkerish and shit about it, just text them and say, hey I had a good time, any chance you’d wanna hang out again, and then see where it goes. Maybe they tell you to fuck off, maybe they don’t. You won’t know until you ask.”

I do know, though. Elliot was pretty clear about why we couldn’t keep hooking up, but if I want to and he wants to, and he has to be a secret anyway… maybe this won’t be like Liam all over again? Especially if it’s just a casual thing?

“You’re a wise dude, Zane.”

He lifts his water like he’s about to toast. “Too right I am.”

I knock my glass against his.

“Hey, tell me,” he starts, “do you think the world would be a better or worse place if people could only tell the truth?”

I recognize his random philosophical musing for what it is, but there’s too much weight in my mind for me to answer lightly. Imagine if I had to be honest about my sexuality. Or if people had to be honest about what they thought of my sexuality. I think I’d rather be in the dark.

“Depends on the level of honesty, I guess. I mean, is withholding information dishonest?”

“In this case, yes.”

“Then definitely worse.” I lick my lips and can’t quite meet his eyes. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

When we finally head out and say goodbye, I drive back home musing over whether I’m going to do it. Zane’s right though, a message isn’t going to hurt. A message just opens the door, let’s Elliot know I’m up for a repeat. It’s been a few days, and he obviously hasn’t said anything to anyone because there have been no articles about Taryn Adderson liking dick.

A message won’t hurt. And if he tells me to fuck off, I’ll have my answer.

I get home and change into sleep shorts, prolonging the time to make my decision in case I change my mind.

I don’t. And as I drop onto my couch, the sun barely a line of orange hanging onto the horizon, I pull out my phone and open up his contact. Staring at the screen, I’m suddenly blank on what to write. I’m tempted to go with a basic “hey” or a “what are you doing,” but get the sense it needs to be more than that.

I’m nervous, really fucking nervous, and I’m actually enjoying it. This weird high that comes from not knowing what’s next, and hoping so damn much that more is the answer.

I lick my lips and type out a message.

Me: Why did the football coach go to the bank?

It’s a lame joke, a pathetic attempt to reach out, but my stomach squirms as I stare at the screen, and when those three little dots appear, I’m barely holding it together. Just please don’t let him tell me to fuck off.

A Friend: To get his quarter back.

I snort, surprised he knows the answer. And if he’s playing along, that has to be a good sign, right?

Me: Why didn’t the skeleton play football?

A Friend: His heart wasn’t in it.

Me: What’s it called when a dinosaur gets a touchdown?

A Friend: A dino-score.

I laugh, surprised he’s gotten them all. I’ve heard all the lame jokes I need to from my sister, but Elliot knowing them too is a surprise.

Me: Wow, you’re good at this.

A Friend: My superior intellect makes even the most complex jokes easy.

I’m about to reply when another message comes through.

A Friend: Also I have Google, dumbass.

I laugh, realizing I never thought he would do something that sneaky.

Me: That’s cheating. You’ll have to pay for that.

A Friend: Oh yeah? Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.

Me: Oh, I could keep them. But you’re the one who bowed out, you clearly can’t handle me.

And okay, now I’m goading him, and maybe I should feel bad, but he started flirting first. I’m only too happy to leverage what I can from the conversation.

A Friend: You know why.

Me: Kinda. Still seems like my career is my choice, though. And after thinking it over, I don’t think I’m ready to give you up yet.

A Friend: What am I, a pet?

Me: Now you’re just giving me ideas.

A Friend: Mr. Vanilla has suddenly decided he’s kinky, has he?

Me: Sex with me is good enough that you don’t need extra flavor.

A Friend: Now there’s a pick up line. All you have to ask now is, “want a taste?”

Me: Want a taste?

I feel dumb as soon as I send it, having no idea what the hell he’s going to write back. Things feel like they’re going okay, so maybe I just need to be optimistic.

A Friend: I already got a sample. A real taste might make me addicted.

Oh, he got more than a sample, alright. I think back to how he swallowed my cum then licked every part of me clean. Enough screwing around.

Me: I want to see you again.

A Friend: You know that’s a stupid idea.

Me: Actually, I’m pretty sure we’re overthinking it. No one knows who you are, no one knows I like guys, and literally no one is interested in me catching up with a friend.

There’s a short pause.

A Friend: How long did it take you to come up with all that?

Me: Just this afternoon. So what do you think?

A Friend: I think I need to think about it.

Me: Well, that was a mouthful.

A Friend: So are you ;)

I crack up laughing. It’s weird, this flirting thing. Elliot’s a complete unknown. It’s exciting.

And until he thinks about whether we can see each other again, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get a chance to forget me.

Chapter Ten

When the Sharks smash the Statesmen, I pick up my phone in a rush to text Taryn and congratulate him, but stop myself. He was amazing, every move flawless. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Though that could also be because I’ve seen him naked now.

As soon as his team ran out onto the field, I was drawn to his tight pants and shoulder pads, wondering whether he’d fuck me wearing them. If we were still hooking up, that is. Did Liam take advantage of having the world’s hottest football player at his fingertips? I want to say no. I want to say he didn’t deserve Taryn. I want to say Taryn’s completely over him, but honestly, that’s a lie.

It’s time to face the facts—I was a rebound, and we won’t be hooking up again.

Placing my phone facedown on the desk, I drag my mind back to work. The Sharks were favorites for the win, so the profit margins weren’t great. Most of my regular clients bet on them under my recommendation, and while Taryn might have been a slight factor in that decision, I’m careful not to let my night with him get in the way of business.

I go through my clients’ accounts, checking the bets they made against the odds to make sure no money has been missed. With an automated system, it’s all pretty standard and above board, but my boss doesn’t hold much faith in computers, especially when a lot of our systems are set up to run through Vegas holders.

The problem is, there are a lot of combinations people can bet on—first touchdown, yards run, number of tackles, etcetera, etcetera—that it becomes a huge time drain. So I’ve set up a spreadsheet that does the work for me, allowing me more time to review the other games, and put solid research into who will win. My boss wouldn’t be happy, but fuck it. There’s a reason I have so many clients, and there’s a reason my five-year plan is ahead of schedule.

I finish cross-checking my spreadsheet with the account info and then upload it to the work drive before trying to figure out some sure bets left over the weekend. I have a few idiots on my books who like to go for the higher margins, and I swear by Monday, we’re always trying to recoup their losses.

Must be nice to have money to burn.

There’s a knock at the door, and I look up, surprised to see my boss hovering outside my office.

“Hey, Gary. Need something?”

“Yes, actually.” Gary steps inside and takes the seat across from me. His large, bulky frame seems far too big for my small office. “How are things looking for the weekend?”

“Yeah, really good. We’re on track to be steady with last week.”

He claps his hands. “Good man. Where would I be without you?”

Oh, I don’t know. Spending the other tens of thousands that come in weekly. For someone so rich though, he certainly doesn’t act like it. He owns a lot of property from what I can gather, but always chooses to dress like his clothes are a size too big, and I don’t know the last time he updated his sneakers. That he wears. To the office.

He sighs. “You know how important it is that everything we do here is above board.”

“Of course.”

“Good. There have been rumors from other bookies I know about fixed games. All bullshit from what I can tell…” His normally relaxed face hardens, and I see the man people are warned never to cross. “Just keep your ear out.”

Gary’s always made it clear he expects for us to put ethics before money. Like he says, in a game like ours, you’ve got to set limits and stick to them.

“What do you recommend this week?” he asks, suddenly back to relaxed again.

I hum as I turn back to my spreadsheet. “Long or short odds?”

“Give me one of each.”

“The Hawks are a sure thing for the win, but if you want a long shot, probably Gremmins for first point scorer in tomorrow night’s game.”

Gary laughs. “Gremmins has never had a first touchdown.”

“Like I said, long shot.”

“Does anyone actually take your long shots?”

“Occasionally. I’ve had a handful of very happy punters.”

He nods. “Well, keep up the great work, son.” He stands to leave, and it’s not until he opens the door a crack that he hesitates. “Oh, and can you put a bet on for my wife?”

My eyebrows shoot up, but I quickly open her file. My computer tells me I haven’t accessed it in thirty-seven weeks. “Sure. What this time?”

“She’s got a feeling about Kirans in Sunday night’s Cobras game. What are the odds on him getting injured?”

I cringe inwardly at the request. Betting on players’ injuries is not something I like doing. I’m not superstitious, but it still feels like bad karma. I find the info I need and whistle. “Let’s say he’s in really good form.”

Gary nods. “Okay. Put her down for five thousand.”

My eyes almost bulge from my head. Imagine having that kind of money to throw away at a twenty to one odd. “That’s…” I shake my head. “Yeah, of course.” Whatever. Win or lose, I’ll still make my money.

Gary must notice something on my face because he chuckles darkly. “Take it from me, Elliot. When you get married, it’s easier to give them what they want.”

“Noted.”

He leaves, and I quickly input Carlene’s bet, then charge the funds to her account. There’s no fucking way Kirans is going to get hurt, and placing bets where I already know the outcome really rubs me the wrong way. That’s five thousand whole dollars completely gone to waste, though I suppose Gary gets a portion of it back through the business, so it’s not a complete loss. Just mostly.

I pick up my phone again, struggling against the pull. Since texting with Taryn the other night, he’s all I can think about. I swear he’s in my room every time I try to fall asleep, and I keep thinking about the fact that he wants to see me again. Each time I do, my excuses start to seem like just that… excuses. But he has a career. A career people would kill for. Am I making too much of this?

But all it takes is one person making the connection, then one bad play that loses a game, then one person starting to put the wrong pieces together… Can I really be selfish enough to risk that? If Taryn’s happy to, why am I still fighting this?

Chapter Eleven

I stare at the lumpy, congealed mess in the bottom of the pan that was supposed to be dinner. I’m not going to get angry over it. I’m not.

My breathing is coming heavy through my nose as I grab the handle of the pan and dump the whole thing in the trash.

Cooking has never been my strong suit, but Jesus fucking Christ, it shouldn’t be so hard to cook some fucking rice. I drag my fingernails back over my hair, willing myself to keep breathing. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing, barely the kind of thing people lose their shit over, but I’m dangerously close. My hand is itching to punch something.

Which of course has nothing to do with the fact Elliot still hasn’t messaged me.

So I back up out of the kitchen and into the living area where I refuse to picture seeing Liam sitting on the couch. Instead, I walk over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and press my forehead to the glass, eyes blurring and taking the view of Philly out of focus.

Our game this week was incredible. The team has really come together in the kind of way we never would have predicted during the preseason. Even though it’s still too early to tell, people are already talking about the playoffs like it’s a sure thing, which really should excite me more than it does.

Deciding dinner isn’t going to cook itself, I call for takeout. Again. I alternate places and answer the door in my shitty disguise to try to keep from being recognized, though I’m sure the kid who brought my pizza the other night saw straight through it. The NFL supplies our food during the season to make sure we’re sticking to a strict diet, but it’s not my fault I can’t cook worth a damn.

While I wait, I pull out my phone and thumb through to Elliot’s number, thinking about our texts. It’s been a few days and he hasn’t contacted me, so it would be pushy to message him again first, right? And pushy isn’t me. Except apparently it is because our messages are open, and I’m already typing.

Me: If someone wanted to ask Elliot out on a date, how would that someone go about it? Hypothetically.

There’s something about reaching out to him that slowly releases my stress. I have no reason to think he’ll reply except the niggling feeling that this is the right step.

A Friend: Hypothetically, they wouldn’t be a closeted football player.

Me: Hypothetically, ouch.

A Friend: Even more hypothetically, Elliot has picked up the phone a few times lately.

Me: Oh yeah? And when he did pick up the phone, what did he want to say?

A Friend: Nothing. Anything.

Me: Well, they’re my two favorite topics.

A Friend: Okay, real talk for a minute. It feels sort of shitty to go along with this, knowing the kinds of problems it could cause for you.

I don’t text him back, instead I pick up my phone and call. Thankfully he doesn’t play games, just answers on the first ring.

“When I said real talk, I wasn’t being literal,” he says.

“I know.” I run my thumbnail along the seam of my pants. “Okay, first answer that comes to your head, without thinking of all the other stuff, do you want to see me again?”

“Yes.”

A smile breaks across my face. “Then let’s make it happen.”

“It’s not that easy, Taryn.”

“Sure it is.” And I’m not taking his excuses this time. “We make a plan, set a date, then meet. Simple.”

“The true logistics of a date. How silly of me for not remembering,” he says dryly.

“So is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes if you can figure out a way for it to happen without you getting into shit.”

“Hmm…” He’s got me there. How the hell am I supposed to take him out without being recognized? My doorbell rings, announcing dinner is here. “Hold on a minute.”

Elliot promises to wait, and I leave my phone upstairs so he doesn’t hear my dinner shame. I grab my food as quickly as I can, sending a silent thanks to the internet gods for online payment, and jog back upstairs.

I melt into my couch in relief when I realize he hasn’t hung up on me. “I’m back.”

“Thank god. I thought you’d died and fossilized.”

“Please, I was gone for thirty seconds, max.”

“Okay, it was at least sixty, and you’re out of breath. You really should work out or something.”

He’s lucky he’s on the phone because otherwise I’d flip him off. But… actually, that gives me an idea. “What are you doing right now?”

“If you ask me what I’m wearing, I’m hanging up now.”

I laugh. “Nah, that’s for another phone call. I just want to… talk.” And I do, which is the really strange part. As much as I’d love to see Elliot’s cock again, I’m happy to wait and hope that’s where this leads.

“I was about to heat up last night’s left overs.”

“Good, go do that.”

“What?”

“Just do it, and let me know when you’re back.”

There’s a slight pause. “Okay?”

Elliot must put the phone down because there’s noise coming from the background, and while he’s busy, I put my phone on speaker and rush to get shit ready. I dump my Indian food on a plate, grab some tea light candles I have set aside for power outages, and turn my TV on to a music channel before turning it down until it’s barely audible.

As soon as Elliot lets me know he’s back, I video call him.

“Our post hook-up relationship has progressed from texting to video calling all in the space of half an hour. We’re on fire.”

I’m not really sure about the word relationship, but I let it slide. “Must be because we’re so… hot.”

He groans, hanging his head back, and when he looks up again, he takes a moment to study the candles and listen to the music… “Is this a date?”

“Yes?” I swallow past the lump in my throat.

He smirks. “You sound unsure.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be sure of anything with you.”

“Good.” There’s a pause. “As soon as people start getting predictable, they start getting boring.”

“I dunno. Sometimes predictable is good.”

“Never witnessed it before.”

I hum, maybe that’s why he isn’t interested in something more? Does he think repeatedly seeing the same guy is bound to get boring? That sounds like a challenge to me.

“Alright, we’re going for a speed round.”

“What?” He eyes me like he’s unsure and loving it.

“A speed round get-to-know-you. We volley questions back and forth and don’t take any time to answer. Ready?”

Elliot laughs. “Sounds fun. Go.”

“Last name?”

“What? That’s an easy one. Schultz.”

Elliot Schultz. Not too bad. “Okay, now your turn.”

“Favorite color?” he asks.

“Red. Yours?”

“Green. Aside from people you’ve dated, does anyone know you’re gay?”

“My family.”

His eyebrows jump. “That’s unexpected.”

Thinking of Mom makes me smile. “Yeah, they’ve known since high school. My mom and my sister, and now her husband. That’s sadly it. What’s your family like?”

“Don’t have one—”

“What?”

“Next question.”

“Hang on,” I interrupt. “How don’t you have a family?”

“Long story, and that’s not the type of game we’re playing. Do you like to read?”

I deliberate for a second, wondering if I should push. But while he said game I get the feeling he meant this isn’t that type of relationship. “Only the team’s weekly stats.” I force a smirk, chest feeling heavy in a way I can’t explain. “Ever played a sport?”

“High school baseball. I was mediocre at best. Ever played a sport you were bad at?”

“Table tennis.” I pretend to shudder. “I can catch a football pass from a field length away, but put a paddle in my hand, and I’m the most uncoordinated person you’ll ever meet.”

“I guess that takes spanking off the table.”

His response is so unexpected I inhale a chunk of chicken and have to wash it down with water before I choke. “You’re into spanking?”

His beautiful lips turn up in the corners. “Not as a kink, but a light tap here or there never hurt anyone.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Why? Think you’re getting a round two?”

And thank god his tone is playful. “Like you’d be able to resist.”

“I’ve done well so far.”

“Yes, but look. Your resistance is crumbling. That’s why we’re talking and you’re flirting.”

“Please, you started it.”

“I started it?” I shake my head. “Do I need to remind you of the spanking comment?”

“No need. The image of you spanking me is burned into my imagination.”

I drop my fork onto the plate with a clatter. Leaning back, my head drops over the headrest and I groan. “You’re killing me here.”

“That’s because you’re so easy to rile up. You should work on that.”

I crack an eye and peer over at him. “What? You don’t like it when I’m all flustered?”

“Only when I’ve got your cock out.”

This time he gets a real laugh out of me before I settle my full attention on him again. “There you go thinking about my cock again.”

“You caught me.” He rolls his pretty eyes. “But then you could say that at basically any time and you’d catch me.”

“So what’s holding us back? You’re busy with work, and I’m not planning on coming out any time soon. We could be good for each other. Casual. You can’t tell me you’ve never had a friends-with-benefit situation before.”

“I’ve never had a friends-with-benefits situation before,” he deadpans. I can’t tell if he’s shitting me or not, but whatever. This could really work for us. My knees start bouncing, a pointless exercise to try to steady my nerves.

“Still seems kind of risky to me,” he says, but I can tell by his tone he’s coming around.

“Again, my choice. You want in? Then say yes, and let me sort out the rest.”

“Taryn…”

“Say it, Elliot.”

He sighs as he covers his face with his hands, but I catch sight of his smile before he hides it away. “Yes.”

Chapter Twelve

The odd thing about being friends with Taryn is that there’s two of him in my brain. There’s the Taryn who messages me whenever he seems to be free, who’s interesting and toes the line of being overtly flirty, and there’s Taryn the football player. The latter is someone I’ve been studying for years. I know his stats, I know his form, and I know the odds on him taking the first touchdown during this weekend’s game. To me, football Taryn was never a real person, he was a bunch of numbers on my spreadsheet. And now friend Taryn is quickly becoming a bunch of words on my cell phone.

Expecting anything else wouldn’t be fair to him, but there’s been plenty of nights in bed where I’ve jerked off to the thought of him with me. I still can’t believe I told him yes. The first time we were together went completely unnoticed, so surely a second time wouldn’t be any different?

Still, the guilt rattling around inside me has held me back from setting an actual date to see him again, even though he’s made it clear I just need to say where and when, and he’ll be there. It puts the proverbial ball in my court, which is bullshit because he’s the sports guy.

I’ve been checking in with my clients all day by phone, so when my cell buzzes, I expect it’s another person placing their bets for the weekend, but when I see the T on my screen, my day instantly brightens.

T: Landed safe and sound. You can stop worrying about me now.

My smile comes before I quickly tamp it down. Because no, Elliot, the text wasn’t that cute.

Me: Worry? If a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker can’t take you down, turbulence has no chance.

The three little dots bounce on the screen but I don’t get to read his response as I force my attention back to work. That’s why I’m here—work, not Taryn. A smile twitches over my lips as I remind myself that technically he is part of my work. I could rewatch the Shark’s game from last weekend and no one would bat an eye. But seeing Taryn in his uniform isn’t going to do anything to help my resolve.

Besides, I’m starting to become addicted to the image of him in sweatpants.

Sometimes we video chat and sometimes just message. Other times, Taryn gets home late from catching up with his teammates after practice, and when he calls me it’s dark in my room, and I fall asleep to the sound of his deep voice in my ear. I’m getting worried about how easy it is to talk to him about nothing. I mean, we’ve spoken every day for two weeks now. At what point do we run out of things to say?

I finally give in to the urge to check my phone which has buzzed a few times since I set it down, and I’m smiling before I even look at the screen.

T: You did. You got me to my knees. What does that say about you?

Me: Funny, I don’t remember you being on your knees once.

T: Metaphorically, obviously.

Me: Yeah, I don’t think that counts.

T: Guess there’s only one way to settle this…

Me: Agree to disagree?

T: A do over.

I take a long breath, staring at the words. It’s something I want more than I’m ready to admit. That night… fuck. The bruises on my hips have faded, but I saved the memories. The way he traded between rough and sweet, commanding and kind. Damn, I need that again.

My gaze drifts back to the spreadsheet, my imagination humoring me with running the stats on us being caught, on Taryn being outed, on someone accusing him of throwing a game. I don’t need a spreadsheet to know those stats are low. And I could always stop betting on his team’s games. But that would mean pulling away from the NFL completely, and in doing so, I’d be killing my five-year plan. Football is where the money is.

Growing up with absolutely zero financial security or stability, I’d made myself a promise a long time ago that I’d never be in that position again. It’s hard to turn the practical side of my brain off.

I meet up with Rainer after work, hoping to restore some normalcy to my life. He’s always been incredibly anti-boyfriend, and I hate to admit it to myself, but I’m almost hoping he will remind me why I don’t date. When I get to Oscar’s Garage, Rainer is in his usual place in the booths up the back—this time thankfully clear of any football players. He’s already nursing a beer and has one waiting across from him.

It’s still early enough that the place isn’t packed, but there are a fair few people waiting at the bar, and I’m glad I don’t have to go through that.

“And what time do you call this?” he asks, nudging my beer toward me as I collapse into the seat.

“Work ran late.”

“Work always runs late for you. You need to tell your boss where to stick it.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” I take a sip of my beer. “You are the boss.”

With a shake of his head, Rainer lets a loud breath out through his nose. “Hardly. I’m merely a figurehead for my father’s banks. I’m so sick of having to show up for board meetings when I just don’t care.”

“So quit.” I’m one to talk. I mean, I don’t hate my job, which is weird in itself, but it’s definitely not something I’m proud of. But will I quit? No fucking way. But Rainer is loaded and has his own trust, so I don’t understand why he puts up with that shit.

“I’m thinking about it,” he says.

“What?” I blink at him like a dumbass because Rainer has never considered quitting before. “Why?”

His pretty lips twitch. “Let’s just say Ibiza opened my mind to a few things.” He lifts his beer, hiding half of his face behind it, but something about the way his eyes are squinted beneath a smile gives me pause.

“You met someone.”

Rainer half chokes before he gets himself under control and clears his throat. “How on earth would you know?”

I shrug. “Lucky guess?”

His blue eyes assess me. “Fine. Yes, I met a man, and he’s entirely too good for me, so don’t bother with the jokes.”

“Jokes?”

“Yes, the jokes. You know what I mean. I’ve never planned on settling down. And I barely know the guy. We spent, what, a month together? It’s ridiculous.”

I press my lips together to stop from smiling. “What’s ridiculous?”

“Colton. Me. It would never work, right?” His question sounds more like it’s directed at himself, and how could it not be? I don’t know Colton. This is the first I’m hearing about him, and it actually… I hadn’t given it much thought because I’d been so caught up with Taryn, but Rainer’s changed. I can’t remember the last time I got an early-hours call to come save him from whatever situation he’d gotten himself into.

“Do…” I clear my throat. “Do you want it to work?”

Rainer drops his head onto the table with a thunk. “No. Except, maybe. Yes. Possibly. I don’t know.” When he looks at me again his eyes seem tired. “What do I do, Elliot? I’m completely crazy about this guy. So crazy I’ve been going to therapy and have already bought and chickened out on seven one-way trips to Cala d’Hort.”

“Seven?”

He swallows. “I’m pathetic, right?”

This is so unlike Rainer, I don’t answer right away. Is he pathetic? Maybe just a bit, but it’s a feeling I can uncomfortably relate to. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

He lifts a bony shoulder. “I don’t even know, that’s why I’m telling you all of this.”

Poor Rainer. He might have an enormous family, but he’s almost cut them off completely at this point. We’re all each other has. “Well, I’m surprised you’re even considering it. You never have before. That has to mean something.”

“Yeah.” He nods, looking distracted.

“But therapy?”

“Yes, therapy. To help me make better choices when the doubts kick in. But anyway, I’m done talking about my less than glamourous love life. I want to know about you and all the delicious men you’ve been fucking.”

“You’re about to be tragically disappointed.”

Rainer’s mouth drops. “You’re having a dry spell too? Oh, the horror!”

I chuckle at his dramatics, but I want to cry. Because it is horrible. I want to spill my guts about the situation with Taryn, but I’m so torn. Rainer was supposed to tell me to back the hell away from that train wreck of a decision, but with him uncharacteristically torn up over this guy, I’m not sure he’s going to give me the guidance I need.

Unless...

Maybe this once, I want to indulge in the idea. Maybe I want to be a weak pain in the ass and just forget about what I should do and enjoy this thing until it blows up in my face. By that point, I’ll have no choice other than to turn away from him, and the decision will be taken out of my hands.

I clear my throat awkwardly. “I, umm… I think I’ve met someone pretty awesome too.”

“Ohh!” Rainer’s eyes go wide. “Who? Where? Size? Spill the deets.”

“Size? No.” I shake my head because I’m really not surprised. “The thing is, he’s very fucking closeted, and us dating could fuck things up big time for both of our careers.”

Rainer’s light eyebrows furrow. “Why? People at your work know you’re gay, right?”

“Yeah, it’s not that. Mostly, I’m worried about him. He’s got way more to lose, but he’s adamant he wants to keep seeing me, and I feel like a shit for agreeing.”

“Do you want to keep seeing him?”

“Yes.”

Rainer tilts his head. “And he wants to keep seeing you?”

“Okay, I don’t need you to point out the obvious.” I smirk when Rainer tries to look angelic. “Yes, we both want the other. But I’m talking morals here.”

And at least Rainer tries to look like he’s taking this seriously. His pink lips purse together as he stares at his glass. “If you guys don’t keep seeing each other, what then?”

“I dunno. We talk every day. And it’d be weird for him to be suddenly gone, but I don’t think we could stay friends.”

“Oh god no, honey. That never works.”

“Again, obvious,” I say.

Rainer hums as his gaze drifts toward the rest of the bar and settles on the people playing pool. “It sounds like your choices are between having him around or not having him at all. It sounds pretty simple, but I’m going through the exact same thing.”

“What are you going to do?”

He taps a nail, clearly thinking. “As soon as I’m good enough for him, I’m going back there.”

“Wow.” I wasn’t expecting that answer.

“Mmhmm. I can kid myself all I like that I can walk away and forget about him but it’s not possible.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Urg, oh god. I’m going to be one of those overbearing sappy people now, aren’t I?”

“You mean you’re not already overbearing?”

He starts to laugh and we finally let the conversation drop, but I can’t shake it from my mind. Out of everything he said, I keep coming back to him trying to kid himself. Is that what I’m doing? I keep pretending like I have a choice between staying or walking away, but I haven’t made a single step to do the latter. Because I’m pretty sure by this point, it isn’t possible.

Yes, this thing between us is casual, and I know for a fact it can’t be anything more.

That doesn’t stop my heart from stuttering a beat every time I think about Taryn, or my stomach from feeling kind of queasy every time his name lights up my phone, or the wave of comfort that soothes me whenever his deep voice fills my ears at night.

God fucking dammit, I want it to be more.

And that’s my answer, isn’t it?

I’m too weak to walk away, so now I guess I’m all in.

Chapter Thirteen

There are only so many ways I can catch a damn ball. Our team is on fire, winning every game since that one hiccup at the start of the season, and instead of making Coach ease off a little, he’s gone full throttle. You would have thought our win against the Texas Raiders would appease him, but nope. We’re weighed constantly, making sure we keep to our weight limits, and since I’m already close to the line, I have to be relentless about my diet and fitness because the last thing I want is a fine.

It used to happen all the time when I was with Liam. A slip here, an overindulgence there. It didn’t matter. I ended up paying a shitload in fines last season. We all know NFL means Not For Life, and as far as I was concerned, Liam was my future.

Now…

Now it’s time to be smart. I probably have two years left if I’m lucky, and once that’s done, I’ll reevaluate.

For now, it’s all football and training and fans. That’s it.

Except when Elliot texts me, none of that seems to matter.

Once our practice game finishes, I can’t leave the field fast enough. My cleats echo against the cement walls as we all make our way back to the gym, Zane grumbling something as he joins me. Even though we’ve been at the stadium for eight hours, our day is ending earlier than usual.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” He grunts, clearly pissy about something. His short blond hair is dark with sweat and his neck and face are mottled red from training. I tilt my head as I take in the way he’s walking, like he’s trying to avoid putting too much weight on his left foot.

“Are you sure? Kinda looks like you’re hurt.”

His fist collides with my shoulder. “I said, I’m fine.” He goes to storm off, but I grab his shoulder and yank him back, trying to keep my own temper in check. We’re all a little too on edge for this bullshit.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

Zane’s eyebrows knit. “Are you kidding? All I wanna do is sleep.”

“So do that later. It’s been too long since we relaxed a little.” Which is true. Even after our win against the Raiders, we were all too tired to put much effort into celebrating.

His tension holds for a moment longer before his shoulders start to drop. He stretches out his neck and says, “Okay. But only one or two. Don’t invite the others, or it’ll turn into a thing.”

I nod and we strip off our padding and head to the gym for a few gentle weight sets before making our way to the showers.

I avoid checking my phone until I’m dressed and ready to head out, knowing Elliot probably messaged me a few times, and I don’t want to read them until I can respond properly. This week it’s taken everything in my power not to jump into the car and head to New Jersey. Maybe if I had the time to dedicate to him, I’d push a little harder, but I can’t mess up the way I did with Liam. I won’t. And it occurs to me that making that decision means I’m already fighting harder for him than I ever did for Liam.

And when I see a message from him, the rotten feeling in my stomach increases.

Liam: Hey. How are things?

Frowning at the screen, my fist tightens painfully around the edges of my phone. I know he’s trying to be nice—it’s who he is—but he has to know I’m not ready to play friends right now. I need to distance myself from the reliance I had on him.

“Ready to go?”

I scramble to lock my screen and hide my phone away, but Zane keeps on frowning toward the place it was. I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, but I suddenly really don’t want to know.

“Want to take a Lyft?” I ask.

He nods, still looking kind of weird. “Yeah, I can leave my car here until tomorrow.”

It doesn’t take long for the driver to get to the stadium, and Zane’s weird mood joins us on the drive. Out of all the guys, Zane and I hit it off instantly. I love my teammates—most of them—and I trust all of them to have my back, but outside of games and practice, Zane has always been my go-to, but I can’t even talk to him about my relationships.

Elliot doesn’t deserve that.

Neither did Liam. The more I think about what Liam put up with, the more I realize what a complete dick I was. It’s that reminder that makes me determined not to make the same mistakes with Elliot… I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to pull that off.

“Should we go to The Hanger?” Zane asks. He’s looking out the window, barely giving me any attention, and while he’s normally not the most focused guy, this feels weird.

“Yeah it’s probably closest. How’s your leg feeling?”

“Good, brother. I told you, it’s nothing.” He finally drags his attention back to me and manages a sincere smile. Or close enough, anyway.

“Okay, I’ll buy it. But if it starts getting bad, you’ve gotta let Coach know.”

“Yeah, yeah, big guy.”

I snort because Zane definitely has me beat in that department. The Lyft pulls up, and Zane hurries to pay before I’ve even unlocked my phone. “I’ve got the way home,” I tell him, and he shrugs. It’s not until we order and find a secluded corner booth that I confront him.

“What’s up with you? I’ve never seen you this moody.”

He narrows his eyes and glances at me quickly before looking away again. “I… honestly, I dunno. Maybe it’s just this season kicking my ass. I’m getting too old for this. I forgot how much it takes over your life.”

“I know that feeling.” I’ve barely had time to get myself off, let alone try and convince Elliot to do it.

“Umm…” Zane shifts awkwardly. “So, Liam hasn’t been around lately…”

A trickle of fear snakes into my stomach at him mentioning Liam’s name. “Yeah, he’s been busy.”

“It’s weird. You guys were always so inseparable.”

“Friends grow apart,” I say as evenly as possible. “What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.” He doesn’t elaborate which probably puts me even more on edge. Finally, he goes on. “Just a cool guy, that’s all.” Is he hinting at something? Trying to make me think it’s okay to fess up? I was really good about keeping our relationship secret. No one should know. There’s no way there’s anything more to this conversation than what Zane has already said, so why do I feel so slimy about it?

I clear my throat. “How’s your mom doing?”

“Yeah, really good,” he says, blinking like he’s finally checking back into the conversation. “All her results came back clear.”

I whistle long and low. “Thank god for that.”

“I’ll say. I was pretty worried for a while there.”

“I can imagine. It’d kill me if that was my ma. So where do you go from here?”

“She’ll keep having regular tests to make sure the cancer doesn’t come back, but for now, everything’s sweet again.”

I give his forearm a quick comforting tap, careful not to linger too long. “Glad to hear it.”

Throwing back the rest of my drink, I glance around the bar. There are a few groups of people, some playing pool, and a handful of solo customers at the bar.

It’s pretty typical of a Thursday night, and I’m so damn thankful we have a home game this weekend because the travel is catching up to me. Maybe it’s time we called it a night.

“Do you know otters are completely monogamous?” he murmurs to his ginger ale.

“Huh.” Weird fact, but nothing stranger than what I’m used to from him. “Cool.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I wish I had that, you know?”

“An otter?”

“A somebody. What’s the point of doing all this if there’s no one to share it with?”

I shrug, not liking this conversation any more than the other one. “I’m definitely the wrong person to ask.” It’s almost laughable that he’s coming to me with relationship problems. “But maybe you enjoy this while you have it, then find a, ahh… someone when you’re ready?”

“Good point.” He snorts and throws back the rest of his drink. “I’m ready to get out of here. You?”

“Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t much of a catch up, and there’s still definitely something on his mind.

We stand, and I follow him across the bar, but as we reach the exit, I grab his bicep and spin him back around to face me. “You know you can trust me with anything, right?”

He hesitates, just long enough to show he definitely has something he’s keeping from me. “And you know the same. Don’t you, Taryn?” This time he sounds genuine—mostly because he used my first name—and I really wish it was the case. I guess he isn’t the only one with a secret.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

I nod as he waves down a cab and climbs in. Before he can close the door, I toss some cash onto the front seat.

Zane shakes his head. “You know I don’t care about that.”

“And you know I hate being indebted to anyone.”

He laughs a little, shaking his head as he pulls the door closed. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

As he pulls away, I decide to walk the four blocks home. It’s early enough that I should get there long before nightfall, and I want to check my messages in peace.

Liam’s message is still there, but I ignore it, opening Elliot’s instead. He’s filled me in on the weird day he’s been having, and texted me a video he took on his lunch break of two birds fucking. The caption he sent probably shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.

A Friend: When even the birds are getting more action than you.

I can only hope he means in general, and not, like, today. I know what I want to write back to the message, but I second guess myself. Ahh, fuck it.

Me: I’m more than happy to help you with your problem.

A Friend: And here I was thinking you’d died on me.

Me: Sorry, kinda weird day.

A Friend: Want to talk about it?

Me: Nope. Want to talk about yours?

A Friend: Can’t right now. I’m out.

I frown at his message, making sure I’ve read it right. He’s out? It’s only six thirty on a Thursday night. Normally, Elliot works later on game nights.

Me: Out where?

I know the question is stupid, and likely to scare Elliot away, but I can’t not ask.

A Friend: Grenade. It’s way too early to be here, but Rainer insisted.

Grenade. The gay bar Elliot told me about. I close out of my messages and quickly stow my phone away before I throw it. Surely I’m jumping to all the wrong conclusions right now. He’s allowed to go out. He’s allowed to have fun and dance, and technically he’s allowed to hook up since we’re not actually together. But… I just have to hope he isn’t. This would be so much easier if I knew where we stood.

Getting home, I flop down on my couch, trying to ignore how large the silence feels. It expands all around me, filling the rooms and weighing on my loneliness. I’ve only got myself to blame.

Chapter Fourteen

Me: We’re just grabbing a quick drink.

Me: We haven’t hung out in a while and Rainer likes to dance.

Me: I’m counting down the minutes until I can go home.

Me: Alone.

For fuck’s sake.

Taryn isn’t writing back, and when I put myself in his position, I can understand why. Still, how many messages do I have to send explaining why I’m here before he gets over this temper tantrum?

I do one more sweep of the slowly crowding room, looking for Rainer, and spot him on the dance floor, escaping a dark guy with a bare chest. Not to be confused with bear chest, but he’s been there too so his stories always need clarifying. One of the flashing lasers gets me right in the eyes, and I’m blinking away red spots the whole way to the bathrooms. As soon as I step into the hall and the door swings closed behind me, the pounding music dulls enough that I’ll be able to hear Taryn if I call him.

Stepping into the empty bathroom, I quickly check that the stalls are unoccupied before I click on his name and the phone starts to ring. Since he was ignoring my messages, I’m a little surprised when he picks up right away.

“Yeah?”

I jolt back a little at his short tone. “Don’t sound too happy to hear from me.”

He hums in response.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?” And as calm as I sound, my skin crawls at the thought that I’ve pissed him off.

“Nope, just been thinking.”

“No wonder you sound annoyed.”

He doesn’t laugh.

“What have I done?” My words come out on a sigh.

“What?” He sounds like he’s only just checking into the conversation. “Why the hell do you assume that?”

“Maybe because normally we talk about anything and everything, but tonight I’m struggling to get a word out of you.”

“Sorry,” he whispers.

That one word sounds so pathetic I immediately want to fix it. Taryn might be serious most of the time, but he’s never like this. “This is why you have my number. When you need someone to talk to, you call me. Now what’s got you all worked up?”

He exhales like a bull, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Taryn…”

“I’m not a pity case. I have no clue what the hell prompted you to give me your number in the first place, but I don’t need you, Elliot. I want one thing, and you want something else.”

It’s taking everything in me not to meet him on his level. “Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who wanted to keep talking?”

“Well, duh, you’re hot as hell. And fine, you don’t feel the same, but stop flirting with me and just say it.”

The absurdity of his words crashes down on me, and instead of snapping back, a small laugh bursts from me, followed by another and another. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m glad you’re amused.”

“No, let me get this right. You’re pissy because you think I’m not interested, when actually I can’t stop thinking about that night. Every guy I see gets compared to you, and I don’t know if anyone’s told you this lately, but no one fucking compares.”

I’m not sure if I’ve gotten through to him, but the movement on his end of the line stops. I’ve laid it all out, now it’s up to him to sort out what to do with it.

“Have… have you been with anyone since me?” The hope in his words loosens the knot in my chest.

“No. I’m guessing you haven’t either.”

“Why do you assume that?”

“Hello? Closeted, recognizable football player. It was an easy bet.”

The chuckle that follows my words is instantly warmer than our whole conversation so far. “You would know.”

“And that is a problem that isn’t going away any time soon.”

Someone staggers into the bathroom and heads straight to the urinal, so I move our conversation into a stall, dropping my voice so I won’t be easily overheard.

“What…” He breathes heavily through his nose. “What are the chances anyone would even notice? I was with Liam for six years and no one caught on.”

“Exactly. Six years of secrets, and now, what? You’re ready to say fuck it all and take a pretty huge risk?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation.

“Okay, but we’re not talking about being outed here. This isn’t run of the mill, jeopardize your career shit. If anyone suspects you’re playing shady, and then you’re linked back to me, that could be jail time, T.”

“I know that should worry me… it just doesn’t.”

“I bet if you got off, and the blood had a chance to get back to your brain, you’d think differently.”

“Try me.”

My dick perks up at the clear challenge, and I can’t deny him anymore. I’d kill to get another night with him—hell, I don’t think one night would cut it. So before I can start overthinking, before I can talk myself out of doing something stupid or impulsive, I hit video chat on my phone and train the camera to where I’m hurriedly unzipping my jeans one handed.

“Hel—oh!”

“Please tell me you’re alone,” I say, hand stilling on the waistband of my underwear, even as my cock aches to be set free.

“I’m alone.”

I tilt the camera up so I can see his face and spare him a rough smile. “We’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper.

He squints as he tries to figure out where I am. “Are you about to jerk off next to a toilet?”

My eyes go wide as I strain to hear whether I’m alone again or not. When I’m sure it’s all clear, I raise the phone to my face. “Is that a complaint?”

“No, sir.” He grins wide. “Carry on.”

The image on-screen goes shaky for a moment, and when it clears again, Taryn seems to have propped his phone up in front of the couch he’s leaning back on. His hand drops to his crotch and he gives his gorgeous, hard dick a squeeze.

It’s all I need to yank my pants down and expose my own.

This is a stupid idea. There’s no reason why I couldn’t have at least gone home before deciding to initiate phone sex, but as Taryn roughly shoves down his sweatpants, I know the second his erection comes into view there’s no stopping this now.

“Oh fuck…” I breathe.

He’s perfect. I had a good amount of time to become familiar with his cock the other night, but I’d forgotten just how big it was, how dark. The round head, tight balls, and the vein running along the underside, that I ran my tongue over more times than I can count, make my mouth water.

I make sure the camera angle is pointing down again as I finally wrap my hand around my cock. Taryn leans over and pulls some kind of cream out of a drawer, but the best I can do is spit into my palm. It’s enough.

I bite back a groan as I give myself a solid stroke, grip tight, twisting at the end. On screen, Taryn is already doing the same. But where I’m trying to take it slow and stay in control, Taryn doesn’t have the same worries. His hand is working up and down his shaft, and his head is thrown back over the couch, barely angled down enough to keep one eye on me.

I want to tell him how I’m dying to shove my cock in between his parted lips. How I want to feel his breath hot against my skin. How I want to wrap my legs around him as he buries his cock deep inside me.

Instead, I turn, propping my forearm against the stall wall and leaning my forehead into it. I barely have the presence of mind to keep my phone on the action as my hand starts to move faster. I match Taryn stroke for stroke, imagining it’s his hand gripping me.

Imagining it’s him here with me.

“Fuck… fuck…” I pant in time with my hand.

Rolling my palm over the precum leaking out, I use it to replace my spit, making each stroke easier, smoother.

“Elliot… I’m…”

“I know,” I choke out as a tingling erupts in the base of my spine and rips through my balls. I thrust uncontrollably into my palm as I come, biting back the groan I need to let out.

My head is light as I drop back against the door, trying to catch my breath and stop my legs from shaking. I catch Taryn’s stare. His hand is moving wildly, showing me he’s close, so I stretch my arm out, making sure my whole body is in the shot. Not taking my eyes off the camera, I give my softening cock one last stroke, then lift my cum-covered hand to my mouth. Taryn’s eyes go wide as I lick at the mess and when I slide one finger into my mouth, his hips jerk up off the couch, and with a groan loud enough for anyone beyond the door to hear, he comes long and hard.

I can’t stop my satisfied smile as I grab some toilet paper and finish cleaning up my mess, waiting for him to come down from his high.

He doesn’t make a move to clean up or grab his phone.

“You okay, big guy?”

“Never better.” A dopey smile drifts across his lips. “And I definitely haven’t changed my mind.”

Thank fuck for that. “I feel like we’re asking for trouble.” Good grief, what am I saying?

Taryn puffs out a breath. “Maybe.”

“And that’s okay with you?”

He gets this cute furrow between his brows as he reaches for his phone. The video ends, and I quickly press the speaker to my ear.

“Like I said, you don’t have time to find guys, and I can’t. Even you agreed it was a good idea.”

His words make sense, but they still make me worry. “So… you want to fuck?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Well, yeah, obviously. I mean, I still want to talk to you like normal, and then, before our days off, maybe we meet up? Friends with benefits, right?”

I snigger. “Are you asking or telling me?”

His soft laugh hits the phone and something in my gut tightens. “I dunno. I’m not very good at this, clearly.” Despite his uncertainty, his tone is the lightest it’s been through the whole conversation. I guess a good orgasm will do that to you.

Acting more confident than I feel, I take over. “Okay, so Tuesday or Friday we meet up, depending on where and when you play. And, what? Spend the night together? Or fuck and bail?”

Taryn groans. “Spend the night, definitely. Surely we’re friends by now. I don’t want to have to treat you like some trick just because that’s what people do.”

My stomach does that weird pull again, and I have to swallow before I can keep talking. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Agreed. And, ah… are we talking exclusive, or—”

“Yes.”

I raise an eyebrow he can’t see at his definite tone. Deciding to see how far I can push that streak of—was it jealousy?—I add, “But what if—"

“Exclusive, Elliot. Nonnegotiable.”

My lips quirk, but I quickly stamp down my amusement. “So things stay as they are, we hook up once a week, and no fucking anyone else.”

“Sounds about right.” I can practically hear him rubbing a hand over his face. “Could we make this any less sexy? I feel like I’m entering contract negotiations.”

I laugh as I unlock the stall and head to the sink to wash my hands. “I didn’t know football was so fun. Don’t worry, we’ll make up for it when we see each other next.”

“Mission accepted.”

I tuck one ankle behind the other, as I hesitate over not wanting to end the call, but knowing I’ve been way too long. “I should probably go. Rainer will be looking for me.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.” There’s a smile in his voice that comes plainly over the line. “Wait until I get my hands on you again.”

A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t. I can’t wait. I almost want to leave now, blow off Rainer and work and my clients and meet Taryn wherever the fuck he wants. We’ve both agreed this is casual, so I really should make the most of it.

No matter how these soft feelings for him keep trying to take over.

Chapter Fifteen

When it comes to football and sex, I’d be hard pressed to pick which is better. Game days make me feel so alive. The smell of grass and sweat and the crowd’s excitement rile me up to the point I’m ready to vibrate right out of my skin.

I breathe in the anticipation and lingering smoke from the fire cannons as we take our line for the first play. The ball snaps back, the cheers from the crowd turn deafening, and it’s on.

I take off up the field, ducking around the waiting cornerback, and O’Brien’s pass is right on target as I reach out and snatch it from the air. We make first down on the second play, and set up on the line of scrimmage to go again. I’m buzzing, every nerve alive. O’Brien throws the Jets off with a pitch and gets the ball to Edgerton. He sidesteps the defensive tackle and then he’s off. He picks up speed, outstripping the rest of the team until he’s brought down after a twenty-yard gain.

“Yes.” I jog up to join the line and slap Edgerton’s back as he heads to his position. With that one run, anticipation builds. We’re so close I can taste it. O’Brien calls the play and I get into position.

“Hut! Hut!”

I practically fly up the damn field, darting away from the cornerback. Most of the defense were expecting Edgerton again, so when O’Brien winds up and sends the ball sailing into the end zone, the ball slams right into my chest.

The cheer I let out isn’t even human, but I’m so damn happy I don’t care. This is where I’m meant to be. And fuck, I hope Elliot is watching. The feel of his eyes on me spurs me through the rest of the game. I push harder, run faster, and take the big hits. My heart is beating like crazy, my lungs burning, and the feeling of coming apart in the best way is completely addictive. Even the dull throb in my shoulder from one of the tackles is welcome.

Our defense is on fire too. Zane doesn’t let a player past, and the Jets struggle to make ground. We’re deep in the final quarter when the Jets finally put away two touchdowns, but by that point it’s too late. We’re tired, but we’ve already won, and with that knowledge, O’Brien pulls off a beautiful trick play out to Johnson who passes off to me. I’m brought down a few yards out from our end zone but on the next play, Michals puts the field goal away, and with only a few seconds left on the clock, the team converges on him. Zane slams into my aching shoulder but even the sudden throb can’t kill my smile. We’ve won another one—five in a row—and tomorrow night I’ll be celebrating the win with Elliot.

“O’Brien wants to go out,” Zane pants. “You’re coming, right?”

I shrug, because no matter my answer, they’ll drag me out anyway. “Guess,” I grunt, the word washed away by our supporters, still screaming their reactions to our win from the stands. It’s not that I don’t want to have a night out, but I already know I’ll be up all night tomorrow with Elliot, so I was kinda hoping everyone would be too tired to celebrate.

Zane’s limp is back as we shake hands with the other team and slowly make our way off the field. There are reporters around and fans waiting for autographs, so instead of running and hiding like I want, or better still, getting my shoulder iced, Zane and I head for the side of the stands where people are hanging over the railings holding balls and jerseys for us to sign.

I love talking to our fans after a win, but there’s never enough time for everyone, and unfortunately, a few people think that means it’s okay to approach me in public. It’s one of the few things Liam and I fought about, but no matter how many times he said it was sweet or part of the job, I hate it. That isn’t likely to ever change.

On the field or at events it’s fine, but on my own time? Hell no.

Handing the ball I’ve signed back to a kid, I lean in for a photo with a girl wearing my jersey number. Right before the flash goes off, she turns and presses a kiss to my cheek. I don’t get a jersey-chaser vibe from her so I keep smiling, willing the moment to be over.

Finally, Zane hands a marker back to an older man and gives my arm a quick tug, signaling he’s ready to go.

We wave, and as we turn to leave, a few groans meet our departing backs.

Despite his limp, Zane is practically bouncing from our win. This week wasn’t anywhere near as physically draining as last, so I’m not surprised to find the music already blasting in the locker room as our team doctor checks over our injuries and congratulates us on the win.

Winston, our assistant coach, grabs an ice pack for my shoulder and tells me I should wait for the doc to make his way around. There seems to be three specialists today, one specifically here for Edgerton who took a nasty hit to the head in the third quarter.

Finally, Doctor Fallins finishes wrapping Zane’s ankle and moves on to me. “Only the shoulder, Taryn?”

“Yep. It’s already feeling better though, probably overextended on a catch.”

He hums, not taking my word for it, as he instructs me to take off my jersey and shoulder pads. His fingers are cold as they slide over the skin, feeling for god knows what. Once he seems satisfied, he tests out movement and positioning. “I agree, it’s likely a strained muscle at most. No heavy lifting or overexertion, you know the drill.”

I nod. This isn’t the first time my shoulder has acted up.

Doctor Fallins pats my uninjured shoulder. “Good game.”

“Thanks, doc.”

He joins the other two talking to Coach, probably giving a run down on how we’re all doing, as the team strips down and files into the showers. It’s loud, and I can’t help a small laugh at the rowdy men behind me. It’s become almost second nature to ignore the muscular bodies of my teammates, but I still make a point of getting in and out of the showers quickly, so if my sexuality ever does get out one day, no one can accuse me of being a perv. Considering some of the homophobic shit that comes out of these guys’ mouths, the way they behave seems pretty fucking gay sometimes.

I smile to myself as I turn off the shower, grab a towel, and head back to my locker. I’m sure Elliot would have watched the game, for work if nothing else, so I dress then grab my phone.

Even though it’s been hours, there’s only one text from him. I quickly open it to find a photo and the message, Should I be jealous? ;)

Frowning, I open the picture and zoom in a little, trying to place what I’m seeing. There’s Zane, signing some guy’s shirt, and next to him… I laugh as I realize it’s a picture of that fan kissing me on the cheek. It takes a second to sink in that this isn’t a professional photo.

Me: Wait, are you here?!

Nerves explode in my stomach as I imagine Elliot out there in the crowd, watching me play without me even knowing. I can’t help but wonder if he saw the big hit I took toward the end and held my ground or the touchdown I got in the second minute. Was he impressed?

A Friend: Would it be okay if I was?

Me: Well, you’d be breaking our rules, so you’d definitely have to make it up to me.

A Friend: Consider it done.

Looking over my shoulder toward where the rest of my team is, I make a split-second decision and bail. I’m sure Zane will be blowing up my phone the second he realizes I’m gone, but fuck it. Elliot is here.

My hands are clammy as I send him my address. Maybe I should have organized a hotel or something considering there’s still that tiny voice reminding me I haven’t known him that long, but even as my good sense tries to take over, I can’t deny I trust him. Because it’s Elliot. The guy who makes me laugh, and makes me think, and keeps a stupid smile on my face all day long. The guy who keeps giving me hope we could have something more.

Or maybe I’m just thinking with my dick again.

Bag slung over my chest, I duck out of the emptying stadium as quickly as possible, rev up my car engine, and head home. Scrubbing my palms on my gym shorts, I try not to be sick at the rush of nerves exploding through me. He’s got me filled with butterflies and jitters at the thought of seeing him, and the feeling is weird, though, I can’t say I hate it.

I’ll take on a defensive lineup in front of hundreds of thousands of people and brush it off like it’s nothing. But planning a hookup?

What the hell has my life become?

Chapter Sixteen

Rainer let me borrow his BMW for the drive down, and while I wait, I check my hair for the umpteenth time, then brush the stray strands back and try to look presentable. I’m outside the address Taryn gave me, but I’m pretty sure he’s not back yet. The modern, two story house looks still and quiet. There are tall ferns screening off the lower level, but the top floor is all glass and black rendering—definitely not the type of place I’d expect Taryn to live.

But exactly the type of place I hope to own myself someday.

While I wait, I open my laptop and try to distract myself. There are a few updates I need to make, but my head’s not in it, so I save everything to work’s online storage system to come back to later. I keep replaying Taryn’s game. His strong legs, the big hits, the passes that seemed to go forever. His tight ass in those football pants. Damn. There’s no denying he’s sexy as hell, but that still doesn’t explain why my stomach is twisted into knots.

We’ve already decided this hookup is going to happen. Time to get my shit together.

No sooner do I have that thought, than a sleek navy Honda slows on the other side of the road and turns into Taryn’s drive. The garage door opens automatically and he parks inside, the door closing again before I’m able to catch a glimpse of him.

Not sure why a football player is driving such a piece of shit car—well, not shit, exactly, it’s top of the line, but still a Honda—I quickly jump out of the BMW, tuck my laptop into my overnight bag, and take a deep breath. The bag means nothing. Taryn stayed at my place last time. It’s just more convenient. So why does it feel like more?

I shake my head and push the door closed, only half wanting to bail. As soon as I hit the lock button, I’m off, walking up his short driveway, and when I reach the security gate, it buzzes and I let myself in.

Pavers cut through a short garden leading to the front of the house. I can make out a sitting room that overlooks the greenery outside, and for a second, I wonder what it would be like to live in a place like this. Somewhere that doesn’t smell or need constant maintenance. Somewhere I’d be proud to have people see.

Only five years. Five more years and somewhere like this will be mine. It’ll make the years of feeling like slime worth it.

Hope tries to take hold as I turn for the door where Taryn is already waiting. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, which are almost as hot as the soft smile he’s paired them with. He looks… sweet. My heart does this weird stumble, and my answering smile is automatic.

“If I’d known you lived in a place like this, I never would have invited you over to my dump.”

He chuckles. “But your place has, umm… charm.”

“Right,” I say, deadpan, and step up onto the porch. There’s an awkward beat as I hover there, not sure how two people with a predetermined hookup greet each other, but Taryn backs up and lets me pass.

After closing the door, he leads me down the hall and up a staircase. “Downstairs is that front room, a home gym, and a bit of a party area around back. Upstairs is the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms.”

Jesus. All I have is one combined living area, a bedroom, and a pitiful excuse for a bathroom. “Big house for one guy…”

“Well, it wasn’t supposed to be only me here.”

I cringe at leading the conversation there. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugs. “Things change.”

The bitter tone I’m expecting doesn’t come, only a soft sadness that I’m not sure how to react to. So I don’t.

Instead my gaze drops to the way his shorts curve over his muscled ass and my lips pull up on one side. I’m a lucky bastard. Not only do I get to spend some time out of my shithole apartment, I’m doing it by spending time with Taryn. My stomach twists a little as I follow the lines of his broad back up to his neck, then to the back of his shaved head. His hair is shorter than it was when I last saw him, but paired with the stubble he’s got going on, I approve.

We reach the top of the stairs, and I try not to act like I have no idea where to go from here as I dump my bag on the floor beside his couch. Do we jump straight into fucking? I mean, it’s literally the only reason I’m here. His view looks out over the Philadelphia skyline and maybe I’m inspecting it too closely because Taryn starts to laugh.

“What?”

“Far out, Elliot. Anyone would think you’ve never done this before.”

“To be fair, I’ve never planned to hook up with a pro football player, then spend the night at his place. Usually I’m a hit and run kind of guy.”

“Classy.” He snorts.

I lift a shoulder. “It works for me.”

Taryn frowns a little at that, barely, and I might not have caught it if I wasn’t watching him. “I guess it’s what works for me now too.”

“It’s a little hard for you to hit and run when I’m in your house, though.”

“True. But I’m pretty sure I could easily throw you out.” He grins, that weird look finally passing.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty tough.”

“Tough? You’re teeny.” Taryn steps close enough to rest a hand on the top of my head and my stomach immediately starts swimming. He smells so good. And I know from experience he feels so good. I bat his hand away.

“Hardly. I’m six foot, jackass.”

“You’re lucky to be five ten on a good day.”

I roll my eyes at his ribbing. I’m done with this game. And while I might be a stranger at sleeping at guys’ houses, I’m ready to move this thing on to areas I’m more than comfortable in. I unzip my hoodie and draw Taryn’s eyes down to what I’m wearing underneath.

“A Sharks jersey?” His eyebrows lift as he tries to hold back how much he likes it.

“Yeah, there was a game on today. Seemed appropriate.”

He smirks, dropping his focus back to the jersey, and I can practically feel his hands smoothing over my chest. I shrug out of my jacket while he watches, then close the distance between us.

“Like it?” I taunt.

He grunts. “It’s okay I s’pose.” But his blown pupils are saying otherwise.

“What do you think about the number?”

His stare traces over the giant eighty-four again. I know what he thinks of the number—it’s his. Without responding, he grips the front of the jersey and yanks me toward him. My chest hits his, and when I think he’s about to kiss me, he ducks his lips down next to my ear. Warm breath tickles my neck.

“I like it so much that you’ll be wearing it when I fuck you.”

I shiver, and when Taryn pulls back, his dark eyes are lit with a combination of amusement and lust. “What are you waiting for, then?”

He leans forward, and I arch up to meet the kiss, but he grabs my bottom lip with his teeth and runs his tongue over it once before releasing me.

“Soon.” Taryn steps back and my dick can’t keep up with the sudden cool-down. “I’ve gotta eat. After that game, I need more energy for everything I’m going to do to you tonight.”

Oh, fuck. As Taryn walks away, I press down on my half-hard dick, willing it to behave. If Taryn needs energy, I can wait for that. Maybe.

I slide onto one of the stools at his counter while Taryn opens the pantry and stares inside. He’s looking for a good minute or two before something clicks.

“Can’t figure out what to eat?” I ask, suspecting he’s not hesitating over that at all. From the amount of food I can make out over his head, there’s enough to feed an army in there.

He throws me a sheepish grin as he rubs the back of his neck. “The NFL supplies all my food, but… I don’t actually know how to cook.”

Somehow I manage to keep my laugh to myself, but, c’mon, Taryn. “You don’t know how to cook?”

He scowls at the obvious disbelief in my voice. “It’s not like I’ve had much time to practice.”

“Then what the hell have you been eating?”

“Takeout.”

“Takeout? I bet your coach isn’t happy about that.”

He flicks the pantry door closed and turns to lean on the counter. “He doesn’t know, obviously. Every time I try to cook something it either turns out like rubber, or I ruin another pan.”

“Ever heard of YouTube?”

“I honestly can’t say I even thought to look there.”

My lips twitch for a second before he looks at me, but I’m seriously struggling to get myself under control. “How have you survived for so long?” And maybe it should be pathetic that he can’t cook, but the way Taryn owns it gives me another thing to warm toward. I guess you don’t become one of the top wide receivers by playing house.

He shrugs. “Liam.”

And with one word, the warmth disappears. Of course Liam’s the reason he’s managed. He’s also the reason that this thing with Taryn and me is only temporary. Because I know if Liam ever wanted him back, Taryn would be there in a heartbeat. The thought almost has me zipping up my hoodie and hitting the road again, and it definitely makes me feel like a dickhead for sitting here in a number I have no right to—what the hell was I thinking?

I suddenly really want to change.

“Hey…” Taryn reaches over and brushes my fingers with his own. “You can’t expect me never to mention him,” he says softly. “Just like I can’t expect you not to mention your ex-boyfriends.”

“You don’t need to sweat it. I have no ex-boyfriends.”

Taryn smirks. “Surely you have—”

“None. Not in high school, not in college, not now. I’m good at keeping my feelings locked up, so you don’t need to worry about me falling for you.” Yet the words don’t taste true. Because it’s impossible to look at him without my heart thumping out an offbeat rhythm.

His fingers leave mine cold as he pulls back. “Yeah, good.” His voice is all tight, but I’m not going to let myself question why.

“So, food. Let’s see what you have, and I’ll show you a basic as fuck dish I like. Tell me you have cream?”

Taryn lifts an eyebrow suggestively as I round the counter, and I playfully shove his arm.

“Actual cream, asshole. Check the fridge.”

Once we work out that he has pasta, cream, bacon, onion, mushrooms, and parmesan, I walk him through how to make boscaiola. He boils the pasta—after I up the amount of water he’s using—while I chop the ingredients, then I show him how to combine it all in a pan, while adjusting the temperature as needed. He hovers over my shoulder, chest close enough to my back that it stirs goosebumps across my skin. To his credit, he looks like he’s paying attention at least, even if he does get distracted burying his nose in my hair.

“It smells delicious,” he growls against my ear before giving my earlobe a nip.

I bat him away, willing myself not to give in and jump him. “It will be if you let me concentrate.”

“You’re a good teacher.” His hands close around my hips, and I lean back into his hold.

“And you’re a terrible student.”

“Gonna punish me?” Before I can respond, he grinds his hard cock against my ass.

I drop the spatula, and the word I let out makes absolutely no sense. Taryn’s laugh is warm and low in my ear. I’m not great with self-control, but somehow I stop myself from bending forward and pushing back against him.

“You said dinner first,” I mumble.

He hums, but it doesn’t exactly sound happy. “I did.” He steps away. “So feed me.”

His slap on my ass is so hard and sudden, I yelp. “Feeling rough again, are you?” I ask, trying not to let on that yes, I am so down for that.

“What can I say? You bring it out in me.”

Chapter Seventeen

I keep stealing glances at Elliot. He’s got his feet tucked up under him, resting his bowl on his knees. We’re watching TV, and out of the two of us, he’s the one paying attention, because everything he does is so much more interesting to me than whatever is playing. He’s got this cute way of blinking too much, and every time he takes a bite, a small frown creases his forehead before smoothing out again. I can’t look away.

Scooping up another bite, my mouth waters, and it’s actually over the dinner this time. Elliot can cook. And okay, he said it was basic as shit, but no matter how basic, it tastes unreal.

Or maybe that’s because he cooked it.

His face is relaxed as he eats, and there’s something mesmerizing about the way his attention flows from his food to the screen, completely content. Here. On my couch. With me.

I shake my head to deter myself from that dangerous way of thinking. He’s here with me for now, and I need to remember that. Elliot has told me way too many times to count that he doesn’t do relationships, but… then he told me he’d never had one, and now I’m wondering whether it’s because he hasn’t tried it before.

Sighing, I turn back to my food. Even if Elliot was interested in more, we both know it couldn’t be with me. There’s no way I can deal with another man walking out on me. And I know that’s exactly what it would be like. Even thinking of Elliot makes me smile, and if we got into an actual relationship, I wouldn’t hold back.

Privately, at least.

And what kinda crazy person does it make me that I almost don’t care? If being a secret wouldn’t hurt Elliot, I’d jump right on making something happen. But I’m determined not to mess up this time.

I glance over at Elliot again and a muscle jumps out in his jaw as he goes to take a bite. He’s not wearing his glasses, but he is wearing that jersey, and even though it would be too small on me, he fills it out nicely. That’s one of the many things I like about him. I don’t have to worry about being too careful.

There is zero doubt in my mind if I got too rough, he’d knock me on my ass.

“You’re staring, Taryn.” Elliot’s expression stays neutral, but I can tell he’s amused.

“I think I’m done with dinner.”

Elliot drops his bowl on the glass table and the loud ching makes us both cringe. Setting my bowl aside in a pointed, more careful way, prompts an angelic smile from him.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You can apologize by getting your ass over here.”

I almost laugh at how fast Elliot’s feet hit the ground, but then he’s closed the space between us and straddles my lap, and suddenly, there’s nothing to laugh at.

My hands find his thighs, loving the way the light muscles feel under my palms as I give them a squeeze. He tilts a challenging smile at me as I grip his thighs tighter, sliding my hands farther up but as I reach his crotch, he angles his hips forward, and I release his legs completely.

Elliot gives me a throaty laugh. “In a teasing mood, are we?”

I don’t answer him. I reach around to pull the band from his hair and even though it’s barely long enough to pull back, his hair springs free into a chaotic mess that surrounds his head. That mouth that drives me crazy parts a little as I flick the band away and bring my thumb to the beauty spot over his lips. How on earth did I manage this? What are the odds of bumping into the most beautiful man in existence in a fucking bathroom?

Elliot’s clearly picked up that I’m not playing. This might be a casual thing, but I’m going to make sure it’s incredible for both of us because I want him to come back over and over, until we’re both sick of each other.

My hand slides to the back of his neck, and I coax him closer, lightly brushing his lips with mine. He tastes so good, and damn do I want to fuck him, but I’m not going to push it.

Still, even as I have that thought, Elliot decides he’s done waiting. His mouth seeks mine, harder and more demanding than before. I moan against his lips, and when his tongue prods forward, I immediately meet it with mine. Heat surges through me, waking my cock up as Elliot grinds against my leg.

Finally giving in to the urge, I grab Elliot’s ass with both hands and squeeze, encouraging a little noise from him that I immediately swallow with my kiss. I tilt my hips up into his, and as our erections rub together, we both let out a groan. It’s not enough.

Without giving him warning, I slide forward, position my arms under his ass, and stand. Elliot breaks our kiss as he yelps, scrambling to grab my shoulders.

“Holy shit. I can honestly say no one has ever picked me up before.”

“You’re clearly not hooking up with the right kind of guys.”

His eyes are heavy with lust as his gaze meets mine, and something zings through right to my chest. “Clearly not.”

I catch his mouth with mine again, knowing the way to my bedroom well enough to not bump into any walls. I’ve gone from horny to fucking needy in five seconds flat, and I need to focus my attention on getting off and not on how right Elliot feels in my arms.

I kick my bedroom door open and toss Elliot unceremoniously onto my bed. The jersey rides up a little, exposing the strip of hair on his stomach. I dive in, running my nose over his warm skin before licking a line from the top of his pants to his belly button. He’s so fucking sexy, and I’m done with this clothes bullshit, so I unbutton his jeans and pull those and his underwear clean off.

His cock bounces back against his stomach, the tip already shiny with precum. I can’t pull my eyes from it as I kneel up and strip off my shirt, then push my shorts down my thighs and kick them onto the floor. Elliot reaches for the jersey, but before he can get it halfway up his stomach, I yank it back down.

“That’s not going anywhere.” My voice is heavy and deep, and I can barely explain why fucking him with it on is such a turn on to me, but something about seeing him wrapped in my number while he’s wrapped around my cock makes my balls draw up tight.

His eyebrows pull up a little, but he doesn’t say anything, just watches me closely. Needing to distract him, I grab his cock and give it a quick pump.

“I want to fuck you.”

Those words are enough. His gaze drops to my chest, my stomach, my dick and his tongue darts out over his bottom lip before he nods. “Please.”

I groan at the way he struggles to get the word out and decide I’m done with talking. As I move to kneel between his legs, I angle his cock up and swallow it in one go, taking him right to the back of my throat. His hips buck almost enough to make me gag. The taste of him has me leaking as I pull back and swirl my tongue around the tip. I’m not planning to get him off this way, but I wrap my lips tight, building up a quick rhythm as I bob up and down, getting him horny enough to start prepping.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, reaching down to grip my shoulder. Hearing the neediness in his voice almost encourages me to forget my own orgasm and keep going, to bring him pleasure as quickly as possible.

Instead, I pull back, and gripping his cock at the base, I give the tip one last, long suck. I pull off with a pop and kiss down the underside before sucking each of his balls into my mouth. Elliot shudders softly beneath me, and I smirk as I kiss the crease between his thigh and his groin. I don’t bother to warn him when I grab the backs of his thighs and shove his legs upward, but Elliot must have been anticipating it because he grabs the backs of his knees without me having to ask, exposing himself completely.

The site of his tight, pink hole makes me groan, and I have to grab my balls to calm down a little. He’s clearly not shy, but I refuse to stop and think about the reason why and instead focus on leaning down and licking from his taint right down to his hole. I work my tongue around the ring of muscle until he’s relaxed enough that I’m able to push inside. When Elliot starts making soft little moans and fucking himself back on my tongue, I pull back and suck on my fingers, ready to work him open.

And fuck, he’s tight. His ass grips my finger as it adjusts around the intrusion and I give short, shallow thrusts, gradually working up to my knuckle. Elliot’s moans have gone quiet, but his hips are still pushing back against me, and soon, he’s relaxed enough for me to add another finger.

As I work him open, I suck his cock back into my mouth, groaning at the taste of his precum.

“Taryn, now. Please, now.”

Lust completely clouds my vision as I reach for my side table and it takes two attempts to get the damn drawer open. I grab a condom and the lube, then reposition myself between his legs. As I tear open the condom and roll it on, my gaze travels up his body to the jersey, and my balls start to tingle. I lube up, and when I look at his face, our eyes meet. I’m pinned under his stare, the moment going from hot to intimate and my hand stills.

A slight frown starts to pull at Elliot’s face and he quickly breaks eye contact. “I prefer to be on my knees,” he says, quickly shifting back a little before flipping over.

The connection between us severs, and I’m left feeling a little off balance. Then he shifts onto his knees, face in a pillow, and I forget all about it.

I slide one hand over his firm ass as I get into position, running it over the jersey, all the way down his back until I grip his neck. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to his shoulder as I position the head of my cock against his entrance.

I’m careful as I push forward, easing myself in and giving him time to adjust. Elliot’s ribs expand as he takes a deep breath, and I feel the exact moment he bears down and relaxes. Each slow, shallow thrust takes me deeper, and in the last few months, it’s like I’ve forgotten exactly what sex feels like. His ass is so tight around me, I swear I’m going to come any second. I bite down on my lip and squeeze his neck tighter to try to ground myself.

When I bottom out, pushing my hips flush against his, Elliot lets out a long, quiet groan. Releasing his neck, I smooth my hands down his sides and grip his hips. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

He’s already nodding. “Yeah. I’m good. Fuck me.”

I’ve never heard sweeter words. I peel myself away from Elliot, arranging the jersey back into place as I pull out to the tip and push back in just as slowly, feeling every second his skin glides over the condom. I want to take my time and worship his body, but my hips have a mind of their own as I start to pick up speed. My fingers are biting into his hips as I pull him back against me, not able to get enough. The steady slap of my balls against his ass and our heavy breathing is all that fills the room, and as my gaze trails back down to that jersey, I let out a low groan. Fuck, it’s so hot. Like my number owns him. My hips snap faster as I picture him at the game, showing everyone exactly who he was there for—tying us together. And now, with that number on his back and my cock pounding his ass, it’s like I’m claiming him. Owning him.

“Damn, you look so sexy right now.”

“Fuck, Taryn. I’m not going to last much longer.”

“Good. I want you to come for me. I want to make you scream.”

I hook one arm around his waist and pull him up so his back is against my chest. It’s still not close enough. He turns his head, and I take the invitation, plunging my tongue into his mouth. My hand tangles in his hair as I force the kiss deeper, and my other hand releases his waist to drop down and run over his cock. Precum has slicked his tip up nicely, and I use it to lubricate my palm as I start to jerk him off.

“Taryn,” he pants, breaking the kiss and dropping his head back on my shoulder. My mouth finds his neck, dragging open-mouthed kisses over it as I free my hand from his hair and wrap my arm across his chest, holding him in place. My short, deep thrusts pick up in pace, and I’m almost at the point of no return.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I breathe against his skin before biting down on his shoulder.

Elliot cries out, and his hips snap forward into my fist and back onto my cock in erratic movements before his dick pulses and cum shoots out over my hand. I jerk him through his orgasm as tingles erupt at the base of my spine and start to pool in my balls.

Just when I think I could pass out, my whole body jolts, and I come, emptying into the condom with a long moan.

We breathe against each other for a few moments, while I struggle to catch my breath. Coming down from the high, I can’t think of anything to say. That was… intense.

I pull out and walk into my bathroom to grab a washcloth so I can clean us both up. My heart is still going crazy, and I’m not entirely sure which of my racing thoughts to latch onto. All I know is when I walk back into the bedroom and see Elliot sprawled across the bed, jersey hitched up around his waist, it makes my stomach clench.

I promised myself I wouldn’t catch feelings, but I’m struggling. It’s almost hard to breathe seeing him like this—in my space—as though he should have been here all along.

His eyes are closed as I gently wipe the stray cum and lube from his skin before dropping the washcloth onto my side table. I eye the jersey for a moment, torn on how right and wrong it feels, then I reach over and peel it off him, dropping it onto the floor and hoping my niggling feelings follow.

Chapter Eighteen

Taryn’s gone weird. I keep my eyes closed as he settles next to me, but he doesn’t immediately pull me closer like he did at my place. I’m not sure what has changed, but I’m feeling it too. That moment we made eye contact was the most intense, vulnerable moment I’ve ever shared with anyone, and sure, he distracted me with a mind-blowing fuck, but now that it’s over… my eyes burn as I try not to fucking cry.

I’ve been with guys who were hell bent on eye-fucking me as they swallowed my cock, but for some reason with Taryn, it was too much. We agreed on casual, but if my reaction was anything to go by, that’s not going to work for us, and lying here naked isn’t a great time to be bringing it up. Because as much as I might want him, our problems haven’t miraculously gone away.

I jolt as Taryn’s fingers run down the side of my face, forcing those thoughts away.

He chuckles. “You okay there?”

I finally look at him, and at least some of the pressure behind my ribs has eased. “Yeah. Good.” I wriggle closer to him, and he wraps an arm around me. I lean into it, wanting the touch more than I’ll admit.

He hums and rolls onto his side, his tattooed arm closing around my waist until we’re pressed together. “I’m so fucking glad I have you for another two days.”

“Two days?” I ask. I only planned on spending the night.

“Yep. We agreed to Tuesday or Friday nights. You’re here a day early, so I’m taking it as a bonus.”

I frown as I run my nose over his collarbone. “I thought we agreed to one night. Not a specific one?”

“Oh no, it was definitely Tuesdays or Fridays.” His mouth makes its way to my ear. “By the time you leave here you’re going to be so sore, you’ll be lucky if your legs work.”

A million and one protests spring to mind because two nights is way more than I prepared for, but then… fuck it. It’s kind of nice to know he wants me here, even if it’s only for sex. Relaxing against his bicep, I bring a hand up to draw patterns over the compass tattoo on his pec. “Looking forward to it.” Because why the hell shouldn’t I enjoy this while it’s a thing? Having a regular fuck buddy isn’t something I’ve done since college, and even then, neither of us were interested in spending the night. This will be fun—really fun if that round was anything to go by—and then we’ll go our separate ways, and I’ll have an interesting story for the day he ever comes out.

“So, how did you get away?” Taryn asks. “I thought game days were really busy for you.”

“They are. I emailed my clients to let them know punting cut offs, but there will still be a few who are pissed I’m not at their beck and call. I figured I’d be watching your game on TV anyway, and it’s a while before you play at home again, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

“And you were horny, right?” Taryn asks.

“I mean, have you seen you in your football gear?”

He chuckles and lightly tickles his fingers over my ribs, making me squirm. “Seriously though, it was a great surprise. I’m glad you did it.”

“Yeah, me too. Though truthfully, I’m a bit anxious about not working. I haven’t had time off since I started there, and the last thing I want is to piss off one of my big names and have them go to someone else.”

Taryn doesn’t immediately answer me as he pulls back a little. “No time off is hard. You’re clearly overdue.”

I nod, but a harsh laugh tumbles out. “True. But I’m still making a name for myself and with what I do… you don’t exactly get full benefits.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

That’s always a hard one to answer. “I enjoy it on some levels, I guess. The numbers, the odds… I’m a spreadsheets and data kind of guy. But I don’t like the seediness of it. Some of the guys I work with are cool, but I wouldn’t trust any of them with a knife near my back. There’s this weird mutual level of respect when you’re in the game, but when it comes to the next dollar, all bets are off. Pun intended.”

“That doesn’t sound like a great place to work at all.”

“Okay, Taryn,” I tease. “We can’t all be big time jocks like you.” I squirm away from him, but Taryn pulls me back in tight, and I stop fighting. This is where I want to be, but I’d rather put a hold on that conversation. Because, duh, I know my job isn’t great. If it wasn’t for the money, I wouldn’t be doing it at all. But like hell am I going to tell the guy I’m sorta seeing that I grew up dirt poor and never want to experience that again.

“Calm down. I only mean that while I might not be able to trust how my team will react to my being gay, I can trust them on the field. At work. Completely. It would be exhausting to work with anything less.”

“It is.”

“So why do you do it?”

I pause, trying to pinpoint the judgment in his tone, but when I don’t find any, I decide to answer truthfully. “I already told you. I have a five-year plan. Make the money, then get out.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Yes. It’s a lot of money.”

“Lots of other jobs pay a lot of money.”

I shake my head. “Not on this level.”

“So is money your end game, or do you have something you want to do with it?”

“Is this Twenty Questions?”

Taryn grins and presses a kiss to my temple, stubble scraping my skin. I melt, just a little. “No. I like getting to know you better.”

I sigh. “Fine, yes. I have a plan. Once I have enough for a house and a nest egg, I’ll find work related to my degree. I have master’s degrees in finance and economics because I wanted good options for a career. But when one of the guys in my classes introduced me to Gary, it snowballed, and the next minute I was cold calling punters, trying to get them on my books.”

“If you only need five years to be able to buy a place, you must be doing pretty well for yourself.”

I tilt my head back so I can meet his eyes. “You don’t have to pretend you approve.”

“It’s not that.” His gaze traces the window as he thinks. “Do I wish you weren’t a bookie? Of course. It makes things difficult. But it’s your life, your choice. Of course I’m going to be supportive.”

He still looks like he has more to say.

“But…” I prompt.

“Well, are you ever worried the people on the other end have an addiction? That you’re feeding it? Maybe putting them in a bad place?”

“When I started out, yes. I had to take on whoever I could. But as I got better and built up my reputation, I became very picky about who I took on. Don’t get me wrong, I’d say everyone on my books is addicted on some level, but the guys I work with aren’t going bankrupt anytime soon. I’m not the loan shark, shady type of bookie people like to play in movies.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad then.”

I hum. “Yeah. Probably the worst part is when people bet on players getting hurt. That never sits quite right with me.”

Taryn cringes. “People actually bet on that?”

“Have you been living under a rock? People will bet on anything if the lines have good enough odds.”

“And… do you give them good odds on something like that?”

The judgement I expected earlier has finally started to creep in. “I’ll work the best line. It’s my job, and I’m there to make money. The aim for me is to have as close to even bets on both sides of the line as possible. That way I make the most money. One side pays for the other, and I take my ten percent right off the top.”

“You sound like you have it all figured out.”

“Because I do.”

Silence sits between us, and I try not to let it bother me. Taryn has every right to ask questions, and I don’t want him to think we can only talk about dumb things over text. But the reason I never tell anyone what I do is because I know I’m treading a fine moral line, and when something is illegal, people are always ready to jump on you.

I let out a breath and decide I might as well push past the awkwardness. I mean, we’re lying here naked together for fuck’s sake. “So tell me, why football?”

He looks relieved at the subject change. “I was really good at it. Got a college scholarship and was offered a reserve position right after graduation.”

“You weren’t a reserve for long though, right?”

“Maybe four games. Got regular field time during the first season, then I was added to the starting lineup the year after. I’ve worked hard for it my whole life. But the thing is, I was never pushing for that next level. I always focused on giving each game everything I had.”

“And you’re still doing that. This season has been outstanding.”

“You think?”

I almost roll my eyes at his need for validation, but it’s so sincere it pulls a smile from me instead. “Taryn, I know all your stats. My job is literally to study you. When I say you’re incredible, I mean it.”

His whole face seems to shine at that, and it really blows my mind that he could think any differently. I’m so stuck on that thought that when he buries his face in my neck to hide his smile, I don’t think to question it. When he trails light kisses along my jaw, I lean into them, and when he gives me a soft, sweet kiss, I return it. Our tongues come together slowly, once, before he pulls back again.

“I think you’re pretty incredible too.”

Those are the words that do it. My carefully constructed detachment crumbles as I overanalyze his tone, the eye contact, everything about his expression. My chest feels uncomfortably full as a burst of something goes off in my stomach and makes my cheeks burn.

Instead of responding, I arch my neck and kiss him, slow and measured, trying to stop him from picking up on whatever feelings are playing across my face.

Chapter Nineteen

Seeing Elliot becomes the highlight of my week. He’s always fun and down for pretty much anything, so after a hard game and an incredible win, I enjoy getting to celebrate with him in my bed.

We always meet at my place, and while the next two visits were like the first—dinner, fuck, collapse in each other’s arms—during the last one we actually ventured out. I surprised him by taking him to a drive-in movie.

It’s risky, we both know it is, but we keep platonic distance while we’re out and try not to draw attention. No one has any cause to check into who Elliot is, and somehow, we’ve both fallen into the mindset that if we don’t talk about it, it isn’t a big deal.

And after a month of sneaky visits, a lot of phone sex, and constant calls and messages, we’re doing okay.

Elliot collapses beside me after another intense fuck where he rode me like a fucking cowboy, and he immediately seeks out my embrace. For someone who initially seemed a little standoffish about cuddling, he’s definitely come around. And I’m all too happy to accommodate. I press a kiss to his sweaty hair and relax, loving the feel of his warm body tucked in against me, his long legs tangled between mine.

It hits me, not for the first time, how much I like this. I’m content with him here, and it bugs me that I can’t place whether that’s solely him or because I’m filling some lonely hole Liam left behind.

A niggling voice tells me it’s the former, but then… I have no idea what to do about that.

“I’m going to teach you how to cook that fish tonight,” he says sleepily.

“Sounds good.” There’s more I want to say. Lots more. Like the way I like the feel of his hair in my fingers. Or how his weight when he lies on me is the most comforting thing I’ve ever felt. Or how I want to kiss that mole above his lips over and over…

Or how I want to go away with him.

Not as a couple, obviously, but with the bye next week it’s as good of a time as any to head off for a few days and tune out the rest of the world. I’m almost anticipating the off-season when I can make more time to drive up and spend days at his place. Even though we text and talk over the phone all week, one night together isn’t enough.

“Come on.” I swat him on the ass. “Let’s get up and do it then.”

Elliot groans, then extracts himself from my arms. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t move all night.

The way Elliot shows me to cook fish seems too easy, then the salad and baked potatoes aren’t exactly a culinary masterpiece. The lemon cream sauce is a whole other story.

“You need to keep stirring.”

“I am stirring.”

“It’s burning.”

“Then stirring clearly isn’t helping.”

Restraint lines Elliot’s face as his hand closes over mine and he directs the wooden spoon deeper into the pan. “If you’re not getting the bottom, it’ll stick there.”

I’m tempted to make a quip about sticky bottoms but keep it to myself. “Got it.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand, just steps closer and leans his head against my shoulder as we stir. I wish my hand was free so I could hug him closer, but instead I press a kiss to the top of his head.

He smiles and steps back, leaving me with the sauce as he grabs his wine from the fridge. I’m really not that interested in wine, but thinking about asking Elliot if he’ll come away with me, I really could use it.

“Hey, I think this is ready.”

Elliot slides a glass onto the counter right next to me as he moves in close to check the sauce. “It is. Well done, Taryn. You don’t need me anymore.”

His words are light and joking, but I don’t like them. Because maybe I do need him. Before he can step away, I loop an arm around his waist and crush him against me. Elliot goes stiff for a moment, then reaches around to rest his hands on my lower back. I don’t say anything. It’s better that way. But the thought of not needing him anymore sits heavy on my chest because I want to need him. I like needing him.

If Elliot finds out how attached I’m becoming, he’ll take the nearest exit. My heart trips up a bit as Elliot presses a kiss to my chest then pulls back again, completely oblivious to my thought process. He plates up the food then directs me to cover the fish and potatoes in my sauce before we carry it all over to the couch.

I’ve got to hand it to him, it’s good. Everything Elliot’s shown me so far has been pretty easy and tasted amazing. I’m confident that if he ends up leaving, I’ll actually manage okay.

I’m halfway through dinner before I finally get the balls to voice my idea. “So… next weekend. Have plans?”

“Working. Nothing new there.”

“Any chance of getting out of it?”

Elliot looks up, clearly surprised I even bothered to ask. “Why? What are you thinking?”

My throat is so tight I can’t keep eating, so I set my plate aside and turn to him, resting my back against the armrest. “It’s my bye week. I have to help Mom with a few things around her house, but then I’m free for four whole days before training starts again. I figured… we both work so hard, maybe we should use the opportunity to take a time out.”

Elliot narrows his eyes. “We, huh?”

“Just an idea,” I hurry to point out, worried I’m pushing too hard.

He blinks at a spot over my shoulder for a second before a smile starts to curve his lips. “The good thing about my job is I can work from anywhere.”

My nose wrinkles. “Not sure I want to share you with your work.”

Something sparks in Elliot’s eyes, and he sets his plate beside mine before crawling across the couch. “You don’t want to share, period.”

“Can’t deny that,” I grunt, attention dropping to his round shoulders then down to his long, muscular back.

Elliot stops when he settles in front of me, kneeling between my thighs. “Where would we go?”

“Didn’t want to look at places until I knew whether you were in or not.”

“Why? Afraid of being organized?”

“Afraid of being disappointed.”

Our eyes meet for a second before he quickly looks away. I’m not sure if he missed the moment between us or if he’s just a major league professional at ignoring it, but Elliot’s sly smile quickly recovers. “City or solitude?”

“Solitude,” I reply.

“Maybe somewhere with cell service.”

“And a hot tub.”

“A mini bar and room service are a must.”

“Plus a king-size bed.” I pump my eyebrows at that one, and Elliot’s wariness completely disappears.

“How many times do you think you can come in four days?”

“Gotta be double digits.”

“Can you count that high, Taryn?”

“For you, I’d be willing to try.”

“Aww, so romantic.” Elliot leans closer and rubs his nose against my chest. I smile, just a bit, and when he collapses against me, I wrap my arms around him without even thinking. “Grab your phone. Let’s find a place.”

In the end, I grab my laptop, set it on the arm of the couch, and navigate one handed while Elliot nestles against my side. I’m pretty good about hiding how my hand shakes as I type or how I keep breathing him in. Truthfully, I can recognize I’m in way over my head. Because this, sitting here with him and planning a weekend getaway, seems suspiciously like something boyfriends would do.

My arm tightens around him as I let myself feel the moment, and I feel only slightly guilty that I’m in a whole other place than he is. But maybe… maybe if I show him how good having a boyfriend is, he’ll want it too.

Or maybe he’ll remind me what this really is and kick me to the curb.

We decide wherever we choose needs to be low-key and within driving distance. It needs to be somewhere we can go out and do things together without me worrying about a random journalist or fan taking pictures of us holding hands.

Chatham seems like a solid choice. It’s a sleepy town in Massachusetts off Cape Cod, and while there’s not a whole lot to do there, it should be perfect for a little down time. We debate between hiring a private house or staying at Chatham Bars Inn, and in the end, we decide to book one of the hotel’s private cottages. If Elliot books us in, no one will need to know I’m there.

And I refuse to let him pay. Elliot isn’t happy, I can tell that much, but it’s nonnegotiable to me. I’ve got a lot of savings set aside given I’d been expecting to do the wedding and kids thing one day, and this little trip… this will be my chance to show Elliot what he’s been missing out on.

If it goes well, I might be able to convince him we should have more.

I hate that I can’t stop thinking that way, but as Elliot takes over the computer, searching what we can do while we’re there, I spend the whole time watching him. Watching the way his face lights up when he finds something interesting. Watching the way his lips form words as he reads and the way his forehead wrinkles up as he squints at the screen, trying to see clearer. I’d offer to get his glasses but I don’t want to move. He’s adorable. Everything about him draws me in, right down to the way our breathing has synchronized.

I was an idiot to ever think this thing between us could be casual.

Now I hope I’m not an idiot for thinking it could be more.

Chapter Twenty

The room is booked, there’s no way out now. Not that I want there to be. Or do I? Shit, I can’t make up my mind. All I know is that going away with Taryn to a place that is so obviously and specifically meant for couples has twisted both my head and stomach so much I don’t know how I’ve avoided the emergency room.

But fuck, watching Taryn relax as we planned a few days together is possibly my favorite memory of him. He’s incredibly high-strung for a football player. Aren’t they all supposed to be dumb jocks? And yeah, clearly my experience with them is minimal, but Taryn’s always thinking. I’m too afraid to ask about what, but whenever I look into his eyes, I can tell. He’s assessing, questioning, doubting, and I’m pretty sure it’s all about us. When we sat there and planned, though, all that thinking went away as he hugged me to him like he couldn’t bear to let me go.

My smile comes before I can stop it, so I save the spreadsheet I’m working on and make a split-second decision to call him. The phone barely rings before he picks it up.

“Give me a second.”

The sound of talking in the background dims as Taryn clearly moves away.

“Hey, this is a surprise.” His warm voice wraps around me.

“I was thinking about tomorrow. Think it’ll be warm enough for swimming?”

He chuckles. “You’re calling me about swimming?”

“Yeah. I’m wondering what to pack.”

“And you’re debating over a pair of swim trunks that take up next to no room?”

I frown, not sure about the teasing tone in his voice. “I just wanted your thoughts.”

“Uh huh. Why are you really calling?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you probably should have come up with a better excuse than swimming. You’re going to make me think you’re missing me.”

“Ha,” I say with a scoff and nowhere near as much conviction as I’d like. I push up from my desk chair and walk over to look out my window at the gray brick office building next door. “Miss your dick, maybe.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but when he finally does, he sounds almost disappointed. “Well, my dick and I are out with Zane. Was there anything specifically you needed?”

You. I press my lips together, unwilling to give that response. “Just wanted to say hey.”

There’s a pause again, and I can picture him thinking. Finally, he sighs. “Hey, gorgeous.”

The warmth in his tone brings back some of my uncertainty over exactly what I’m doing here. As I run my thumb over the side of my notepad, I consider whether I should blow this trip off. But I’d never be able to bring myself to do it, because even though I don’t want to admit it, not even to myself, I’m looking forward to spending actual time with him.

“Sure you don’t want to cancel?” I ask, giving him an out.

“Fuck no.”

“What if I wanted to cancel?”

“Then I’d kick your ass.” There’s no hesitation in his response which makes me feel instantly better.

I grin. “I’d rather you did something else with my ass.”

“Then I suggest you behave yourself.” His growl has want pooling in my dick.

“Please. Like you could get through the next four days without fucking me.”

“I can barely get through today. You sure you don’t want me to drive up there tonight?”

Do I? Taryn’s supposed to pick me up at noon tomorrow. Would a few extra hours really hurt anything? Would another night with him in my bed really cross too many lines? My stomach gives an odd flutter as I imagine his large body stretched out across my mattress. At least at his place, I can keep the memories there. As it is, I already replay our first night together far too often. I’m seriously losing the battle to get my feelings to fuck off.

“That’s okay,” I finally hear myself saying. “I really should see Rainer before we go. I’ve been neglecting him lately.”

“And I guess you don’t want me meeting your friends.” I can tell by his tone he’s not happy with my response.

“Really? You want to out yourself to another person, Taryn? I love Rainer, but when he’s drinking, he tends to let anything slip.”

“He doesn’t have to know we’re together.”

The word echoes in my chest. Together? “Hooking up, you mean?”

“Yeah. That. Don’t you have friends?”

“No. I don’t.” Things get awkward and I can’t help but curse myself. This is why long-term hookups never work. Feelings are messy, and when you start fucking someone regularly, those assholes always show up.

“Except Rainer, you mean.” His voice is low, trying to cover his suspicion.

It should be an easy question to answer, but… “Well, now we are.” The words make me feel sick.

“You used to hook up?” I hate the way he sounds completely surprised, like he wasn’t expecting my answer at all.

“Only a few times. When we were lonely, mostly. But long before you, we agreed not to do it anymore.”

“It’s fine, forget I asked,” he says.

Like I’m going to be able to. That question, this trip, they’re bound to muddy the waters. “No, it’s okay. Really.” I don’t elaborate or offer another response.

“I gotta get back.”

“Okay, then.” I’m about to hang up when Taryn speaks again.

“Elliot?”

“Still here.”

The hesitation is back, and I can almost hear him thinking through whatever he’s about to say.

“You don’t need an excuse.”

“What?” I frown, confused.

“You can call me to say hey whenever you want.” He sighs. “I wanted to make that clear.”

He hangs up, but his words play over and over in my head. Warmth heats my cheeks as I stare at my phone’s blank screen, hearing the emotion in his voice with every pass of the memory. I feel all jittery inside, yet lighter somehow. And as I swallow back the thick lump forming in my throat, I will myself to ignore it.

The loud ringtone of my work cell startles me, and I quickly hurry to answer, glad for the distraction.

“This is Elliot.”

“It’s Darcy. What do you have for Thursday night’s Hawks game?”

Darcy—though I’m pretty sure that’s not his real name—is always straight to the point. He’s one of my very, very lucrative clients, and whenever he calls, I’m almost guaranteed to take his bet. Ten thousand at a time is close to tipping my betting lines, but I’ll take it anyway.

“Decent odds. You looking at spread or money line?”

“Spread.”

“Spread is eight and a half to the Hawks. If you want money line, it’ll cost three hundred and fifty to make a hundred on the Hawks. Or a hundred to win two seventy on the Cubs.”

“Your line is higher than the Mills’. Even the lines coming out of Vegas are tighter than that.”

I shrug a shoulder. “I’m confident. Hawks have beaten the Cubs on their home ground during the last four times they’ve played together. Plus they have Mason, and the Cubs QB is out injured this week.”

Darcy turns over what I’ve said. The Hawks are the obvious pick, and eight and a half points is a tame margin to bet on. It’ll be easy money, guaranteed to give my commission a decent bump this week whether he wins or loses.

“I’ll go with thirty large on the Cubs.”

I suck in a breath and immediately start choking. Of course. Scrambling to grab my coffee, I throw back the rest of the cold dregs and get myself back under control. “Darcy, that’s…” Crazy? Idiotic? A complete waste of money? Fucking pick one, Elliot. “Probably not the best place for your money.”

“Are you taking my bet or not?”

“Thirty thousand?”

“Correct.”

Tucking my phone between my ear and shoulder, I quickly pull up my spreadsheet, fingers flying as I plug in the math. Thirty thousand will completely throw me out. If he wins, we’re both getting a massive payday, but would I even have the money to cover it?

“Well, you know the drill, Darcy. I’m going to have to punch some numbers first. It’s a high risk, though. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“And I want to be clear I’m not advising this. A smaller bet? Sure, take the chance. But it’s very likely you’re going to lose that thirty K.”

“Take my bet, Elliot.”

Damn, do I want to. There’s literally nothing about the Cubs this week that makes me think they’re going to win. They haven’t beaten the Hawks at home in years, their QB is out, and they’ve only won half their games this season whereas the Hawks have only lost one. But still… even knowing all that, I hesitate.

If he loses, that’s a huge cash injection for Lewers and Co. An easy payday for me, on top of my other commissions. If he wins, I’ll make over double that, but I’m going to be clearing out close to everything I’ve brought in this week which means I won’t have money to pay out the others.

That said, when have I been wrong on a sure thing before?

A quick count of the bets I’ve brought in shows I’m short. It’ll also mean using what I’ve banked for Gary this month.

“Elliot?”

My heart has sped up to a painful level and sweat is starting to pool under my arms. Fuck. What the hell do I do?

But then I think of Taryn, and how good it would feel to speed up my plan and be done with this place. To be able to be with him without all the other shit hanging over our heads.

“Thirty thousand,” I confirm, feeling like I’m going to throw up. “I’ll make it happen.”

***

By the time I leave work that night, I’m only slightly less stressed. It’s late. Way late. And for the first time, I’m glad I didn’t tell Taryn to come. My phone has rung hot all day because as soon as you take a bet as big as the one I did, everyone wants to know why. The odds on the Hawks have crashed, so there’s next to no money to be made on the game now. If people didn’t have their bets in before today, they’re out. It also means there won’t be any last-minute calls to help even out my lines.

The look Gary gave me on the way out the door was not one I ever want to see directed at me again.

I have to keep praying the Hawks win.

If they do, Gary will be kissing my feet.

Rainer is already at the sports bar where we agreed to meet, holed up in a corner booth. Normally he’d be sitting at the bar, flirting with the bartender, and it’s a bit of a relief to see this new side of him.

“So you are still alive,” he says as soon as I sit down opposite him.

“For now,” I moan.

Rainer lifts an eyebrow and I fill him in on my whole story.

“I don’t know,” I finish. “It’s a mess. I shouldn’t have taken the bet, but when I thought about turning him away, I couldn’t do it.”

“If you wanted ten grand, you could have just asked for it.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t want your money. Believe it or not, I like making my own.”

“And if you end up bankrupting yourself instead?”

I swallow. “Yeah. That’ll suck.”

“Mmhmm. So tell me, how did it go with that guy you were thinking of seeing? Hottie from your phone, I’m guessing.”

I laugh a little. How could I forget that conversation? “We’ve been hooking up.”

He wrinkles his cute nose. “Like… regularly?”

“Yes.” I stifle my laugh. “Casual, but exclusive.”

Rainer chokes on his drink. “For fuck’s sake, why?”

Because in order to sleep with Taryn, I’d agree to anything. “Don’t have him out of my system yet.”

“Riiight.” Rainer looks suspicious as hell. “At least that explains why our regular nights out have disappeared.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I bite my lip as I debate finishing this beer and buying another.

“There’s more. What is it?”

“I’m going away with him for a few days.”

Rainer’s head jerks back. “Not so casual then. Do you actually like this guy?”

If Taryn had been the one asking, my immediate reaction would have been to make a joke and change the subject. “It’s possible. But nothing can happen.”

“Because he’s closeted?”

“Among other things.”

“Oh, holy crap on a cracker, Elliot.” Rainer runs a hand over his face. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“That he’s possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever met?” I grin, making Rainer laugh.

“You’re fucked. As long as you know that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m well aware.” I shake my head. “The problem is, I keep overthinking this trip. If I go, I’m pretty much telling him that maybe I want more.”

“More? Aren’t you putting out already?”

“You know what I mean. All those relationship next steps. And I don’t even know if he’s completely over his ex, let alone thinking about that kind of thing.”

“Let me guess, you’re too scared to ask.”

“Yes. And with this big bet, I’m not going to be able to concentrate tomorrow. We’re both supposed to be switching off, but there’s literally no way I’ll be able to now. I feel sick.”

“You’re overthinking it. Go away, watch the game because you want to watch the game. Fuck a hot guy. Repeatedly. Relax a little and then come home. If he’s still hung up on that ex, lock your feelings up tight. You’ve never failed to do that before.”

I haven’t. But immediately I’m hit with an image of Taryn doing his morning push-ups while I watch him from over the edge of the bed—the way his back and arm muscles strain, the way he looks up when he realizes I’m watching, the smile that stretches over his face, only for a second, before he keeps going.

“I know. But maybe this time I don’t want to,” I mumble.

“Elliot…”

I look up to find Rainer staring at me, mouth parted. He doesn’t say anything at first. “What?”

“It’s… maybe you should give it a try? For real.”

“Give what a try?” I’ve got this weird feeling I know what he’s talking about, but he’s going to have to confirm it because Rainer suggesting anyone try a relationship is like spotting a freaking unicorn.

“You know… the boyfriend thing.”

Both of my eyebrows hit my hairline. “Even though he’s closeted?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. This Ibiza guy has really done a number on you.”

Rainer smiles sadly and mockingly shakes his head. “Fucking men.”

I lift my glass. “To fucking men.”

He clearly doesn’t want to talk about the Ibiza guy, so after we toast, I steer the conversation away. Away from his pain, and my emotions, and the shitload of money I have on the line.

Then, we do the adult thing.

We drink ourselves stupid.

Chapter Twenty-One

Even though Elliot is a rough shade of green when I pick him up, I’ve never been happier to see him. I drive almost the whole six hours to Chatham, only stopping once to refuel and grab Elliot an energy drink. He mumbles some kind of thanks before we’re back on the road, windows down, music up, broken only by Elliot’s occasional groans from the passenger seat.

“You doing okay?” I ask with a chuckle, checking that he isn’t going to hurl on the interior.

“Why did I drink so much?”

“Because you make terrible life decisions?” It sounds like I’m teasing, but actually, sometimes I wonder if that isn’t the case.

“Well, fuck you very much.”

“Seriously though, why did you drink so much?”

He finally lifts his head from his hands and rolls it across the headrest to face me. “Long answer or short?”

“We have time.”

He goes to open his mouth, then must be hit with a wave of nausea because he quickly says, “Short version.”

“When you’re ready.”

He lets out a self-pitying noise. “I really need the Hawks to win tonight or my boss is going to kill me.”

“Ah… it’s a work thing?” Thank god. Better that than an us thing.

I feel rather than see him cut a quick look at me and away again. “Yeah. Took on my largest bet yet. Problem is, I have barely enough in my holdings to cover it if he wins. It means I’ll clean up this week, but it’ll cost my boss the money I’ve made him this month.”

My mouth presses into a line. “I don’t actually know much about betting, so that doesn’t make a heap of sense to me.”

“Basically, as a bookie, I want to take bets on both teams. As close to even as possible. One side pays out the other, and I take my ten percent off the top. I hold anything left over for a month, and then after four weeks, whatever excess I have, goes back to the company. That’s how my boss runs it anyway. It’s not always like that. And some bookies work solo rather than for someone.”

“Hmm…” I’m not sure how much more I want to know. I want Elliot to keep talking, that much is clear, but when it comes to his job, I’m operating under a less is more philosophy. “So it’s money stress?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I have money.”

He’s silent for a minute. “You do. Your money. Which has nothing to do with me.” Elliot turns and looks out the window, clearly signaling he’s done talking about it.

Whatever. I turn up the music and put my foot down.

The sooner we get there, the sooner I’ll be able to start distracting him.

***

Sometimes you can’t trust the internet to give you the right info, but when it comes to Chatham, it was spot on. The location is idyllic and the cottage we’ve booked is perfect. It’s slightly back and raised from the beach, nothing but sand dunes and blue water visible through every window. There’s a nice breeze coming in off the ocean, but I know once night hits, I’ll be putting the fireplace and hot tub to good use. Elliot will be lucky if I let him wear clothes between the hours of seven and seven.

I carry our bags in and dump them on the bed. Before Elliot can run off again, I grab his belt loop and tug him back, wrapping my arms around his waist. He’s wearing his glasses and his hair smells like a hint of smoke and beer, but I melt into him anyway.

“You smell like a dumpster fire,” I murmur against the back of his ear.

“Is that your way of calling me trash?”

“It’s my way of telling you to shower.”

“Well, thank fuck you weren’t harsh about it.”

A laugh bubbles up in my chest.

“How about you join me in the shower, and I’ll show you how filthy I am,” he suggests.

So I do. And Elliot is as good as his word. By the time we climb out again my muscles are loose and relaxed, and Elliot’s wet hair is damp and curling around his ears. Combined with his flushed cheeks, he looks exactly like he’s been thoroughly fucked. It suits him.

“Hey, question,” he says, stripping the towel from his hips to rub over his hair. “Are you ever going to give me a go at this?” His hand finds my ass cheek and gives it a solid squeeze.

My eyebrows shoot up. Elliot wants to fuck me? “Umm…” I glance up to meet his eyes in the mirror and notice a second too late how freaked out I look.

His lips curl up on one side. “I’ll take that as a solid no.”

He’s gone from the room before I can say anymore, which is probably good because I don’t know what I want to say. I do want to say something, though. Because while the idea of shoving anything up my ass makes my hole clamp closed tighter than a safe door, I’m also not completely opposed to at least thinking about it.

Sighing, I pull on some underwear and go in search of Elliot. He’s in the kitchen, towel back around his narrow hips as he pulls out a handful of the fruit we brought with us and drops it on a chopping board.

“Sorry,” he says before I get a chance to speak. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”

“What, forget? Or let me fuck you?”

This time I manage not to cringe. Elliot starts slicing an orange, and I reach out to snag a piece before replying. “The first one.”

His hand slows. “And the second?”

“I’m not saying yes, but it’s not a no yet either. I’ve never really given it a whole lot of thought. Liam was strictly a bottom. It worked for us.”

“Well, I’m not Liam.” His voice is strained, and I want to kick myself. Maybe I bring him up a bit too much? “Is it something you’ll think about? If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s fine. We’re not exactly having trouble in the bedroom department.”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely give it thought.”

Something about his expression softens. “Thanks. And I mean, it’s not like we need to go straight for it. We can always do a bit of ass play first.”

It’s wild how comfortable Elliot is talking about sex. My cheeks feel like they’re blazing hot, and I’m hoping he doesn’t notice because I love when he talks like this. It’s not driven by arousal, only facts. “I’ve umm… never tried it.”

Elliot scrapes the fruit into a jug, eying me. “Are you telling me you’ve never played with your own ass?”

I shrug. “My dick has always been the priority.”

Elliot starts to laugh and rounds the counter to take my hands. “Taryn, that’s why you have two of these.” He gives one palm a squeeze. “One for your cock.” He lifts the other hand, folding down all but two fingers. “And one for your ass.” Then he sucks them into his mouth.

I watch him hungrily as he hollows out his cheeks then releases my fingers, running his tongue all the way down and back up again. With a quick kiss to my fingertips, he lets go completely and goes back to filling the jug with water.

“I feel like an adventurer,” he finally says.

I tip my head to the side, signaling for him to continue.

“About to explore uncharted terrain.” He winks. “Wait until I rim you. It’s gonna blow your fucking mind.”

My ass clenches again, but this time it’s not entirely because I’m terrified. And the way my cock twitches at the thought of Elliot’s mouth on my ass… hmm, yeah I think I’m definitely on board for that. Him fucking me is going to take more thought, though.

We spend the whole first afternoon sitting on the deck overlooking the ocean, drinking the jug of water. I fish out the random pieces of fruit as we talk and it’s nice to be able to relax. We’re technically in public, doing something any other couple would do. If I wanna take his hand, I do it. If I wanna lean over and kiss him, I do.

That night, Elliot’s clearly distracted by the game, so I offer to turn it on.

“It’s fine. We said no work.”

“It’ll be okay. We’re playing the Hawks in the next few weeks, so I’ll be able to study their form while you watch.”

He thinks it over. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

But as soon as I turn on the game, it’s clear Elliot isn’t fine. He’s anxious in the lead up, and even before the game starts, every muscle in his body is pulled tight. I reach for his hand.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

He puffs out a long breath. “Not sure. I feel sick, and it’s not the hangover this time.”

As much as I still don’t want to talk about his job, he clearly needs this. “It is a lot of money. But like you said, you can cover it. Plus, I can’t see the Hawks losing.”

“Neither can I, but it’s the first time someone’s gone big against my recommendation. If he loses, is he going to blame me?”

I’m not sure what to say to make it better, so instead, I pull Elliot to sit in front of me and start working on his shoulders. He sighs lightly and leans into my touch. It’s enough to relax him… until the game starts.

The first thing that tips me off that the game isn’t going to be as straight forward as I thought, is the Cubs QB running out in the starting line-up. The Hawks main inside linebacker is also noticeably absent and without him, well, who knows how the defense will hold up?

Elliot pulls completely out of my hold, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his hand wrapped so tightly around his phone his knuckles have gone white. Anxiety is radiating off him so palpably I can’t not feel it. The idea of studying the game is long gone; all I can focus on is Elliot—on the way his eyes are glued to the screen and his back is straight and stiff. He’s going to be sore by the time the game finally ends.

And hell, Davidson is on fire tonight. The Cubs controversial draft pick is making all the right plays, controlling the game like he already knows the script. He sets up play after play that plows through the defense and takes easy yardage. The game is close right up until the final quarter. The Cubs pull away scoring touchdown after touchdown and by the time they’re five points ahead, I know it’s all over. Apparently, Elliot does too because he can’t even watch the end.

“Shit!” he explodes, standing up and walking right out of the cottage.

I hesitate, not knowing where to go from here. With Liam, I knew all the right things to do, and it’s been so long since I’ve had to think through how to handle a situation rather than act intuitively. It’s both exciting and terrifying.

Slowly, I push up from the couch and move to the doorway. Thankfully, Elliot is sitting in one of the deck chairs and hasn’t taken off, but I’m still unsure how to approach him.

“Are… are you okay?”

His words are muffled but I still catch them. “I don’t know.”

The fact he hasn’t told me to fuck off is encouraging. I edge my way outside and take the seat next to him, trying not to compare now to how different it was out here earlier. “Need to talk about it?”

He lifts his head from where it’s resting in his hands. “I… I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now.”

“Didn’t you say if the Cubs won, you’d lose a whole heap of money?”

“Not me personally…”

I lift an eyebrow and Elliot pushes up from his chair. Moving toward me, he nods at my lap. “Can I?”

“Of course.” I reach for him, tugging him down to straddle me. It’s a tight fit, and I imagine his knees must be digging into the sides of the chair. But if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t say anything, just relaxes into me, face planted into my shoulder. “You don’t have to ask,” I say.

“I know.”

“So, if it wasn’t you losing money, why were you so worried?”

He sighs and sits up to face me, hands resting lightly around my neck. “My boss is a cool guy when he’s making money. Which is why I always make him money. I… I’ve never been on his bad side, but I hear it isn’t good.”

I stew over my words for a minute, not sure whether I’m pushing it by asking, but in the end, I can’t hold back. “Why do you stay? I know you have your goal, but the job sounds stressful. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t make you happy.”

“Money makes me happy.”

“But why?”

His perfect lips pout a little while he thinks. He opens his mouth once, twice, then lets out a huge puff of air that ghosts over my skin. “I have no family. Other than Rainer, I have no one. It sucks, yes, but when you’re in and out of foster homes and homeless shelters it makes it hard to get close to anyone. I actually actively avoided it and instead worked my damn ass off in high school to get a scholarship, then took on two part time jobs to pay for my dorm.”

“That’s… wow.” I stare at him, a little in awe that he did all that and still managed grad school. I go to say more but Elliot laughs and presses his fingers to my lips.

“Hell no on the sympathy front, Taryn. It made me who I am and maybe it makes me a dick to say it, but I like this guy.”

I crack a smile. “I like this guy too.”

“Good. Then you’re going to have to deal with the fact that this guy is on a mission to build his own nest egg. I’ve lived with rich people before, people who promised to take care of me, and I learned very fast that if they have money and you don’t, they own you. I don’t ever want to be owned again.”

I nod, wishing I had the words to explain that I don’t want to own him. Have him, yes. Keep him, definitely. But it’s absolutely not the time for that. “I understand.”

“Good. So now do you get why I’m worried about losing all his money? I need this job.”

My hands close tightly over Elliot’s waist. “But bad months happen sometimes. If you’ve never had one before, surely he’ll let this go.”

Elliot gives me a dry look. “You have no idea… I’m talking tens of thousands here, Taryn.”

“Crap, that’s—”

“Not good, yeah. But on the flip side, I earned over double on one game than what I normally earn in a week.”

“Then focus on that. Your boss might be a bit of a dick for a few weeks, but I’m sure he’ll get over it when you turn in your next month.”

Elliot’s expression doesn’t change for a minute as he thinks it over. Finally, the lines on his forehead ease. “You’re probably right,” he mutters.

“I am right.” I hope.

But whether I’m lying or not, it doesn’t matter when Elliot smiles at me. It’s small and soft and when he reaches up to run a thumb over my cheek, I melt under his touch. My chest does this warm fuzzy thing as my stomach flips out.

“If your boss gives you shit,” I say on a breath, “send him my way.”

Elliot chuckles then leans forward and sweeps a kiss over my nose. “Going to defend my honor, are you?”

“Always.”

“Hmm… I like the sound of that. You, shirtless, those muscles being put to good use as you turn into a chest-beating caveman.”

“I can think of better things to do with my muscles.”

He laughs lightly, smoothing his thumb over my cheek again. “Thank you.”

“Huh? For what?”

He turns away a little, dropping his face so a chunk of hair falls forward. “I don’t know… You’re just… you.” He shifts uncomfortably, and while my cock tries to perk up at the feel of his ass, I remind myself this isn’t the time. I smooth my hands up his back, pulling him forward and into a hug.

“You never have to thank me. I…” How do I tell him? How do I let him know that this has moved past something casual for me? That I can see us having an actual relationship, and it terrifies the crap out of me. I’m not ready to give up on football but I’m not ready to come out yet. And risking this? Fuck, I don’t know if I can do it.

I’m not sure who kisses who first, but somehow it’s everything I need and more. Slow and purposeful. Unhurried. Instead of trying to put into words the way my feelings are spiraling out of control, I show him through my kiss, through the way my tongue wraps around his and my hands rub smoothly over his back, wanting to take in and feel every inch of this amazing man.

When I finally stand and carry him inside, I lay him in front of the fireplace. His skin lights up golden under the fire, and I only leave him for long enough to grab a condom and lube. I’m not in a hurry, and I peel off his shirt and place it beside us. He tries to tug mine off, but I slow him down, not wanting this to be another random fuck between us. I’m not sure that I can make it anything more than what it is, but I’m hit with an overwhelming urge to treasure him, to show him the way he should be treated. And maybe it’s the feelings talking, but as I slide off his pants and kiss along his stomach and give his cock long, slow strokes, he’s never looked more beautiful. His glasses reflect back the glow from the fire, so I tug them off, wanting to see his eyes.

It doesn’t take long for me to have Elliot writhing beneath me, and as much as I want to pull back and watch my fingers disappearing into his ass, my gaze is glued to his face. I catch every moan and pant and filthy word that leaves his mouth. When he finally starts to beg, I roll the condom on, lube up, and go to position myself at his entry, but like every other time, Elliot tries to wriggle away from me.

My stomach drops and my heart lurches painfully, but I bite back all the things I want to say and grab his waist, holding firm. “Like this?” I can hear the pleading in my voice, but I don’t particularly care. And as I stare into his hazel eyes, trying to convey I want more than just a fuck, he draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

His throat constricts as he swallows and then his hands find my face and pull me forward into a kiss. He lies back, taking me with him, closing my hips in with his thighs.

I take it as permission.

We kiss deeply as I push in, giving in to the amazing feel of Elliot’s body flush up against mine.

It’s not enough, though. I’m not sure it ever will be. And as I grind into him, savoring every moment, I reach up and wrap my hands around his, linking our fingers together as I pin his hands above his head. I breathe in the smell of sweat and his shampoo and try to keep my head in check as I grow increasingly blissed out.

“You’re so beautiful,” I pant against his ear. “Beautiful. You feel so good. So tight. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.” My mouth is running away from me, and every thought passing through my mind falls from my lips, but I’m way too caught up in him to care.

Elliot’s breathing speeds up. “Taryn, I need… I need…”

I release one of his hands, running my palm down his arm, along his side, head spinning at the feel of his skin. My hand slips between us and wraps around his dick, and I start to pump him to the rhythm of my increasing thrusts. “I’ve got you, baby. Come for me.”

His moans get louder and more needy and I lean down to swallow every sound. The second my tongue sweeps into his mouth, Elliot comes, spurt after spurt coating my fist. Releasing his cock, I wrap my arm around his waist, holding him to me, squeezing his hand as I rut into him, my hips completely out of control. Tingles race from my stomach down into my balls.

“F-fffuck…” I cry as I unleash, cum pumping into the condom as I keep thrusting, chasing every last millisecond of pleasure.

When it’s finished, I collapse against him, smearing cum between us and claiming his mouth with mine. I kiss him until my jaw is aching, and then I kiss him some more.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Taryn doesn’t leave my side for the rest of our time away. When we get massages, we go together. When the sun rises, he takes my hand and pulls me out to the front deck, wrapping his arms around me from behind. We eat and shower and sleep—actually sleep—together and he touches me the whole time.

And the thing is… I touch him too.

His smile every time I do is addictive.

Our last night at the cottage we sit on the front deck, sand dunes blocking us mostly from view of the rest of the beach, while leaving enough room for a view of the water. It’s peaceful, and I don’t want to leave. For the first time since we got here, Taryn’s agreed to have a couple of drinks with me. I’ve made pizza and sangria, and Taryn moans again around the bite he’s taken.

“Please never leave me,” he groans.

I smirk. “Regular orgasms and home cooked meals. What else could you need?”

He pauses to look over at me as he wipes some stray sauce from his face. “More than one night a week?”

I quickly stifle my sharp inhale, pretending to be hyper-focused on my drink. “Yeah, I don’t know how we’d make that work.” But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it too. It’s only been a few days, and already the thought of going home and being ripped away from him is too much. But it’s coming. And when it does, I’ll be back at work, and Taryn will be back playing football, and no matter how much we wish they did, those two things don’t mix.

I consider checking to see if he has plans for Thanksgiving next week, but I’m pretty sure he’s got something going on with his family, and the last thing I want is an awkward pity invite.

I sense Taryn has looked away before I finally chance a glance back over. His jaw is set as he places his pizza slice back on the plate and then stares out over the dunes. “We don’t need to know if it would work. All we need is to figure out whether we want to see each other more than that. Because if we do, we’ll make it work.”

“And, you do?” I rub my thumb over the rim of my glass. “Is that what you’re saying?”

A burst of air leaves him, and his brown eyes meet mine. The vulnerability in them makes my heart falter, and instinctually, I know what he’s asking. He’s not asking for more opportunities to fuck. He’s asking for more.

“Yes.” His voice is rough. “These past few days, it’s been like…”

“Having a boyfriend.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Well… yeah.”

I nod, setting my glass aside and turning toward him. “I know what you mean.”

“But you don’t want a boyfriend.”

“I…” Don’t know how to answer that, actually. “I never have before. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t enjoyed every minute with you. I’ve felt a little overwhelmed by it, if I’m honest.”

He frowns. “So what are you saying?”

“I don’t know really. I don’t know what it means, but I do know I want to see you more than one night a week too.”

Taryn’s smile breaks through, white teeth against dark stubble, and he’s so fucking sexy I can’t believe I’ve been able to wake up next to him the past few days. “I could drive up after training most nights. I mean, an hour both ways isn’t ideal, but it’s not terrible either.”

“You’re going to spend all that time driving back and forth? What about your friends? Your family?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t have a ton of friends. And maybe sometimes you could stay at my place and—”

I cut him off with a laugh. “I take it you’ve been thinking about this.”

His face drops, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’m not saying we make this serious. I’m just throwing out ideas on how to make this work.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” I whisper.

“You have?”

“Yes. Of course.” But trying for a relationship doesn’t make sense, and if we have to force it, we’ll both walk away hurt when it blows up in our faces. Long-distance relationships don’t work, even if it’s only an hour. “Let’s… take our time with it,” I say.

He cocks his head at my words.

“Maybe instead of trying to throw a label on us, we give it a, ah, trial? See if we can even make something work?” I suggest.

He frowns. “That sounds alright.”

“It means less pressure. We’re already exclusive, and we’re already fucking. The only difference is I’m allowed to fall for you without feeling like I’m fucking this thing up. You still focus on your career, and I’ll keep chipping away at my goal.”

“Can… can I call you my boyfriend?”

I blow out a huge gust of air. “You want to take my boyfriend virginity, don’t you?” I’m joking to buy myself time.

“Elliot…” He knows what I’m doing. Taryn sees me. “You don’t have to answer right now. Just think about it.”

I nod. “This is all new to me. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel so unsettled.”

“That had better be in a good way,” he says, pulling me from my chair and into his lap, which is possibly my favorite place to be.

I dust light kisses over his cheek. “It’s horrible. Excruciating.” I drop my voice. “I’m”—I swallow—“I’m kinda terrified.”

Taryn’s warm laugh is unexpected. I shove his shoulder, but he quickly catches my hand and brushes a kiss across my knuckles. “You’re hot when you’re terrified.”

“Are you kidding? I’m hot always. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Can’t disagree there. I’m going to keep you as long as you’ll let me.”

I hide my smile in his neck, not wanting him to know what those words do to me. I’m not really even sure how to voice the warmth that takes over, but I like it. And even acknowledging that is crazy new territory.

I want to tell him I’ll miss him tomorrow. I want to tell him I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I thought I would. I want to tell him that even though my boss has blown up my phone the past few days, Taryn has made it easy to ignore him. He’s made it easy to not dwell and obsess over what will happen when we get back.

But we have to go back.

His hand rubs circles on my back as the sun sets and we get drunk off sangria, and we steal kisses between stupid jokes and sweet nothings. His eyes scrunch up every time he laughs, and I can’t stop drinking him in.

When we finally go to bed, Taryn’s soft and sweet, and I wonder if maybe this is what it’s like to fall in love.

Chapter Twenty-Three

My time away with Elliot has proved this is more than just sex to me. We can agree to take it slow or casual or whatever, but there’s no more denying I’ve caught feelings in a big way. When I’m with him, it feels right. I’d do anything for him.

Which is why I’m bracing my forearm against the tiled shower wall as I attempt to shove a finger up my own ass.

It’s… not going well. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing wrong because it’s not like I’m a stranger to the whole experience. The few times I’ve prepped Elliot, he’s seemed to get into it, but every time I prod at my entrance, I cringe and yank my hand away.

I feel like a dickhead.

Remembering Elliot’s words about having two hands, I replace my forearm with my forehead and reach down to grab my flaccid dick. It’s all mental, I remind myself. Normally, I’m the one in control, but letting Elliot fuck me means I’ll be giving it up, and that’s probably my biggest sticking point. I refuse to focus on the fact that because I’m bigger it means I should be doing the fucking because it’s all a load of shit, and every time that thought tries to sneak in, I grit my teeth and try again.

This time when I slip my finger between my ass cheeks and rub over my hole, I close my eyes and stroke myself slowly. As the water beats over my neck and back, I picture Elliot here with me. I picture his tight hole as I push forward. My dick twitches with interest but as soon as I relax enough to breach my hole, the stretch is painful around the tip of my finger and my cock completely taps out of this round.

I tense up, jaw locked, and after another solid minute of trying to relax and trying to get my dick back in the game, I sag against the wall, defeated. What a complete bust.

Still, it was a first attempt. Next time I’ll get hard first and maybe it’ll be a bit easier.

I wrap my towel around my waist as I walk into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, my shoulder twinging in protest when I pull open the fridge door. Apparently, sex prep makes you thirsty. My cell buzzes across my kitchen counter, and I glance over hoping it might be Elliot.

I have a brief moment of hope before it all crashes down when I see Liam’s name.

Huffing out a breath, I quickly answer before the call goes through to voicemail. “Yeah?”

“Way to sound happy to hear from me,” he jokes.

I grumble nonsense words, but I’m sure he gets the point.

“Rough day?”

“Let’s just say it hasn’t been pleasant.” Between the failed butt stuff and not hearing from Elliot since last night, I’m not the most pleasant person to be around.

I can practically hear him thinking. “Need to talk about it?”

“Not really. My shoulder’s acting up a bit, but the team doc says I’ll be fine for next game.”

“Geez. That’s good, I guess. It just doesn’t seem like something that would get you down.”

“Football is literally all I have left, so yeah, it’s getting me down.”

He sighs. I don’t know why he’s bothered calling, I’m not exactly nice to him. “Taryn, we’ve been friends a long time. Longer even than we were dating. Are you going to hate me forever?”

I walk back to the couch and flop down onto it. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I dunno… Liam, it’s shit. Everything. I hear your voice and remember the person I trusted more than anything. And now that you’re gone, I don’t know what I can talk to you about. I don’t know if I even want to talk to you.”

“You can talk to me about anything. We might not be dating, but I never wanted to cut you out completely.” His soft voice deepens. “We’ve always been friends first. We were way better at that than boyfriends. I miss it.”

I don’t even need to think about my answer. “Yeah, I miss it too.”

He lets out a relieved breath. “Then can I call you without you getting snappy at me?”

“I dunno. I’m a grumpy bastard sometimes.”

He chuckles, and it makes me feel lighter. I really did miss him. “I know. Sometimes you have the emotional bandwidth of a three-year-old.”

“Can’t argue there.” I’m smiling, and it feels good. The worry about football and about Elliot starts to lessen.

“Want to tell me about the guy?” he finally asks. My instinct is to deny it—no ex-boyfriend wants to hear about that shit—but there’s no judgement in his tone. It’s one of the amazing things about Liam. He’s so damn levelheaded it made me look even more immature by comparison.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Sometimes it helps to word vomit.”

“It’s a lot to get into.”

“So let’s meet for lunch?”

Again, I consider saying no, but maybe it’s time. Maybe this is the moment I grow up and get over him making a hard call that needed to be made. It’s because of him I found Elliot, and the more I think about it, the more it’s obvious I stayed with Liam out of habit.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Taking the elevator up to the sixth floor at work is something that’s become routine over the past two years. This time though, I’m hyper aware of every second that ticks by. I was underselling my boss to Taryn, like I undersold how pissed over this he’s going to be. My boss is one of the biggest in the business, and he took a real risk by bringing me on and showing me the ropes. If it wasn’t for being partnered with his nephew in grad school, there’s no way he would have said yes. And now… now I’ve shown exactly how much of an amateur I still am.

The ding of the elevator seems too loud to my ears, but I duck my head and walk down the corridor. The office is eerily quiet—okay, good chance it’s my paranoia talking—but I swear there’s normally more people out in the halls, ducking between offices and hurrying along with coffee mugs clutched tightly in their hands.

When I finally cross into my office, I let out a massive breath of relief. I’m not in the clear yet, but the familiarity gives me a sense of security. I sit down and set up, determined to lose myself in work as quickly as possible. I’ve got to keep my head down, keep working, and this will all pass.

The first thing I do is start balancing my books from the last few days, making sure nothing is out of place and all the wins and losses have been calculated correctly. Then I start checking through team stats and forecasts, working out who’s on next week’s starting rosters and who’s injured—not that it helped in the Hawks game. The knot in my stomach tightens. I still can’t get over how easily the Cubs cleaned up in that final quarter. No matter how many times I go over the stats in my head, they don’t make sense. And I’ve been over them. Long after Taryn fell asleep the past few nights, I sat up stressing.

I’m so focused on my work that I don’t notice someone is watching me until he clears his throat. I jump, blinking for a second as my eyes focus on Gary leaning in the doorway. His shoulders strain against the jacket he’s wearing as he crosses his arms over his chest, his dark eyes staring me down.

“Gary, hey. Thanks again for giving me that time off.”

He doesn’t answer, just steps into the room and closes the door behind him. There’s something measured in the way he paces into my office, seemingly interested in the framed poster hanging on my wall. He hums once before turning toward me. “So. You enjoyed your time away.”

“It was good.”

He hums again. “You never did say where you were going.”

“Oh, up to Chatham. It’s this little town near Cape Cod.”

Maybe it’s my imagination but his eyes flex narrower for a second. “Family up there?”

“Uh… no. Went away with a friend.”

This time I’m sure his eyes narrow. His gaze slowly drops down to my computer and then back up again. “That’s very interesting.”

Interesting? Is it really? All my senses are on high alert now. Gary is acting strange. There’s no doubt about why, but I’m clueless about where he’s going with this.

“So… big win this week?”

And there it is. My mouth dries up, and I scrub my palms along my thighs as I force a perplexed smile. “Yeah, I’m as surprised as you are.”

He takes a beat to answer, silently taking me in, barely blinking. Is this his trick? Intimidate the hell out of people until they’re too terrified to fuck him over again? I’ve got to say, if this is where he got his reputation for being scary, it’s founded. And a lot better than I was picturing. This I can handle.

“Surprised…” His low voice rumbles on a laugh as he runs a hand over his face. It doesn’t escape my notice he hasn’t sat down yet. “It’s funny, Elliot. I thought you understood your job. You make me money, you’re rewarded with higher profile clients, and you advise those clients well enough to keep them coming back.”

I don’t answer, I can’t. It’s one of those situations where I’m sure anything I say will be used against me.

But he doesn’t say any more, just keeps staring and keeps waiting.

“I shouldn’t have taken the bet.”

He hums. Affirming. “And why is that, Elliot?” he asks in the same calm voice.

“Because I lost a lot of money.”

“No…” He steps forward, wide bulk cutting off the view of my door. “You lost my money!”

Any semblance of friendliness is gone, and I swear his eyes catch fire. There’s so much heat in his stare, I’m surprised I don’t piss myself.

“It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Oh… I don’t need your promises.” His voice reminds me of a snake unfurling. “I know it won’t happen again.” He slaps something down on the desk between us, thick fingers obscuring whatever it is. My eyes dart between it and him and the savage amusement that crosses his face is the most intimidating yet. I swallow. “You need to be careful.”

Gary turns and leaves, closing the door softly behind him, and only once he’s gone do I remember to breathe again. I snatch up the photo and my stomach drops through the floor.

It’s me.

Straddling Taryn’s lap.

And there’s no way to misinterpret his hands gripping my ass.

We are so fucked.

***

I’m not sure how to tell Taryn or if I even should. It’s pretty clear to me what Gary was implying. If I fuck up again, he’s going to bring us both down. I wasn’t being paranoid when I’d told Taryn he’d be in serious shit if anyone found out what my job was, but I hadn’t realized what it would mean for me. Gary passes my office and reviews my takings every few hours, still with that stoic, eerie expression. Then there’s the little comments he drops. How it’s a coincidence I made so much money on an NFL game just as I started dating a player. What a coincidence it is that Darcy came to me for his bet. How I had barely enough there to cover the payout.

He’s always been outspoken about his stance on match fixing and if there’s any hint I’m in on something like that, I don’t doubt his ability to throw me out on my ass.

Gary doesn’t hide the fact he’s watching me, waiting for me to slip up again.

And when I leave work each day that week, I’m sure someone is following me. I avoid looking around too much, but I can feel it. The way the back of my neck breaks out in prickles as I tuck my hands into my pockets and try to walk as fast as possible.

The thing is, no one else took a bet so big on that game, and I have to admit that it does look suspicious as fuck. There’s no possible way for me to prove I didn’t have insider knowledge, and trading with that kind of knowledge… it’s a quick way to get blacklisted. Be dirty with the clients and people turn a blind eye, but with your boss? No fucking way.

I’m still at work late on Sunday night, my eyes strained from the screen and my nerves strained from the intense week. Taryn and I have barely spoken, even after all our talk of putting some effort in, and I’m aware that I’m drawing away. Not intentionally, but between working long hours and my fear of him being outed, I’m on edge. It’s killing me, but the last thing I want is for him to get caught up in this, and the fact I care more about hurting him than getting off is totally new and crazy for me.

I’d be enjoying these feelings… if they weren’t tinged with the idea that both of our careers are about to go up in flames.

I lean back in my chair, arching until my back gives a satisfying round of cracks. So far, the bets I’m looking at for next week are going well. Modest amounts, balanced line, enough to play it safe and make back some of the money I lost.

My ringtone goes off, startling my heart into an extra beat at the sudden noise breaking the silence. The number is private, and I’m guarded as I answer.

“Elliot?”

The voice is vaguely recognizable. “Yes?”

“It’s Darcy. Apparently, we make quite the team.”

I let out a breath and relax back. This time, I’m not going to be so stupid. “All I did was record your bet.”

“You’re the only bookie who would.”

The slimy feeling of naivety rests on my shoulders. “Well, it was reasonably last minute for such a large amount.” I hesitate before adding. “It’s definitely not going to be a habit of mine.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Understandable. But that’s not a problem for this week. I’m only looking to put down ten Gs.”

Ten thousand? Still a decent enough amount that I hesitate. Before Thursday, I would have taken that amount without blinking, but what’s that saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I might as well fuck myself. “Which game?”

“Cubs and Sharks.”

I’m not prepared to hear Taryn’s team mentioned. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t taken bets on them before, but now… it makes me uneasy. “Well, that’s an easy one. The Sharks aren’t paying much, but they’re as close to a sure thing as you’re going to get.”

He hums as he thinks before laughing, but something about the laugh doesn’t sound right. Rehearsed, maybe? “A sure thing doesn’t sound like fun. Let’s go for the underdogs, eh?”

I frown, staring at my screen as the words go out of focus. This is the second time he’s gone against my recommendation, and while he’s made a lot and probably has money to spare, red flags are going up in my head. I swallow thickly. It’s still early enough that most bets haven’t come in for this game, yet I know I can easily cover the win this time. But I’m not sure I actually want to take it.

“Come on, Elliot,” he probes. “Let’s have a little fun. Get the blood pumping. Maybe make some money on the other side.”

Taking a long breath, I steel myself. “At this point, I’m going to have to decline. Maybe closer to the game we can talk.”

The silence that follows this time is drenched in darkness. “Is that so?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s business, I’m sure you understand.”

“Hmm… well, I’m not going to lie, Elliot. I thought we could look after each other. I guess I’ll find myself another bookie.”

I don’t like threats. They immediately get my back up. Maybe that’s why the words slip out. “How did you know?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Hawks game. You knew they were going to lose. How?”

His laugh this time isn’t so light or forced. “Know? My, Elliot. You’re not suggesting the game was fixed, are you? Because that’s a very serious allegation.”

“Yeah, it is. But if it wasn’t a sure thing, why the hell would you put down that much money?”

“Because I’m a wealthy man.”

“I know plenty of those, and none of them bet that recklessly.”

“Careful, Elliot.” His voice drops to a deep whisper. “You also profited greatly off that game. You’ll want to think twice before saying things like that too loudly.”

My stomach clenches because he’s right. I have to let it go.

“Goodnight, Elliot. We’ll talk soon, and when we do, I hope you’ll have come to your senses.”

Darcy hangs up, and I sit there, staring at my cell. The screen lights up with the messages I’ve missed from both Rainer and Taryn. I can’t bring myself to check them. I can’t bring myself to do anything other than switch off my laptop, pack my satchel, and leave, pulling the door closed behind me. I’m numb as I take the elevator down, but as soon as I hit the street and begin my walk home, that prickly feeling hits me again.

Someone is definitely following me. My hands shake a little as I pull out my earbuds and shove them in, hoping the music will distract me enough to make it home.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Seeing Liam makes me pull up short, only for a second. He’s already sitting inside the café we’re meeting at, nose wrinkled cutely as he looks over the menu. And he is cute. I remember being completely blown away by being able to wake up next to him, but now… now I can appreciate that he’s cute, but for the first time since we broke up, there’s no bitterness left.

My smile is relieved as I enter the café and make my way over to him. I’m wearing my baseball cap and sunglasses, but I notice one or two people turn my way as I cross the room. Liam’s in a kinda secluded area at the back, facing the room which means I don’t have to. He still remembers my preference for that.

His smile when he sees me is automatic. “Taryn.” He doesn’t make a move to get up and hug me, probably because of how guarded we used to be, but fuck it. I lean over and give him a hug anyway.

“It’s good to see you.” I mean it.

“I’m glad. I’m not lying or being a dick when I say I want us to be friends.”

“I know. You never were capable of hurting people. That’s probably why you put up with me for so long.”

His soft smile confirms it.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” I ask.

“Good. Dad cooked way too much food, as usual.”

I laugh because Liam’s dad has always done that. It was weird this year, not having to split my time between two families. I had wanted to see Elliot, but apparently Thanksgiving is something he and Rainer do together.

We make small talk and place our orders when the waiter comes around.

“So… this guy,” Liam finally says. “He got a name?”

I lick my lips and quickly glance around to make sure no one is listening in. As I go to answer though, my phone starts to ring. It’s face up on the table, showing us both who’s calling.

A Friend.

Liam lifts his eyebrow, and I know it’s rude, but I scramble to answer. It’s the first time Elliot’s called me since we parted, and I already miss his voice.

“Hey, babe.” I can’t stop the word from slipping out and Liam’s eyebrows inch higher. I turn a little, trying to block him out.

“Hey.” His response is short and tense, and I frown. “I’m almost there.”

My stomach clenches. “Almost… where?”

“Your place. Fuck, today has been shit. I had to get away. Please tell me you’re free? There’s… I dunno. I need to see you.”

I need to see him too. Badly. But… I glance over at Liam. Do I tell him? I know exactly how I’d feel knowing Elliot was out with an ex. I know exactly what I’d do too—throw a tantrum and turn my car around. The last thing I want is to risk him leaving when I want to see him so damn badly. So I don’t give him the chance.

“Are you okay?”

He draws in a shaky breath. “No.”

“Meet me at Gildberg’s. It’s a café in Wyndham Square.”

He tells me he’s ten minutes out and we hang up. The minute I end the call, I know I should have told him what he’s walking into.

“So…” Liam can’t wipe the smile from his face. “I guess I’ve worked out why you’re suddenly so forgiving.”

I shake my head. “It’s a bit of a mess.”

“Yes, and him coming here isn’t going to clear up anything.”

“Well, it was a better option than lying to him.”

“You still should have told him I was here, though.” Liam studies me. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.” I legitimately don’t think I am. But Elliot… he brings out responses I can’t control.

“Name?” Liam prompts.

“Elliot.”

“Is he a jersey chaser?” His tone is far more serious than the question warrants.

“No. Would it matter if he was?”

The frown on Liam’s pale face deepens. “I just want you to be careful. Make sure he’s the right person so that way neither of you end up hurt.”

“Hurt.” I scoff, turning away.

“Yes.” His voice is soft, and I can’t stop from looking back at him. His eyes are as sweet as ever, and I know he still loves me, like I still love him, but that spark is gone now. On both sides. “I wasn’t special enough, even after six years. And that’s okay. I’m not trying to guilt you for it because it is what it is. I just want you to be happy.”

I sigh and nod. “He’s pretty special,” I say.

Liam finally smiles. “Then in that case, I hope you don’t fuck it up.”

Our food comes out and as I look up to thank the server, I catch sight of Elliot walking in. He glances around quickly, and I lift a hand to get his attention. He smiles, and all the tension I was feeling completely disappears. I feel warm just being around him.

“Hey, Tar… yn.” His attention drifts from me to Liam, and even though I’ve never even shown him a photo, he clearly knows exactly who Liam is. I have to fight the urge to stand up and pull him to me, especially after those few days where I was able to touch him any time I wanted.

I grab a chair from the table next to us and drag it over. “Hey.” I almost say babe again but catch myself in time. There’s an awkward moment where I’m not sure he’s going to sit down, but a guarded look comes over his face, and he lowers into the seat beside me.

“Elliot.” Liam smiles. “I take it you know who I am?”

Elliot swallows, and I focus in on the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, wondering what Liam sees when he looks at him. He’s more muscular and taller, but his face is far prettier than it has any right to be. He’s wearing his glasses, so I can’t easily make out what he’s thinking.

“I have a good idea,” he finally answers.

“I guess we had to meet eventually.”

“We did?” Elliot’s eyebrows jump up. “It’s funny. I didn’t think people kept in touch with their exes… met up for coffee…” His breathing is getting faster, and okay, I definitely should have warned him. He looks like he’s about to freak out. With a quick glance around, I inch my chair closer and reach for his hand under the table.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Even with his snappy tone, I have to hold back a laugh. “Kinda sounds like you aren’t.”

“I told him he should have warned you,” Liam says sympathetically.

Elliot nods. “You should have, so why didn’t you?”

I shrug. “Didn’t want to risk you getting pissed and running off.”

“So, you knew I’d be pissed.”

“Figured it would be a pretty normal reaction. But also, I’m glad you two can meet. Liam’s been my friend a long time. And—” I drop my voice. “I want you in my life. I wasn’t lying about that.”

The tension in Elliot’s shoulders eases and he casts a wary look at Liam. “He’s cuter than me.”

I burst out laughing, and finally, Elliot cracks a smile.

Liam straightens up a little. “You won’t hear me arguing.”

The smile melts from Elliot’s face, but he doesn’t look as guarded as before. “This is weird, right? I know I’m not much for relationships, but this is weird.”

“I guess…” I finally let go of his hand, not wanting to draw too much attention to us. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I really wanted to see you.”

Elliot sucks in a long breath, staring at the ceiling for a couple of seconds before he finally rolls his eyes and picks up a menu. “So, what’s good here?”

***

It doesn’t take long for Liam and Elliot to warm up to each other, and while I know they’ll never be best friends, at least they’re making an effort to be civil. Elliot keeps on surprising me. And maybe it’s wrong of me to read into it, but he stuck around.

We drive back to my place separately, and even away from him, I can sense the unease that was clear through his phone call and the way he’d check out of the conversation at lunch. Something’s on his mind, and I really want to drill down and get him to trust that he can unload whatever it is onto me. I want to be that guy for him.

Elliot’s already waiting at my front door, and the second we step inside, he pulls me to him, burying his face in my chest. I’m glad he can’t see my face because I’m sure all it registers is complete and total surprise. I don’t know when—if ever—he’s been the first one to be openly affectionate. Down to fuck, always. But this? Standing here… hugging.

My arms circle his shoulders and pull him in tight, giving him what I hope he needs, and we stand there together for a couple of minutes until his breathing is slow and relaxed.

“Want to go up?” I ask softly.

He nods and takes my hand, leading me through my own house. And I’m not sure why it makes me feel all warm inside, but I’m here for more of it.

Elliot drops my hand when I get upstairs and makes a beeline straight for my kitchen. Since we decided he could drop over whenever, I’ve made sure there’s always wine chilled for him and he grabs it from the fridge, along with two glasses.

“None for me.”

He cuts me a look. “Trust me, you’re going to want one.”

His dark tone instantly fills me with panic. Even though he didn’t sound right earlier, I didn’t think it had anything to do with us, but now… I nod, numbly. If he’s about to break up with me, I’m definitely going to want a drink.

A lump forms in my throat, and even when he hands over the full glass, I can’t bring myself to take a sip. Not wanting to know, I ask anyway. “What’s…” I clear my throat. “What’s going on?”

Elliot sighs, taking my hand and walking us both over to the couch. He sits close, but it doesn’t do a whole lot to ease my anxiety.

Elliot doesn’t have the same reservations as me when it comes to drinking and his glass is half-empty in a couple of sips. “Something shitty happened, and I haven’t known how much to tell you. But… more keeps coming up, and more, and now… well, I’m torn about something, but since it has to do with you too, you have to help me make the decision.”

I frown, but some of the tension seeps from my shoulders, just a little. “That was about as clear as mud.”

A smile slips onto his lips. “Sorry, you’re right. I—argh—I don’t know how much to say.”

“Start from the beginning.”

His face screws up a little as he seems to get his thoughts in order. When he leans forward to place his glass on the table, I mimic him, then pull him closer so I can hold him but still see his face.

“My boss is pissed.”

I nod. “We suspected. What’s he done?”

“He… Taryn, he has photos. Of us.”

As the words sink in, my entire body stiffens. “When you say—”

“Making out. Groping each other. And your face is especially clear, so there’d be no way to deny what’s happening.”

Oh damn. My stomach drops, then drops some more. The lump in my throat gets bigger and starts to strangle me. I don’t know what kind of response I have to that, but even if I could voice something, it probably wouldn’t be very nice. I pull back a little, needing some room to breathe.

“Taryn, I’m sorry.”

One glance at Elliot’s face, though, and my heart throbs. He looks panicked, and no matter how I might be feeling right now, I don’t want him going through whatever is making him look that way. I shake my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We were both there. I’m sure we both contributed to the pictures.”

“Well, yeah, but the pictures wouldn’t have been taken if it wasn’t for me making such a shitty call.”

“Maybe not, but I was careless.” I puff out a huge gust of air, leaning my elbows on my knees as I smother my face in my hands. “How long do I have?”

“What do you mean?”

I peek out at him. “I’m assuming your boss is going to sell the photos, so how long do I have before my life turns into a massive shitstorm?”

Elliot bites his lip, and I can tell he wants to reach for me. That’s something, I guess. “The thing is, he’s mostly using them to keep me in line. I don’t think he’ll release them if I don’t fuck up again, but…”

“But?”

“This is the part I need your help with.”

He has my attention now, and I spin to face him. “Okay?”

“There have been some things happening, certain, ah, bets, that aren’t adding up.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact your team is the favorite by a massive margin, yet all my high rollers are betting against you.”

Not knowing much about betting, his words don’t bring me as much alarm as he’s clearly feeling. “You might need to explain a little more.”

“Okay.” He runs his fingers over his hair, gathering the loose strands back and tucking them under the band. “I might only be a baby bookie, but I’ve learned a lot very quickly, which is why I’ve been handling bigger clients than I probably should be. The thing is, I’m known for being the one to make people money. They trust my judgement and, other than a few random long shots here and there, they generally bet where I want them to. This week… no one is. I think…” His attention drops from me to his lap. “I’m not even sure if I should say since it directly affects your game…”

I’m about to push him anyway, but I pause. He’s right. If it affects my team, it could affect my game, and do I really want that? But if people are betting against us… Fuck it. I can’t not know. “Okay, tell me. I can always try to forget it if I don’t like what I hear.”

“Oh, I promise you won’t like it.”

I don’t respond, but I nod at him to continue.

“Bear in mind, this is totally a theory and I could be way off base, but… I think the game might be rigged.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, not for sure. It’s been a weird week, but the guys I’ve been talking to, there’s no dissuading them. Don’t get me wrong, the majority of my clients are betting on you guys and hoping for some easy money, but the big bets? The guys who have deep pockets? They’re all set on the Cubs.”

“How… how would someone fix a game?”

Elliot gives me a rueful smile. “Trust me, that’s not information you want to know.”

“So what’s the decision you need to make?”

“Honestly, it’s mostly out of curiosity, but I want to gain access to the other guys’ books. I want to see who’s making what bets because really, Taryn, if it’s only isolated to me, it’s probably just a weird coincidence. If it’s across the board… that practically screams foul play.”

“What can we do?”

Elliot reaches over and covers my hand with his. “You? You go out there and keep playing like you have been. As for the other stuff, I can handle it. But… do I want to?”

“What do you mean? If someone’s fixed the game, that’s not right.”

“I agree. It’s not.” Elliot chews on his lip again and gives my hand a squeeze. “But the thing is, my boss is having me followed. He has those photos… if I fuck up again, he could out you. He could…” Elliot shivers. “Let’s just say that if you get in between that man and his money, I don’t even want to think what will happen. He’s been freaking me out all week.”

And out of everything he’s told me so far, one thing sticks and angers me even more than being outed. “He’s having you followed?” I growl.

Elliot chuckles but there’s no humor behind it. “Down boy.”

“I’m serious, Elliot. Who the hell is this guy?”

He lifts one shoulder and lets it drop again. “My boss. But I think there’s a reason we haven’t been raided in all the time I’ve worked for him, and I think there’s a reason we have so many high-profile clients. My boss isn’t a straight-laced guy.”

“If he hurts you…”

“He won’t.”

“But if he does…” I’m not sure how to finish that sentence, but I swear I’m frothing at the mouth. If anyone, anyone hurt Elliot, I’d fucking kill them.

Blinded by red, I grab him and yank him into my lap, closing him in my arms. “You don’t have to go back.”

He squirms a little, and when I finally give him room, I recognize the defiance on his face right away. “You know I have to.”

“You don’t. You can live here with me. I have more than enough money.”

“You do. But that money isn’t mine.” He drops his voice. “I need my own, Taryn. I shouldn’t have to remind you of why.”

He doesn’t need to, but I still pull him in tighter anyway. Head tucked under my chin, I try to forget the way he ignored my offer to move in, because yeah, I probably wasn’t serious, but if it meant keeping him safe, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Still, I can’t help feeling a little guilty about being flippant with those words when I could never offer that to Liam.

“I just want you safe.”

His hands slide over my cheeks, and for the first time since he got here, his expression is relaxed. “I know you do.” He strokes his thumb over my jaw. “And I will be. But we need to decide. Do we forget about the signs and ignore my gut, keeping both of us safe, or do I do a really dumb thing?”

I toy with the bottom of his shirt before sliding my hand under it and up his warm back. “If you find what you’re looking for, what then?”

“Then… I don’t know.” He rearranges himself so he’s cuddled up against me. “I can’t go to the cops because my job is kind of illegal, and I think Gary has some of them on his payroll. And going to the NFL commission is risky because you would have to be the one to do that, and if we go to the wrong people, they might try to use you as a scapegoat. Especially once you tell them where your information is coming from.”

We both fall silent for a while, not sure what more there is to talk about. The idea of Elliot being followed won’t leave my head, and even though I know there’s a lot at stake here, I can’t seem to focus on any of it. I want to tuck him away in my pocket.

The whole thing is making me feel disgusting. Someone watching him, intimidating him, added to the idea that coming out might be taken out of my hands and the game I love so much might be fucking tainted by some dickheads looking for an easy win.

“Do you think it could be a player?” I finally ask.

Elliot hums. “It could literally be anyone. A player, a coach, a senior member in the club. It could be a whole group of people. I really don’t know.”

“And do you think your boss is in on it?”

Elliot tenses. “For the Hawks game, definitely not. That one took us all by surprise. But if he’s noticed what I have… I really don’t know. Gary’s always been very against match fixing.” He wriggles around to look at me again. “But there are rumors that he’s less than innocent too, so I don’t know what to do. You need to tell me, Taryn.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can. You have the most at risk here.”

“Actually, I’d say our jobs could both be on the line.” I lick my lips as I reach out and tilt his head back. “If I’m outed, it’s going to be a mess. Maybe only for a short time, but I’ve played the worst-case scenarios over in my head enough times that I’m ready for them if they happen. You haven’t had that time. And… it’s so weird to even think this, but my biggest worry is that the worst will happen, and you won’t be here.”

His beautiful lips part. “Why would you think that?”

I give him a cut the crap look. “Because you’ve always been one foot out the door this whole time. And it’s fine, I’ve known what this is, and it’s not fair to expect more, but fuck I want it.”

He tucks his head down again so I can’t see him, which is my only tip that he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to. “I thought I’d tell you about the photos and you’d be pissed and decide I’m too much to deal with.”

The vulnerability in his tone, the way he curls his legs onto my lap, and the way his lips brush the skin at my neck make my heart ache.

“And you told me anyway.”

“I had to. The last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.”

God, Elliot. My heart thrums a little faster as I press a kiss to the top of his hair. For someone so guarded about his feelings, he sure knows when to say the right things. I’m nervous as I push the next words out. “I want you to be my boyfriend. For us to be dating for real.”

He jerks back, hazel eyes studying mine. He must be searching for something, and while I have no idea what to give him or tell him, it doesn’t seem to matter. His breathing gets faster, and his Adam’s apple starts to work overtime. “What does dating for real entail?”

“Exclusivity, obviously. A lot of fucking. Spending time together going out and talking and messaging about dumb shit.”

Elliot’s lips quirk up. “So basically, exactly what we’re already doing?”

I think it over and yeah, actually, that is what we’ve already been doing. Shaking my head, I press a kiss to his forehead. “Okay, here’s the difference. We both have to be all in. No looking for an escape, no worrying about what might or might not happen. We have each other’s backs for everything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Relief washes over me. I’m struggling to process what’s actually happening because it’s almost impossible to believe that Elliot’s agreeing to be mine. I kiss him softly—his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, his eyelids. Again and again, I show him how overwhelmed I feel. My heart feels like it could burst because this man and everything about him knocks me completely off balance. I can’t get enough.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Even with work being a heap of shit, Taryn’s set on keeping things going between us. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he decided I was too much work, but Taryn never makes me feel that way, and the more work sucks, the more time I spend with him. If I’m having a shit day, I drive to his place and wait for him to finish training. If I make a good amount on a game, I drive to his place to celebrate with him. Knowing that Taryn is waiting at the other end makes the hour drive much more manageable, but going the other way is torture.

“Ready?” Taryn calls across the space between us. I hold up my hands, and he throws a perfect pass, right to me.

“Shit, yeah!” I hold the football up, and Taryn claps, a broad smile filling his face.

“Nice catch! I thought you said you weren’t great at this.”

“I’m not,” I call back. “You’re a good coach.”

It doesn’t hurt that we just spent the last ten minutes going over how to catch a pass. We’re barely twenty feet away from each other, and I know for a fact Taryn can go way farther, but at least we’re outside and doing something together. The staying in and fucking is incredible, but spending time doing stuff other than sex is what’s making my heart uncomfortably tight. Every time Taryn slings his arm playfully around my shoulders or talks football with the kind of passion that lights up his eyes, I feel myself getting even more hooked. It’s easy to forget about the shit with work, and the weird feeling of being followed, and the worry Taryn is being a little too careless about this whole thing, whenever we’re together.

I pass the ball back, and he catches it easily. Neither of us have to say much because just being together is enough. It’s quiet and peaceful, and there’s no pressure that I should be checking my phone or updating game stats. I know tomorrow I’ll regret it because even on my days off I still do random things to stay on top of the workload, but when I’m with Taryn, I don’t want to cut into our time together.

“Yo, Adderson!”

I jolt at the voice, and Taryn’s pass hits me straight in the chest. I stumble back a step, breath momentarily forced from my lungs, but I wave away the worry that flares up in Taryn’s expression. His lips press into a line, but he doesn’t get a chance to question me before the guy who yelled out to him jogs over.

He’s big and blond, familiar-looking for sure, and it doesn’t take much detective work to pick up that he’s a football player too. Defense, probably. I scroll through the Shark’s roster in my mind and realize it’s Cooper Zane.

“Hey, little dude.” He holds up his hands. “Toss it here.”

And okay, Cooper Zane might be taller than Taryn, but damn these football players. I’m not little. Still, I’m not about to correct him. I scoop the fucking ball off the ground and throw it to him, trying to remember how Taryn showed me to throw so I don’t embarrass myself.

Cooper Zane passes it to Taryn and we’re this weird triangle of football throws for a couple of minutes. I’m not quite sure what’s going on—did they arrange to meet here? Neither of them seem to think it’s strange that Cooper has joined us.

“Still coming Friday night?” Cooper asks Taryn.

Taryn nods before passing the ball to me. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?”

“Not likely. You know how coach gets about these charity things.”

“What charity is it for?” I ask, not wanting to be the weird onlooker.

Cooper Zane gets this odd look as he catches my pass. “Brain cancer. It’s a fucking bitch.”

I’m about to respond with isn’t all cancer but something about the look he shares with Taryn makes me stop. “So what’s the event?”

“A swanky fundraiser,” Taryn says. “Boring as shit, but we’re obligated to go and make donations and spend time with the board members and fans who’ve bought tickets. The good thing is we usually raise a decent chunk of money.”

Taryn can complain all he wants, but I know for a fact he’ll make a big donation, simply because it’s who he is. Sometimes I swear it’s like Taryn doesn’t want his money.

“So will Liam be coming to this one?” Cooper asks casually, and at Liam’s name, I fumble the ball and barely manage to hold onto it. Taryn gives me a look.

“Nope. He’s going through some stuff and doesn’t have as much time to tag along.”

Cooper frowns a little, and because Taryn isn’t watching him, he misses the way Cooper glances at me and away again. It’s almost like I can see him thinking, and when he shoots a look in my direction again, more curious this time, my stomach sinks. Holy fuck, he knows.

I don’t know why I’m suddenly so sure, but there’s zero doubt in my mind. Cooper’s lips curl into a smile as he looks over at me. “You should come instead,” he says.

My mouth goes dry. Fuck, is he testing us? What the hell am I supposed to say? I’m way too slow to come up with an excuse, and when I look over at Taryn, he’s already nodding. “Yeah, you should.”

What the hell is he doing? He said no one knows about him, yet he’s here just casually confirming what I’m sure Cooper Zane has put together about us.

“Ah, maybe. I’ll just have to check in with work.”

“Oh, man.” Cooper hangs his head. “This is for charity. Surely no one wants you working on a Friday night? Get out of it. Save Taryn from all the couples. Last time he came solo, since he refused to bring a date, and it was just sad.”

Taryn laughs. “I had plenty of fun by myself, thanks.”

“You got wasted, and coach sent you home early.”

“Exactly. My plan worked.”

Cooper rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” He points the football in my direction. “And you’re coming.”

My mouth drops open, but I’m not sure what I’m planning to say. Catching Taryn’s gaze calms me, though. He doesn’t look worried at all, instead he gives me an encouraging nod, and his hopeful expression is too much to say no to. “Guess I better get a tux, then.”

***

The fundraiser is being held at an old warehouse, restored to have a modern, industrial look. The cement floors are polished, all the metal fixtures are brushed gold, and the lighting is low and orange. My hands shake as Taryn makes the first round of introductions, sure he’s about to out himself, because who brings a friend to something like this?

Turns out, a few of them. Some of Taryn’s teammates who don’t have partners have either brought dates or friends with them, and knowing Taryn isn’t the only one helps me to relax a little. Only a little, though, because I can’t shake the feeling we both have gay as fuck and on a date stamped across our foreheads. Taryn isn’t helping the matter either. As we make our way around the crowd, he leans in occasionally to point people out and whisper who they are in my ear or lightly places his hand on my lower back as he steps in close.

He’s being obvious, not in a slightly paranoid way but in an actually obvious way. Pretending I want another drink, I drag him over to the side of the room to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Do you want everyone to know?” I ask him on a laugh.

“Know what?”

“That we’re together. You’re not exactly being subtle.”

His eyes light up as color tinges his dark cheeks. “I can’t help it. Fuck, Elliot, I can barely keep my hands off you.”

If this is how he behaves around his boyfriends, I have no idea how he’s managed to keep his secret for so long. “You better calm down or you’re going to be caught out.”

“Would that be the worst thing?” He holds my stare as he reaches out and runs his fingers over the side of my thigh.

I slap his hand away and glance around. “Yeah, I’m not letting you blow it all because you’re getting horny.”

He pumps his eyebrows once, but keeps his hands to himself this time. And as much as I want him to be serious when he says he’s thinking about coming out, I’m definitely going to make sure he takes time to think it through first.

Taryn glances around. “Follow me.”

He walks purposefully toward a door before I get to answer, and I can’t help thinking he’s about to make a stupid decision, but I follow him anyway. Of course I follow him. I’m a fucking dumbass when it comes to him. Taryn leads me down a long corridor into another large room like the one we just came from. There are no lights on in here and the only thing that keeps it from being completely black are the slivers of moonlight stretching through the windows.

As soon as I cross the threshold, Taryn grabs my shoulder and shoves me back into the wall. I let out a dull oomph before he covers my body with his and grinds his half-hard dick into my hip. With one strong hand, he cups my jaw and pushes my head up so I’m forced to meet his eyes, and I’m loving the contrast between how rough he is now and how gentle and sweet he was being earlier. My cock twitches to life as he leans down and nips my ear, one big hand reaching down to cup my groin.

“Oh fuck, Taryn.”

“Shh… I’m going to make you come and you’re not allowed to make a single sound, got it?”

My nod is jerky and overeager, but as soon as I make the move, Taryn sinks to his knees. His fingers deftly undo my fly, and I quickly glance toward the door. If anyone walks in now, there’s no way for us to deny what’s going on—Taryn can’t exactly play the straight card with my cock buried in his throat.

He grips my erection with one hand and rubs his stubbled jaw over the soft skin. “Hey,” he whispers, “switch that brain off. I’ve got you, gorgeous.” Then all it takes is a soft kiss to my hipbone, and I do what he says. I switch it all off and relax into his touch. As his mouth starts to work me over, my nerves are still alive with the thought of being busted, but this time it’s excitement rather than fear making my heart beat faster.

Taryn’s worshipping me, his big brown eyes watching me as I attempt to keep quiet. Since his hair is too short to run my fingers through, I rest one hand on his shoulder and the other lightly on the back of his head as I start to thrust. He takes me right to the base, drawing my orgasm up way quicker than I expect and when he pulls back to suck the tip and swipe his tongue over the slit, I grip his shoulder harder, warning him.

Taryn doesn’t pull off, and my toes curl as ripples pass through my balls, making them draw up tight until with one final thrust, I push my hips forward and unload down Taryn’s throat. I have to clamp my jaw closed to keep a groan from leaving my chest.

The cocky bastard stands, licking his full bottom lip as he tucks me away again. “I’ll meet you back out there,” he says, before patting my groin and turning to walk out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I think I have issues. It’s very possible a shrink would love to take a look into my brain to try to determine why still being able to taste Elliot, while I talk to people who think I’m straight, is such a turn on. But fuck me, it’s hot.

I’ve never had semi-public sex before in my life. I’ve always been safe, careful almost to a fault, about the image I’ve cultivated. Liam stayed over less than Elliot has been for Christ’s sake. Yet now, I’m sneaking away to blow my boyfriend in the room next door to a lavish party. I can’t stop the weird laugh that jumps from my mouth as I hurry to stifle it behind my water.

“Enjoying yourself, huh?” Zane asks, sliding up beside me. “Where’s your friend?”

Probably trying to look like he didn’t just get the cum sucked out of him. “Bathroom, I think.” It’s a vague enough answer.

“Ah, yeah, cool.” Zane toys with the label on his beer bottle. “Seems like a decent guy.”

“Mmhmm.” I’m afraid to say anything else. Zane’s been acting weird for a little while now, and while I want to know what the hell it could be, I’m also too chicken shit to ask.

“Not many decent guys around. You know how in old movies the hero always has a kind of do or die crew who has their back? You just don’t see that loyalty anymore.”

“Yep,” I say in agreement. “Everyone seems to have their own agenda.” And apparently mine is of the homosexual variety. I laugh to myself, wondering what Elliot would think about me spreading my gay agenda here of all places. Imagine if I just said it. Just came out to Zane and told him I actually always bring dates to these things and those dates happen to be my boyfriends. I wonder how long it would take before he gave me a black eye?

And okay, I can admit that’s being a bit melodramatic. I have Zane pegged as an ally, which is maybe why I gravitated toward him in the first place. He never shies away from casual physical contact or throws around homophobic slurs. He’s a good guy, if a little vague. Out of the whole team if there’s someone safe I could come out to, I bet it would be him.

Bet…

I sigh. That’s another reason why I can’t. Because just as I start to legitimately wonder whether it could be an option for me, I’m reminded of the other reason I can’t go around introducing Elliot as my boyfriend. The second I come out, there’s going to be a fuck ton of attention on me and any guy I’m seen with, which means it’ll only be so long before Elliot’s career is dragged into the bullshit. Not only does that outing risk me getting fucked over with the NFL, it risks prison time for Elliot given that his job is actually illegal.

“How’s that ankle holding up?” I ask him instead.

“Eh, fine. Just a twinge now and then. Your shoulder?”

I give it an experimental roll. “Fine too. Nothing at the moment. I just needed to give it a rest.”

Zane laughs. “We’re a good pair, right? Might have to retire soon and let the newbies take over.”

“Fuck off, idiot. We’ve still got a few good years left.” He’s right though, a few years isn’t a given, and the last thing I want is to have to figure out a plan at the last minute.

“Good evening, Adderson. Zane.” Doctor Fallins nods in our direction as he steps around us to reach the bar. He’s wearing a suit that looks ridiculously expensive and out of his usual team gear, he’s not bad looking for an older guy.

“Doctor Fallins,” Zane greets him. “We were just comparing the injuries on our ancient bodies.”

Fallins takes two glasses the barman hands over and shakes his head. “Old? If you two are old, I should be in the grave by now.”

He and Zane keep ribbing each other, and I notice Elliot walk in. His dark blond hair is smoothed back again, but his suit still manages to look rumpled, though I don’t know if that’s my memory or if others would pick up on it too.

I quickly hold my hand up for another champagne and have it ready by the time Elliot joins us. He smiles politely as Zane introduces him to Fallins, and I don’t miss the way the doctor eyes Elliot from head to toe. I tighten my hands around my glass of water, willing myself to resist pulling Elliot flush against my side and staking my claim. This inner caveman side of me needs to calm the fuck down.

The talk inevitably turns to football and Zane yo-yos in and out of the conversation as his scattered brain picks up what’s interesting to him and what reminds him of something else. Watching him confuse the fuck outta Doctor Fallins would be fun, if Fallins didn’t keep looking at Elliot like he wanted to drag him away and do exactly what I just did. As the conversation drifts, I notice that somehow Fallins has positioned himself to cut Zane and me out of the conversation slightly, and I don’t know if he even realizes what he’s done, but a flare of anger shoots through me.

And not at Fallins.

Or Elliot.

At myself.

Because what kind of man can’t even acknowledge his own boyfriend while they’re out together? It crushes me.

Then Elliot catches my stare and gives me this cheeky little smile, all for me. He brings the anger down a little, reminding me that while we’re not here together, it doesn’t matter, not right now at least.

Because Elliot’s mine. And for the first time ever, I actually want people to know.

***

By the time we stumble through the door after one in the morning, my dick is rock hard and if the way Elliot is struggling to remove his shoes is any indication, he’s had one champagne too many. After I got over my initial mood, we managed to have a good night. Some of the guys on the team decided to drink, and it was funny as fuck watching them start a pretend game in the street. Thanks to being in an industrial zone there was no one around, but that didn’t stop Coach from putting a premature end to the game. Apparently, he doesn’t think his players getting injured is as funny as the rest of us.

Elliot finally kicks off his shoes, and his socks follow quickly after. His jacket hits the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and as I follow behind him, making sure he doesn’t fall, I hear him unzip the fly of his pants. They drop around his thighs, exposing his round ass, and it takes all of my self-control not to lean forward and sink my teeth into one of his muscled cheeks. And when Elliot leans forward to scramble up the stairs on all fours as he attempts to kick out of his pants, I have to palm my dick to keep focused on getting him up the stairs safely.

“So, on a scale of sober to don’t-you-dare-touch-me, where are you sitting right now?”

Elliot finally reaches the first floor, and I rest my hand on his lower back to steer him away from the staircase. He gives me a sly smile. “I’m definitely a one.”

I arch my eyebrow at the blatant lie.

“Okay, a two, then.”

“Keep going.”

Elliot laughs and steps forward to wrap his arms around my waist. “Fine, definitely at three. But just so you know, three on this scale means if you don’t touch me, I’m still going to be pissed about it in the morning.”

That’s a rating I can get on board with. I lean down and brush my lips against his, drunk on how good this feels. Even if all we did tonight was kiss, I’d be set, but with the way Elliot is rutting against my leg, I’m pretty confident it’s going to be a whole lot more than that.

My hands find his ass, and he moans against my mouth as I give it a rough squeeze. “Bedroom?”

Elliot doesn’t bother to respond as he takes off down the hall to my room, shedding his shirt on the way. By the time I join him, he’s spread out on the bed, stark naked.

My lips twist into a smile at all that bare skin. I take my time getting undressed, and it’s clear he likes my eyes on him if his solid erection is anything to go by. I keep my movements slow, until I’m ready to climb onto the bed. Elliot automatically draws his knees up to his chest, and I chuckle a little at how desperate he is.

I shake my head. “Actually, I was thinking we could try something a little different.”

His legs drop and he props up on one elbow to see my face properly. “Anything. What are we trying?” His champagne-drenched voice is deep and slow, and I can’t stop myself from reaching over and giving his cock a solid stroke.

“So. Umm.” Suddenly this is really fucking hard to say. “Remember that thing you asked me?”

His eyes glaze over as he tries to think through his alcohol fog. “Yeah, you’re going to need to be more specific.”

“About…” I take a large breath. “Fucking me. You asked to fuck me.”

His lips twitch. “Relax, Taryn. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

A laugh bubbles from my chest. Am I really being that dramatic? Oh no, my boyfriend wants to make me feel good, what a horrible idea. “I’ve been practicing.”

Elliot’s eyebrows shoot up and his perfect, full lips drop open. I trace my thumb from his cupid’s bow up to the beauty spot.

“Butt stuff?” he asks with all the finesse of someone a few drinks in.

“Yes?” I’m not sure why it comes out like a question. “Yes. In the shower… and it’s not exactly going great.” Understatement. I haven’t been able to relax enough to get farther than one finger.

“Did you use both hands?” he asks, something sparking up behind his eyes. Elliot sits up, placing a hand on my chest as he pushes me back onto the bed and starts undoing my fly. I’m still fully dressed, but he doesn’t seem worried about anything but my pants.

“W-what are you doing?” My heart is racing madly at the thought of Elliot trying to fuck me now because that definitely isn’t where I was going with this.

Elliot lowers his face to mine. “I’m about to make you feel so fucking good.”

“I just… I don’t think I’m ready—”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” He nips at my jaw. “Just relax, okay?”

Easier said than done. I take a breath and exhale slowly through my nose, letting my body relax into the mattress. “Okay.”

Elliot goes back to removing my pants and underwear until I’m naked from the waist down. He licks his lips as he stares at my cock, and when he ducks down, I think he’s going to repay me for sucking him off earlier. But then his hands are on the backs of my thighs, and he’s pushing my legs up. I freak for all of a second at the position, but then Elliot lets out a heavy fuuuck and his grip tightens.

His lips skim over my balls before he dips lower, running his tongue along my taint before releasing my legs and gripping my ass cheeks. He spreads them wide, and barely a second later his mouth closes over my hole.

My brain short-circuits, and I forget to be nervous or embarrassed. When Elliot lets out a low moan, my cock throbs. His mouth works over my skin as his tongue presses at the opening. I tense for a second, but Elliot starts to roll my balls in his palm and finally his tongue pushes inside. Just a little. Sparks of pleasure race down my spine, and Elliot’s tongue keeps working deeper and deeper. I’m panting, thighs shaking, and without even thinking, I plant my feet on the mattress and spread my legs wider.

Elliot’s tongue fucks me over and over, and I barely notice when he slips his finger in until the pressure increases as he works in a second. It’s nothing like when I do it, and it doesn’t take long for Elliot to have me trembling. I bury one hand in his hair and grip tight, then use my other to grip my cock. I want to hold it off, make it last, but as soon as I touch my dick, I can’t stop my hand from tightening, stroking, and then, I’m jerking off so fast it’s only a couple of seconds before my orgasm hits. Rope after rope of cum explodes over my fist, my stomach, and my chest. And even after my dick relaxes and Elliot gives my hole one final flick with his tongue, I’m barely able to focus. That was incredible.

He goes to climb off the bed, but I grab him around the waist and pull him down on top of me. My cum smears between us as I kiss him hard and deep, tasting myself on his breath, and I don’t let him go until reality starts to trickle back in. “You’re amazing,” I sigh.

His lips press together, making him look incredibly proud of himself. “You’re welcome.”

“And so modest.”

“I don’t need to be when I can make you feel like that.” His eyes crinkle a little in the corners, and I reach up to brush my thumb over the tiny lines. Pulling him close, I roll over so he’s pinned against the mattress, my full weight covering him.

“Not just like that,” I murmur. “You make me feel so many things.”

His lust blown expression relaxes. “You’re perfect,” he breathes.

“You’re welcome.”

Elliot laughs. “Taryn… for once I don’t want to joke.” His hazel eyes soften and turn vulnerable. “I think I’m falling for you.”

My chest feels like it explodes. “It’s about time you caught up.”

He lifts his eyebrows for me to go on.

“I was gone for you almost right from the start.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“I don’t think you’ve packed enough…”

I stare around at Rainer’s open luggage, not expecting all this when I stopped in to visit him. He’s buzzing around his apartment, doing this weird thing where he’s packing but also trying not to.

“Nervous?” I ask.

He huffs out a breath. “I know it’s only a short visit, but goddamn, Elliot, once I see him again, I’m not going to want to leave.”

“Then pack what you need so you won’t have to.”

His blue eyes light up, and he sighs happily. “I suppose there’s no hurry to run back, is there?” His gaze drops to me. “Will you be okay without me?”

I bark out a laugh. “Will you?” Before Rainer got this new drive to grow up, he’d been so wild I honestly didn’t know if our friendship would last.

“Colton will make me behave.”

I shake my head, not wanting him to continue with that line of thought. “Okay, okay, I believe you.”

“And what about your man?” he asks as he drops back onto the side of his couch and starts to fold the pile of clothes he’s stacked there.

Hmm… my man. I like the sound of that. “It’s going good.”

“How good?”

I think about rimming him the other night and I’m already considering blowing off work tomorrow so I can drive down a day early. “Possibly-going-to-impact-my-career good.”

Rainer arches an eyebrow. “But making money is literally all you’ve ever cared about.”

“Well, I feel attacked.” I smile so he knows I’m joking. “I care about other shit, but yeah, my focus is getting set up in life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Rainer glances around his large, impersonal apartment. “No, there isn’t anything wrong with it. But take it from me, honey, your life doesn’t start once you’re set up. It’s already happening. Plans are meant to be reevaluated.”

“Okay, Gandhi,” I say with a smirk. “I get it, and I’ll have you know I really like Taryn.”

“Taryn?”

Ah fuck. I forgot I hadn’t told Rainer his name.

“I take it by your face he’s still closeted then?”

I frown, remembering how careless he was the other night. “Yes. But if it wasn’t for his job, I doubt he would be.”

“What does he do?”

“Yeah, I already told you his name, so there’s no way in hell I’m telling you that.”

“Why?”

“It would give him away.” I’m not a complete idiot.

“Interesting… so I’d know him, then? Taryn. Taryn…” I see the exact moment it sparks behind Rainer’s eyes, and okay, maybe I am a complete idiot, because holy fuck how many Taryn’s do we know? “There’s no way you mean Taryn Adderson.”

I’m quick to shake my head. “The NFL player? No fucking way, man.”

“Mmhmm.” He stares at me. “I’m just saying, if that were the case, I’d get the closeted thing. And the impacting your career thing.”

“Rainer—”

“But what I wouldn’t get is why either of you were taking that risk. A bookie and a football player?” He starts to laugh. “What a fuck up.”

“It’s not Taryn Adderson.” I hate lying, but I have to, even if by this point it doesn’t matter what I say because he’s clearly not going to believe me.

“Hypothetically then. How could a relationship like that possibly work?”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“It’s a hypothetical, Elliot.”

“Fine! Hypothetically maybe the bookmaker wouldn’t have a job for much longer considering he lost the enormous fucking bet he took and his boss is now breathing down his neck.”

Rainer blinks at me. “I’m not sure which is the more interesting conversation to latch onto here.”

With a grunt, I drop down beside him. “Neither. Because I’m not talking about either one.”

“What’s your boss doing?” he asks softly.

I shake my head. “He threatened me with a photo of me and Taryn. I’m pretty sure he’s got someone following me too. I just need to keep my head down and do my job properly, and it’ll all blow over.”

The look that crosses Rainer’s face is one I haven’t seen for a very long time. It’s one usually reserved for his family and people who cling to him because of his money. “He has people following you?”

“It’s fine. He’s just covering his bases.”

“Honey, that is not fine. That is borderline psychotic.”

“All just part of my job.”

But Rainer doesn’t look happy. I’m worried he’s about to reach for his scotch like he normally does when he gets stressed, but he forces his breathing to even out. “What does Taryn think of all this?”

“He just wants me to keep my head down and get through it.”

“It’s not scaring him off?”

“I thought it would. It’s a pretty big red flag when you’re trying to keep who you’re dating a secret, but he refuses to walk away.”

“That’s sweet.” Rainer purses his lips. “I’d rather he beat them to a pulp, but I guess not everyone is into that.”

I chuckle, because yep, he’s definitely into the Alpha male type. “You have to promise not to tell anyone about him.”

“I’m going to Ibiza, where no one has ever heard the name Taryn Adderson. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not Taryn Adderson.”

“Okay, baby.” His tone couldn’t be more patronizing if he tried.

“So when are you leaving?”

“The flight is booked for next week, and I’m planning to stay through Christmas and New Year’s. Now let’s see if I actually have the balls to go this time.”

***

The café down from work is packed this morning, and given how late I drove back from Taryn’s this morning, I really shouldn’t have stopped in. Tapping my fingers against the condiment stand barely does anything to release my anxiety, and I’m just about to cancel my order when the barista finally calls out my name. I hurry forward to grab the cup and push my way out of the café, if I don’t hustle, I’m going to be late for work, which is the last thing I need right now.

Taryn’s preparing for his final home game this season, so it’s been radio silence except for some text messages that came through after I got home from Rainer’s last night. He’s clearly been thinking about the potentially fixed outcome which is no good for his game prep.

My phone starts to ring and Rainer’s duck face selfie takes over my screen. At least that always makes me smile.

“What’s up?”

“Keep walking,” is his warning. “Don’t turn around. You’re right. You’re being followed.”

Damn, he’s dramatic. “By you?”

“This isn’t a joke.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You sure it’s your boss?”

I frown, catching myself before I can glance back over my shoulder. “Where are you?”

“Trailing the person following you.”

“Of course you are. Don’t you have work to do?”

“Delegation is the mark of any good employer.”

“Care to explain why you’re following my follower?”

“After our conversation, I’ve been worried. No one freaks out my best friend. Now laugh or smile or something. Jesus, Elliot, don’t you know how espionage works?”

I smile, but not because he told me to. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies.”

“I don’t think you’ve been watching enough.”

“Rainer, it’s fine. It’s been, like, two weeks now, and they haven’t done anything.”

“And if it was your boss, don’t you think he would have cooled it by now?”

I smirk. “You clearly don’t know who I work for.”

There’s a pause. “Do you?”

Okay, now he’s starting to piss me off. “Look, I’m fine. Nearly at work.”

“And I’ll follow you until then.”

I shake my head. “Ever thought they could be tapping my phone?”

Another pause and then, “Fuck!” He hangs up.

I snicker as I tuck my phone back into my pocket and jog across the road to my office building.

While we have no official start time, it’s an unstated fact that Gary likes us all here before nine each morning, and I’m scraping in by the skin of my teeth. I start down the hall to my office and hurry to close the glass door behind me. I figure at least it gives me a split second to catch my breath and prepare before anyone enters.

It’s so hard to concentrate, though. The more numbers I plug in, the more I focus on tonight’s game, the more I’m bugged incessantly by the idea that I’m right. There are too many bets going against the Sharks for it to be a coincidence. There’s no way to prove it though, not unless I can see some of the other guys’ books.

And they’re not just going to show them to me.

Slowly, I’m able to push my suspicions away bit by bit until they only come surging back every time I take a break. Taryn checks in throughout the day, and it’s killing me to know there’s still a good twelve hours until I can see him. Now that he’s my boyfriend, I want to be wherever he is. We talk in a very coded, roundabout way about his game and we both agree it’s probably better that we leave it and wait to see if anything else comes up. He promises he’s going to be the perfect distraction tonight. And given the night we had after deciding on what to label ourselves, I don’t doubt him for a minute.

The plan is to leave early, but as I’m getting ready to shut everything down, Gary comes in with a bunch of accounts he wants me to take another look at. It’s menial work, cross-checking numbers, but hopefully it means he’s starting to let up on me, even if I do feel like I’m starting from the bottom with him again.

The afternoon drags on, and every time someone passes my office, heading home, I’m hit with a surge of anger that it isn’t me. I could be halfway to Taryn’s place by now, ready to let myself in—with the damn key he gave me. I still can’t believe that part. That I have a key. To his house. It’s surreal. Far more grown up than I’d been prepared for.

At this rate though, I’m going to be driving while the game’s on, and if he loses like we both suspect he might, the last thing he’s going to want to do is rewatch the game so I can perv on him in his tight pants.

But I can’t hang out here and watch it because he’ll beat me back to his place, and I told him I’d be waiting.

And let’s face it, I’ll definitely be naked when he walks in.

A light switches off down the hall, and it suddenly occurs to me I’m one of the last people here. All the lights on this floor are activated by sensors, so at least the back end of the office must be empty.

Fuck, it’s getting late. I quickly jump back into checking the numbers, and when I determine that yes, the accounts do match, I hurry to pack everything up and leave. Glancing into each office as I pass, I confirm I’m the last one here. We have a big front desk with the accountancy logo we very halfheartedly hide behind, and to the left, with a view of Jersey City, is Gary’s office. I move toward it, lights blinking on overhead, and push the door open to leave the ledgers for him to sign off on tomorrow.

Knowing he gave me these to purposely miss Taryn’s game has me feeling all kinds of bitter, but I dutifully place them in his inbox and turn to leave.

Then hesitate.

A quick glance over the ceiling confirms there are no obvious security cameras in here. I could… take a quick look. Without wanting to seem too suspicious, I pick up the pile I brought, along with a few others under it. Any bets for Taryn’s game would have already been turned in, and some of the older guys still operate using a paper only system, not trusting computer protections. I have no clue why they’re still so paranoid. This isn’t the fucking nineties. My whole computer is rigged with a self-destruct option. One quick series of keystrokes, and the entire thing wipes clean. No way to trace it, at least not for the standard police IT department.

I leave Gary’s office, not wanting to draw attention by lingering. Once I’m shut safely back away in my own, I finally dare to look through what I’ve taken. Thankfully, I seemed to have grabbed a real handful, and since I interned with one of the older guys, I can decipher the coded betting slips easily. I frown as I read over them, slowly putting a picture together in my head.

Each of the client numbers match ones on the accounting report I’ve just finished, along with certain names corresponding to certain teams. And the further I go down the rabbit hole, the more one number in particular keeps popping up, spread across different bookies, different games, sometimes with duplicate dates. And always the same amount of five thousand dollars. Not only that, every single bet is a winner. Every single one.

I tuck one ankle behind the other and lean farther in, spreading the papers out in front of me as I try to make sense of it all. Whoever this person is, they’re either the most ridiculously lucky person in existence, or they’re crooked as fuck. And I’m definitely leaning toward the latter.

Whoever it is knows exactly what they’re doing.

I get up and quickly check that the hall is still clear before heading back to my desk and snapping photos of the papers. I’m not exactly sure how to put it all together yet, but the thrill creeping through me tells me I’m on the right track.

I rearrange all the paperwork back to how it was, sling my bag back over my shoulder and head out again. Slipping into Gary’s office, I return the papers as though they were never gone, and hopefully, if he has surveillance—which I have no doubt he does—all he’ll see is me dropping off the summary before changing my mind again. If only I could have gotten into his computer.

Hell… seeing it sitting on his desk, screen black and unassuming, it’s almost too tempting. I’m close to rounding the desk and starting a search, and it’s only reminding myself that I’d never figure out his password that keeps me moving toward the door.

I sigh as I step out of the elevator on the ground floor and pull out my phone to call Rainer. He’s lending me one of his cars again so I can make the drive to Philly, and I’ve got to say, sometimes it’s nice to have a friend who’s rich as hell.

He picks up after the first ring. “Elliot, I’m so sorry! I’m stuck at work. Can you get a Lyft to my place? You still have the spare key, right?”

“I do.” I quickly check the time and calculate another half an hour on top of the drive time.

“Okay, well the keys are in the holder in my bedroom—you know the one—and take whichever car you want.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything for you, sweetie. Sorry I couldn’t pick you up.”

“It’s okay.” And it is. I’m not his responsibility, but I’m not exactly in a rational mindset as I hang up.

Groaning, I drag my hands back through my hair, really wishing I could stop for a second. It’s been a fucking long day. Not for the first time, I wish I lived closer to Taryn. It’s going to be almost two hours until I get to his place by the time I pick up the car and drive down. Urg. I turn and kick the wall, but all it does is send a sharp jolt of pain up my foot.

Gritting my teeth as I shake my foot out, I try not to curse. It’s going to be a long night, and that’s not going to change in a hurry if I don’t get my ass in gear. And at least, no matter how long it takes, I know Taryn will be there at the other end.

I send him a quick message with an apology and the photos I’ve taken. I’ll explain when I get there. There’s something off about 34225.

Then I head for the side of the road to wait. Taryn’s game would have started and he’s been basically off the grid, so I haven’t even been able to hear his reassuring voice this afternoon. I miss it. I miss him.

So fucking much it’s painful.

Who the hell have I become?

I open his texts back up and stare at my pathetic attempt at an apology. Sighing, I try again.

I really am sorry. Sorry we live so far away. Sorry I’m a bit of a mess. Sorry my job is causing so much trouble. But I hope you still think I’m worth it. Because you are. You’re worth everything.

I almost delete it. Almost erase the first bit of evidence that I can show affection, but Taryn’s never held back, and because I doubt I’ll be able to say it to his face, and he at least deserves to know, I keep the text. Drawing a long breath, I hit Send, then slide my cell back into my pocket.

Surprisingly, that one text makes me feel lighter. Freer. Like I’m smiling on the inside. He’s twisting me all up, and I never want it to stop.

A light smile pulls at my lips, and as I let it break free—

I’m grabbed from behind.

My feet leave the ground, something is forced over my head, and then a sharp stick in my right arm shoots pressure into the muscle. I cry out in surprise, but the sound dies on my lips as everything goes dark.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

We’re falling behind. Kurt Bradley and Neil Davidson have literally run circles around our defense, but what do you expect when our whole defensive strategy was based on Bradley and Davidson being out for the game. Every yard they take makes me more restless, so by the time I get back out there, my head’s not focused like it should be. We struggle to make the ten yards each down, which is a fucking nightmare considering how well we’ve been playing, but every time I get my hands on the ball, Jason Churng is there to take me out.

I have no idea where this kid came from, but he’s lightning fast for such a big guy, and as he rams me into the ground for the umpteenth time, my shoulder complains under the impact. Trying to hold back my groan, I push back to my feet, determined not to show the pain radiating from my shoulder to my neck.

When I finally come off and the defense takes the field, I work on stretching out my shoulder as subtly as possible while I watch Zane fucking dominate. He’s all over the Cubs tight end, not letting the guy get a run in, and in all the mess of our game, Zane is a highlight.

Until he goes down.

He’s rushing the offensive line, but before he can even reach his mark, his leg gives out and he hits the dirt. I can’t see his face from here, but I don’t miss the way his knee pulls up to his chest and he grabs his ankle. He rocks to one side, arm thrown over his face guard, and the referee finally calls a time out.

My fists are clenched as I stand there panting, waiting for him to get back up. I’d noticed the limp he was trying to hide, but every time I questioned him about it, he told me he was fine. Damn it! Maybe I should have pushed harder. When the medical team brings the stretcher out, my stomach drops through the field. He’s out. Hopefully only for this game, but I feel fucking sick watching them take him away. When one of us gets injured, we all feel it because it really is that easy. And with Zane gone, we feel it more than ever. Bradley goes over for two touchdowns, pulling their lead way out ahead.

And in the final quarter, we only manage one touchdown to their three. It’s a bloodbath.

I don’t know whether Elliot giving me the heads up was a good thing or not. Maybe it got into my head that we were gonna lose. Maybe I could have played better. Did I hold back? Did I assume we were done?

Or was it simply because we’d been blindsided by Bradley and Davidson?

Either way… we lost.

The atmosphere in the locker room is completely flat. It’s only our second loss, and yeah, that doesn’t completely rule us out of the playoffs, but fuck, we weren’t prepared. At least the team wasn’t. I’m taking the loss a little better than I probably would have considering I had the head’s up.

And while the other guys are icing their muscles and being looked at by Doctor Fallins, my head is on a loop of was the game fixed? How? Who? Zane’s usual energy is missing and not having him sitting beside me doesn’t feel right. I’d actually been planning to try to get a feel for how he’d react to my coming out, and if I had the chance, I was just going to do it. No way for that to happen now. I dig out my phone and send him a text to check in when he can, but then I realize his stuff is probably all still here.

Sighing, I check the locker next to mine and find his bag shoved at the top.

I grab it and check that his phone and wallet are both in there before winding my way through the guys and passing it off to our coach. He’s finally stopped pointing out what we did wrong, but the frown etched into his face shows he’s still pissed.

“Ah, Coach? Zane might need this.”

He looks at the bag for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll take it. Gotta go check in on him straight after the press conference.”

“I hope he’s okay. I know his ankle hasn’t been right for a while, but…”

“But no one was expecting that. He had the all clear.”

“That’s what he said.” I shake my head. “Guess it’s one of those things.”

“Yeah, well one of those things isn’t supposed to happen to my players. I’m going to be having words with whoever made that call, I tell you.” He pats me on the shoulder and heads into his office, slamming the door a little louder than he normally does. One by one, the team starts getting up to take their showers, and when I finally open the message Elliot sent earlier, I’m almost glad everyone is distracted by the loss. First, the photo and his cryptic message have me frowning, trying to puzzle out what it could all mean, but it kinda sounds like—does Elliot have a lead? Is that what this is?

Excitement and trepidation war for room in my stomach, but they’re both completely overrun when I read his next text. Warmth floods me with each word, and I’m not sure what look I have on my face, but damn I’m glad there’s no one around to witness it. I want to hug my phone, and the way my eyes start to prickle is completely unwelcome.

I need to get home.

I need to see his face.

With everyone else still operating at the slowest level possible, my sudden burst of energy has me powering through my shower, grabbing my stuff, and getting the hell out of here. Some of the guys are going out to drown their sorrows, which doesn’t sound even the slightest bit appealing to me. They’re going to get messy, and I can see it ending badly. No, the only thing that can break through the sour feeling of losing a game is seeing Elliot’s gorgeous face. I’m going to grab him so tight and tell him that everything he wrote, I feel it too. Because maybe, maybe I love him.

I’ll keep that to myself right now, but Jesus, the more I think about him, the more I’m flooded with that warmth, the helium in my stomach, the jitters and dumb smiles.

Was it like this with Liam in the beginning? No. Liam and I were friends who decided to go on a date, then share a kiss, then eventually start dating and hooking up. It felt real, it felt safe and comfortable, but was that love?

I have a niggling little flutter in my chest that tells me probably not. Because this feeling is totally fucking new.

With Elliot, nothing feels like it’s gone the way things are supposed to. But if they hadn’t, we might not have gotten to where we are now. And where we are now is pretty fucking perfect.

He’s perfect.

My heart is aching as I peel out of the parking lot, driving a tad faster than normal in my race to get home. He should have gotten there a good half hour ago, and knowing he’s in my space, that he let himself in with the key I gave him, is kinda incredible.

As I turn onto my street, the lack of car parked out front sends my stomach into a spin. Did he not borrow Rainer’s car? I turn into the driveway, and while the dark interior doesn’t completely take away my excitement, it definitely doesn’t seem like a great sign.

He said he’d be here, though, and I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be.

It’s not until I walk into my conspicuously quiet house and realize the upstairs is deserted that I accept he’s not here. I’m disappointed for sure, but he’s probably just hit traffic. And at least an empty house gives me a chance to do something I couldn’t in the team showers.

Tonight, I want Elliot to try to fuck me. The thought of it is still terrifying, but I’m willing to at least try, especially because the last few times I’ve tried with my fingers hasn’t been… terrible. But it’s different when he’s with me.

After my shower, I busy myself by cooking dinner, and when I don’t burn the sausages, I feel a little burst of pride. When Elliot walks in to the smell of food actually cooking—not burning—it’ll be a first. Maybe he’ll even reward me for my efforts.

Smiling, I plate up the steamed vegetables and meat, dumping the too-watery onion gravy down the sink, where I can pretend it never happened. Simple, yes. But it’s edible, and that’s really all I care about.

I grab my phone and check for messages again, but nothing has come through. Worry, real, actual worry, hits me for the first time as I tap on his name and call.

Straight to voicemail.

Fuck.

A million thoughts vie for space in my head. Has his phone died? That’s reasonable, and probably most likely, right? I hurry to pull up the traffic alerts for the area on my phone, but even when I scroll out to include New Jersey, everything seems clear. So he hasn’t gotten into an accident which is a huge fucking relief. And also incredibly fucking worrying. With a clear run, he should have been here well over an hour ago, probably closer to two. Did he get sidetracked? Has something happened to Rainer?

Or…

I hurry to pull up his message again. It doesn’t read as a goodbye. Did something happen between him sending it and getting here to make him rethink our relationship? I know I pushed him a little with the whole boyfriend thing, but when he was here, he seemed to genuinely want it too. Did I misread it?

My heart is thumping heavy and fast against my ribs, making me sick. I try his phone again, but again, I get his voicemail. And it’s not even his voice either, just a robotic recording.

Feeling like I might be sick, I quickly type out, Hey, Elliot, you nearly here? and hit send. I definitely want to write way more than that, but with this sudden onslaught of doubt, I hold back. If Elliot’s already getting cold feet, like hell am I going to give him even more reason for it.

Besides, he promised it wasn’t like that anymore. And as hard as it is, I have to trust him. There’s a lump in my stomach as I consider eating dinner, which rids me of that idea pretty damn fast. I place both plates in the fridge and head to my room to get changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I’d tried for something a bit nicer so I wouldn’t look like a slob when I first saw him, but now I need to keep distracted. I pour a glass of the wine he likes so much then settle in front of the TV, not able to stop from checking my phone every few minutes.

One hour passes, then another.

My stomach is an absolute mess. Would he really leave me waiting like this? Apparently, yes.

It’s not until midnight that I finally face the facts. If something had come up, he would have at least sent a text, but there’s still nothing. Literally. No teammates, no family, no Elliot.

And that’s… depressing as fuck.

There’s still no contact by one or two. Finally, I get so tired I slump over on the couch, hoping he’ll walk in at any minute. My shoulder twinges as I adjust position, and as I lie there waiting, I eventually fall asleep.

***

I have no idea what time it is when a loud knock beats against my front door, jolting me awake. My stomach flips over at the thought that it’s finally Elliot, and I trip down the stairs as I remind myself he has a key. He could let himself in.

But maybe he’s being polite?

I should know better than to hope, but I’m a disaster at rational thinking. I hold onto the slightest shard of optimism anyway, well aware it’s the worst thing I could be doing.

The loud knock comes again, faster and more urgent. Whoever the hell it is isn’t fucking around.

I jog down the hall and wrench open the door, ready to give the person a piece of my mind, but when I come face to face with the red-faced, blond-haired guy, I falter. His eyes shoot wide in recognition.

“Where the hell is he? I’m going to kill him!” He goes to start past me, but my arm flies out in time.

“Who?”

“Elliot. The big idiot!”

His response makes me frown. “Let me guess, Rainer?”

“Well, who else, darling? Now where the hell is that horrible, good for nothing ex-best friend of mine?” For as much as he tries to sound tough, I easily pick up on his worry. He ducks under my arm and storms down the hall like he owns the place.

“He’s not here. Find him though, and then we’ll both know.”

Rainer’s determined stride falters. “What do you mean he’s not here?”

“I’m sorry, is that somehow unclear?”

And I’ve got to hand it to him, for a tiny guy, Rainer’s glare is vicious. “I’m sorry, are you sassing me right now?”

“You realize you’re the one who barged in here? Elliot never showed up. How much clearer do I need to be?”

“Did you have a fight?”

“No.”

“Then where the hell is he?” Rainer’s anger gives over completely to concern, and if Rainer’s concerned, maybe I should be too.

“How should I know?” But I’ve lost the fight.

“He was supposed to pick up my car last night. When I woke up this morning and it was still there, I figured he refused to take my car out of principle or something. I called him this morning, but it went to voicemail. So then I went to his place, but he wasn’t there, and neither were any of his work things, so I assumed he came straight here from work yesterday.”

“Did you call his work to make sure he wasn’t there?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot. I did that on my way here.”

“And how did you find here?”

He shrugs. “It was in my car’s recent GPS locations.”

“Obviously,” I say with a scoff, shaking my head. I rub one hand back over my hair as I try to figure out what’s going on. “So, you’re what? Saying he’s missing?”

“Either that, or he’s pissed off at us both and gone into hiding.”

I shake my head. “No. No, he wasn’t annoyed at me.”

Rainer rolls his eyes. “How can you possibly know that? He’s a sensitive one.”

“Come with me.” I lead him upstairs and show him the last message Elliot sent me.

“If it’s a dick pic, I may forward it to myself, you’ve been warned.”

I roll my eyes. “Read it.”

His frown deepens as he reads before handing the phone back to me. “That’s… not a side I’ve ever seen of Elliot.” He squints up at me. “Do you have a gold-plated cock or something?”

I cringe. “How the hell is that a good thing?”

“Good, maybe not”—Rainer shrugs one bony shoulder—“but it sure would be kinky.”

“Is now really the time for jokes?” Worry is starting to build in my stomach, and this time it isn’t worry for our relationship, but worry about Elliot.

“Well, what the hell else can we do?” Rainer snaps.

He sinks onto my couch as I glance at the other text Elliot sent last night and I’m hit with a dreadful kind of thought.

“Rainer…”

“What?”

“This is gonna sound dumb…” I clear my throat. “But what if Elliot’s in trouble?”

He looks at me blankly. “Well, safe people usually don’t go missing, Einstein.”

“Okay, cut the attitude, dickhead. I’m worried too.”

Rainer works his bottom lip. “He was being followed yesterday.”

“He mentioned that. But he said it was his boss keeping an eye on him.”

“How does he know it was his boss?”

Oh shit. “Well, who else would it be?” My words are strangled in fear as I remember the photo Elliot sent. “He was looking into who fixed my game.”

“Then this is your fault.”

“Shut the hell up, Rainer. You know he would have done it anyway.” Would he though? No matter how sure I am that Elliot would do the right thing, I’m also very conscious of the fact I probably influenced his decision to go snooping.

“He would have, the dumb idiot.” Rainer sniffs, roughly scrubbing at his red eyes. “If this has something to do with your game and dirty bets, Taryn… I don’t like the idea of what that could mean.”

My hands shake as I start to consider the possibilities. “Whatever it is, it can’t be anything good.”

Chapter Thirty

I wake up in what looks like a pretty typical bedroom, but there are bars on the windows and the door is heavy and metal. My shoulders ache from having my hands tied behind my back, and all I can think as I glance around is, congratulations, Elliot. You’re in a whole world of trouble now.

If I wasn’t so concerned about who’s doing this or where I am or what the hell is coming, I would have been pissed that this inconvenient kidnapping is cutting into my time with Taryn.

And I can’t stop imagining what he probably thought when I didn’t show up. It’s already getting dark outside, the setting sun signaling I’ve been here for close to twenty-four hours, if not more. When I came to, I was alone, and no one has come back for me since. I’ve already pissed myself which is fucking perfect and my stomach is an empty pit, remembering to growl every time I start to get numb to the pain.

Other than a few times I’ve nodded off, I haven’t slept, and my eyes are beyond irritated without my glasses. I groan and shift around, trying to get into a more comfortable position, but it’s become clear to me that comfort no longer exists. Whatever it is that’s happening here, I want it to be over with already. Coming to kill me? Cool, bring it on.

I groan and roll over on the bed until I’m face down in the pillow. The lack of control over what’s happening is really starting to wear me down, and I’m literally at the point where I have to wait for whatever is coming. Rainer was busy last night, and Taryn’s probably assuming I ditched him, plus it’s my day off work, and I don’t have any family who would be looking for me.

No one knows I’m missing.

Hours tick by until the sun disappears, and the only light in the room comes from a streetlight down the block. All I can see through the window is endless grass and a random house in the distance. I have no idea what part of New Jersey I’m in—or if I’m even in New Jersey at all—but it’s nowhere I know.

Footsteps make their way down the hall like they have a couple of times since I was brought here, but this time they pause outside the door. The lock scrapes and the door cracks open, releasing some of the tension inside the room.

A man taller and wider than Taryn steps inside, and I roll onto my side to see his face. He’s kind of plain looking, and other than his size, there’s nothing remarkable or even memorable about him that I can make out with my blurry eyes.

“Get up,” he grunts.

I sigh as I draw up my knees and try to push onto them and into a seated position. It takes a few attempts with how tired and hungry I am, but I eventually manage it. My head spins as I push to my feet.

“Come.”

He turns and leaves, expecting me to follow him without complaint. I do, because really, what other option do I have? Following him down the hall, I pepper him with questions about where I am and why the fuck I’m here. He doesn’t answer, which, of course he doesn’t, but I keep trying, if for no other reason than to get under his skin.

He sniffs and glances back at me. “You fucking stink.”

I try to lift one shoulder but it doesn’t cooperate without the other. “That happens when you’re covered in piss. It’s kind of a sore spot for me, though, so maybe we shouldn’t talk about it.”

He grunts, and thank fuck Taryn isn’t the stoic, silent type. What a fucking bore. It occurs to me I should probably be scared, but the resignation that my shitty life was destined to stay shitty, keeps some of that fear away.

I follow the ogre down a flight of stairs, along a hall, and to a door that clearly leads down to a basement. And maybe it wasn’t my flippant attitude but the normalcy of the house that held back my fear because looking at those dark steps sends a shiver down my spine.

“Go.”

When I don’t immediately follow his order, he gives me a sharp shove, and I topple over the first step and barely manage to regain my footing. I lean heavily against the wall for a second, then move on before he can shove me again.

The basement is nearly empty. Cement floors slope down to a large drain that has a chair sitting over the top of it. I stall at the sight, wondering if this is some psychological game or if I’m about to enter into the kind of fucked up shit people don’t recover from.

The ogre shoves me forward, but this time I don’t go easily. It’s probably dumb to leave it up until now to fight back, but screw this. This isn’t a mild inconvenience anymore, this is some next-level, mafia bullshit, and I’m not sticking around to see what happens.

Too bad for me I’m terrible at putting up a fight at the best of times, but with my hands behind my back and a three-hundred-pound human boulder in front of me, I might as well roll over and expose my belly.

He picks me up and shoves me into the chair, securing fucking metal clamps around my ankles and attaching the zip ties at my wrists to something. I give a good tug, knowing it’ll be useless but hoping the restraints have a weak spot. They always do in the movies.

Unfortunately, this isn’t a fucking movie. I’m not going anywhere.

Goddamn it. I might not be the most outstanding guy in the world, but I’ve put my head down and worked hard. I set my plan, worked toward it, and then met a guy who’s way too good for me in the process.

Things were actually almost starting to look up for me. For once I could see my life outside of a dollar sign.

The universe has a funny way of self-correcting.

“You planning on telling me what I’m doing here?” I ask.

He grunts and drags a foldout table across the floor, metal legs screeching against the cement. I cringe, barely able to hold back from grinding my teeth at the noise, but the assault to my eardrums is quickly forgotten when he leaves the room and comes back carrying a toolbox.

“What in the fuck is that for?” My voice comes out strangely more high-pitched than usual.

“Nosy men who need to mind their business.”

A hollow laugh rattles from my chest. “Could you be any more of a cliché?” I groan and drop my head back. Despite my words, my stomach is a fucking mess and it’ll be lucky if I don’t unload its contents in the next five minutes. Good thing there’s a convenient drain right underneath me. I’ll bet it makes cleaning up bodily fluids a cinch. And oh fuck, I’m definitely going to be sick.

“So are you going to tell me why you’ve dragged me to this hellhole?”

“Wasn’t me. I’m just the help.”

I snort. “The help. Right. But surely you know who you’re helping?”

The man chuckles, slow and deadly. A lump forms in my throat as I swallow.

“Let’s just say they’re a mutual acquaintance.”

Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound good, does it? “Any chance of some water?” I ask, trying to distract my own mind more than anything. I really don’t want to focus on whatever is in that toolbox. “Maybe something to eat? I’ll even take stale bread at this point.”

“Yeah, you keep dreaming, kid.”

Actually, that’s exactly what I’m trying not to do. There’s a few too many images I can conjure up, so really, I wish we could get this over and done with. I’m starting to itch in random places as my skin grows hot, and panic at the unknown settles over me. Even if he did bring me food there’s no way I could eat, not with that burning smell of what? Bleach? Antiseptic?

Holy fucking shit. What is happening?

My head gives a dull throb as the room struggles to stay in focus.

The hinges on the toolbox grind open, and I roll my head in his direction. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Depends.”

“Jesus,” I say on a breath. “Are we playing that game? Okay, depends on what?”

“How cooperative you are.”

I drop my head forward, hair flopping over my face, knowing it’s not that easy. “In that case, the answer is yes. Yes to anything. Everything. Can I go now?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, I look up to find the ogre staring at me. His eyes are dark, darker even then they technically should be in this dull lighting. He takes a measured step closer and then another until he’s right in front of me, and he looks about ten feet tall. Reaching out, he wraps his thick fingers around my jaw and tilts my head up. “You’re a pretty guy. Pity.”

I flinch and jerk back. “That’s not reassuring.”

“Good.” He flings his hand back and connects it with the side of my face so hard my head flies to the side. I let out a startled cry, and black spots press on my vision as numbness prickles through my cheek and down my neck. Smartass words rise to my lips, but I push them back again. Now’s the time for adult Elliot to make a reappearance and hopefully get me the hell out of here.

The man crosses back to the table and tosses a smirk over his shoulder. “Finally shut you up, did I?”

My glare settles on his back but I don’t answer. I can’t. He did his job—my self-preservation instinct has kicked in.

“Now, this is the part where you talk. What do you know?”

I’m tempted to play dumb, but when he pulls out a box cutter that tragic idea flies right out of my head. “About the game fixing? Not much.”

“Elaborate.”

My mouth has gone dry. “Only that there have been big bets placed on long shots.”

“And?”

Do I mention the client number? I found that out basically a minute ago, would someone really know I’d gotten that far already? I was grabbed right after that, but even with cameras in Gary’s office, they can only prove I took the ledgers, not what I learned from them.

“And I think the bets are being spread across bookies to minimize suspicion, but I can’t be sure.” My stomach twists as I wait for him to call me out.

The blade of the knife flips out as he steps closer then presses it to my throat. “Who’s involved?”

I badly want to swallow but don’t dare. The sharp metal feels like it’s already broken skin. “There’s only one client who messed up and put in a large bet, so I can’t prove anything, but I’d say there’s a high chance he’s in on it.”

“Anyone else?”

“Hard to say.” My answers are coming quicker now. “A few people made larger than usual bets on the underdog but it’s impossible to know who had a tip and who was making a wild guess.”

His dark eyes bore into mine, like he’s waiting on something. I’m well aware I’m panting, my shirt sticking under my armpits and to my lower back. Finally, the pressure from the knife disappears, and he moves back to his toolbox.

I let out a massive breath, but I know better than to think I’m in the clear.

“What happens now?” I dare to ask.

His back ripples under his shirt as he eases his head to the side, neck letting out a satisfying crack. “Now, you leave the state.”

“W-what?”

“You leave New Jersey and go as far as possible. You quit bookmaking and end any… ties you have to football.”

My stomach plummets. “Isn’t that all a bit extreme?”

His head turns slowly, exorcist-like. “If you knew the amount of money we’re talking about, you’d realize that isn’t extreme enough.”

Knowing full well that I don’t plan on doing any of those things, I say, “Fine. If I agree, you let me walk out of here today?”

“If?” He lets out another dry chuckle. “There’s no if, kid. This is the part where you cooperate or disappear. Which is it?”

“I cooperate.” I’m worried he won’t believe me, but the fear lacing my words isn’t an act.

He stares again, long and hard, and I drop my gaze to somewhere around his chest, not able to meet his scrutiny. I have to play my cards right, and I’ll get out of this. Even with my phone gone, if I don’t get it back, it’s okay, because I sent the photos to Taryn already.

“See, I don’t believe you.”

This time I meet his eyes. “I swear.”

“The problem I have is… you took photos of some pretty incriminating shit. Maybe more than you realize. And then you sent those photos to Taryn Adderson, who we haven’t been able to get to.” He presses his lips tighter. “So now I wonder, if you walk out of here, start feeling a little confident, who’s to say you’re not going to make good use of those photos?”

“I’ll delete them. Right away.”

“Well, that’s only your word, though, isn’t it? And I don’t take anyone at their word.”

I throw my head back in frustration, wanting to be able to use my damn hands. “I don’t get it. What else do you want?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw, so pronounced I catch it even in the dim room. “Insurance.”

“Hey?”

He smirks. “Funny thing about phones and computers is, they can easily be made to tell the story you want them to.”

I stare back, waiting for him to get to the point.

“It’s funny how the Sharks go from easily winning every game to losing their next two… probably three or four. Very funny when a certain player and a certain bookie are dating. And the punchline of the joke? That very bookie has badly coded texts about the exact plays that will lose the games.” He rubs a hand over his rough chin. “Wouldn’t want those to get out.”

My heartbeat kicks up a notch as I realize what he’s saying. “Taryn had nothing to do with this.”

“Don’t really care. You dragged him into this. So maybe when you sodomites are locked away, you can remind him he’s there because of you”

I shake my head. Over and over. “I won’t say anything. I’ll delete the messages, move away, end things with Taryn if I have to, but don’t drag him through this.”

Finally, I seem to convince him, and thank god because I’m serious. I’ll do whatever he asks to protect Taryn. A smile that looks closer to a leer spreads across his face. “I think we’re finally seeing eye to eye.”

A breath of relief gushes from me. But I feel sick—so sick—and the tears pressing at the backs of my eyes aren’t making this any easier. “I’ll go home, pack my shit, and then I’m gone.”

“Perfect.” He nods, leaning his hip against the table as he folds his long arms across his chest. “I guess there’s only one more thing to clear up then.”

My body sags, head dropping forward. “Whatever it is, yes.” The words come out strained.

“I’m glad you’re so compliant.”

I ignore the smirk I can practically hear.

What I can’t ignore is the metallic shift of tools.

I glance up in time to see the man pull out a very fucking large hammer. “What the hell is that for?”

He steps in front of me again, crouching so this time we’re eye to eye. And this time, I can’t look away. “The problem with agreements and blackmail is they’re easily forgotten.” He nods like he’s trying to convince me, and I flinch when he reaches up and rubs a hand over my knee. “The way to fix that is to make sure you get a very strong reminder.”

Before I can question it, before I can ask what he means, the man pushes to his feet in one swift move, swings his arms back—

And smashes the hammer into my kneecap.

I scream so loud my throat feels like it tears, but it’s nothing compared to the pain shooting through my leg. He swings his arm back again, and all I can do is brace myself as he brings the hammer down, connecting with my knee again and again. The tears I’ve been holding back let loose.

When my knee feels suitably destroyed, he grabs my hair and yanks my head back. I can feel my whole body shaking, and fuck, I wish I was one of those guys who could take the pain and spit in his face, but instead, I flinch back.

He laughs and pats my cheek. “Nearly there, sweetheart,” he mocks.

My stomach drops through the floor.

“And remember, if anyone asks, you fell down the stairs.”

He aims for my good kneecap and swings.

I pass out before he makes contact.

Chapter Thirty-One

Here’s the thing, for all my life, I’ve been the guy who plays it safe. I put my head down, I work hard, I move forward. Things in life are varying shades of gray, until I get out on the field and a color explosion hits.

As I pace my living room, stomach clenched painfully tight, I realize I’m not playing in the safe zone anymore. Somewhere along the way, Elliot became that color explosion, and now with the possibility of him missing, it’s like someone has turned out the lights.

Rainer and I have spoken to the police, but it’s clear they think this is a case of him up and leaving, rather than anything malicious, no matter how hard we push. They assure us they’ll look into it, but the police officer had dark circles under his eyes and a notepad full of jobs, and Elliot isn’t at the top of his priority list. At least his female partner seemed a little more sympathetic, but I know she recognized me, and I saw the way her eyes darted between Rainer and I like she was trying to put together the pieces.

At this point, I’m too stressed and worried to care because I can’t imagine anything worse than never seeing Elliot again.

“Taryn?”

“What?” I spin toward Rainer during my nonstop pacing and he arches an eyebrow as he watches me.

“You’re growling.”

“No I’m fucking not.”

He chuckles, but his heart isn’t in it. “You most definitely are. And it’s distracting. I’m trying to think.”

I flip him the finger and start pacing again, this time conscious to keep all sounds to myself. Not that it matters. Thinking, what a load of shit. No amount of thinking will tell us where Elliot is because neither of us know what we’re dealing with here. Rainer agrees that it’s most likely something bad happened, but I can’t stop thinking about what the police officer said. Elliot’s life was getting kinda messy. Would he have just up and left? Taken off without a word?

The only thing that makes me think he wouldn’t have done that is the fact he didn’t say a thing to Rainer, and those guys have been friends for years. Me, fair enough. But he has no reason to cut his friend out.

The sharp, piercing tone of Rainer’s cellphone goes off, and he scrambles to answer it. I can make out a tinny voice but not much else, and Rainer’s expression doesn’t give anything away.

I chew on my thumbnail as I watch him, anxiously waiting for some sign the call is about Elliot, when his eyes go wide.

“Is he okay?”

My heart lurches, and I throw myself onto the couch next to him, pressing my ear to the back of the phone.

“… surgery, so we don’t have complete details yet.”

“Well, what happened?”

“A neighbor found him in his apartment building at the bottom of the stairs last night. But…” the man on the other end hesitates. “We’re not likely to know anything until he regains consciousness.”

“But he’s okay?” I hiss at Rainer, who bats me away and finishes up the conversation.

As soon as he hangs up, he runs a hand back through his hair and lets his eyes fall closed. “Thank fuck for that.” He sighs.

“What did they say?”

“Fractured kneecaps. Minor bumps and bruises over the rest of him.” Rainer peeks out at me. “I checked his apartment, though, and he definitely wasn’t there.”

“Could he have gone back after you left? It has been over a day.”

Rainer’s face twists up, and I know he wants to push back and make this into something more, but Elliot’s okay. We know where he is.

“Yes, because Elliot frequently makes a habit of falling down stairwells,” he spits.

“Obviously, it would have been an accident.”

“Or obviously someone is making it look like one.”

A shiver ripples down my spine. “Come on.” I get up and grab a jacket off the couch across from me. “Let’s go grab some things he’ll need for when he wakes up. Speculation is driving us both crazy.”

“At least that we can agree on.”

Elliot’s on heavy drugs when we arrive, and I try not to resent the fact Rainer is his emergency contact. I’m not in a hurry to let them know who I am to Elliot, but thankfully Rainer works his magic and gets me in too, without having to give up too many details.

I sit for hours, watching him sleep, listening to the hum and beep of the machines, stroking the bruising on his cheek, feeling like absolute shit for getting angry over Elliot ditching me.

The nurses come and go throughout the day, taking vitals or whatever, and they spend a whole lot more time than they probably need to reassuring me. I must look like shit. Worse even than Rainer, and I wonder if the poisonous fear and worry vying for dominance are making their way out onto my face.

My mood doesn’t improve when the details start to come in—emergency surgery due to swelling and suspicious toxicity reports. It’s late afternoon when Elliot finally starts to stir. His movements are sluggish and heavy, and I hurry to grab his hand and try to comfort him. There’s a good hour of him slowly coming around, some hand twitches, a shift of his shoulder, the attempt to move his damaged legs, and finally, a small groan.

I greedily take it all in, and when he finally opens his eyes, still completely void of recognition, I sag with relief. Rainer jumps up and presses a kiss to his forehead, but all I wanna do is curl into a ball and cry. These last few days have been too much.

When Rainer backs up, I stand and wrap Elliot in the lightest hug I can manage. My head rests on his chest, and as I stroke the back of his neck, his eyes turn down to me. Finally, there’s a spark of something there, and one side of his mouth starts to lift, pauses, then drops back down. His eyes fall closed.

I stay there until he’s asleep again.

***

Elliot comes back to me in drips. First the quirk of his lips and slow blinks as he processes what I’m saying to him. Then the groans of discomfort, his shifting back, the way he keeps slanting his hips in an attempt at relief. His gravelly voice runs smooth, and finally, a day after his operation, he rewards me with his light, clear laugh.

A day after that, it all disappears again.

I’ve been leaving to shower and change at Rainer’s place, which is twenty minutes from the hospital, and when I return with two coffees, Elliot takes his with a mumbled thanks before setting it on the table.

His frown is back this time, creasing his forehead.

“Everything okay?” I ask, reaching over to smooth my thumb across his brow.

He kinda flinches under my touch, but I try not to read too much into it. “I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “You should probably head off, though.”

“It’s okay, I only just got here. I’ve told Coach I need the week off.”

He shakes his head roughly. “Rainer’s got this, T. Go home, go back to work, and don’t worry about me.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. What kinda boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here for you?”

Elliot’s nostrils flare as he stares at the opposite wall. “An ex-one actually.”

His words smack me right in the face. “What?”

He won’t look my way.

“You’re… breaking up with me?”

“Yes.”

My heart is on the verge of breaking in two, but somehow I manage to pull it together. “Fine.” I cross my arms and lean back in the chair, trying to play it cool while internally, I’m freaking the fuck out. I think I might be sick. This can’t be happening again. “Still not going anywhere.”

“Taryn…”

“Nope. Dating or not, you’re coming home with me until you’ve recovered.”

“I’ll go to Rainer’s.”

“And stop him from going to Ibiza?”

Elliot’s determination slips when he realizes I’m right. He’s complained to me a few times about Rainer not getting on a damn plane and just going.

I force a cocky grin. “Lucky you have me, right?” And damn, I’ve never heard my words sound so bitter.

“I’ll hire a nurse.”

“Pretty sure carrying you up the stairs isn’t part of their job description.”

We glare at each other because he knows I’ve got him there. With Rainer gone, no family, and his apartment not an option, he knows I’m really all he has. The fight seeps from me as sadness kicks in. “Why are you doing this?”

He immediately looks away again. “I told you, I never wanted a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, until you did.”

The first tear that drops onto his cheek does it. I jump out of my chair and swipe it up with my thumb before pulling him into a hug. Seeing him like this is all backwards and knowing I’m goddamn powerless in this is killing me.

“Baby,” I murmur. “Tell me what’s really going on.”

“I’ve told you, you self-absorbed bastard.”

I snort. “Yeah, not buying it.”

“I didn’t fall down the stairs.” His shoulders drop, his body going pliant in my arms. “They knew, Taryn.”

The words fill me with ice. Each muscle in my back locks together until I’m pulling away from him stiffly, reminding myself to be gentle, reminding my fingers not to dig too tightly into his arms. “Who?”

“I don’t know. There was only one man but he was working for someone.” Elliot’s voice is low, barely a whisper as his lips form the phantom words. “He said… he said I have to leave. Quit bookmaking, go as far away as possible, and break up with you.”

My hands squeeze tighter, even with that reminder going off in my head. “That’s not fucking happening.”

“It has to, Taryn. They’ve planted a heap of evidence in my phone and work computer that will prove I was a part of this shit. And they’re going to pin it all on you.”

I straighten automatically, putting distance between us, even as I stare down at his stricken face. “They can’t do that.”

“I’m pretty sure they already have.”

“No. No. No fucking way,” I explode. My hands clench, and I’m itching to hit something, but only the need to be here, with him, keeps me from fucking shit up. “None of that is going to happen.”

Hell if I know how, but I’m going to fix it. Elliot isn’t going anywhere except to my place where I can keep him safe. I pull out my phone and text my agent, asking him to hire me the best fucking security guard in the state. Multiple, if we need to.

“You’re coming home with me,” I mutter, fingers flying over the keypad. “I’m going to keep you safe, and I swear to god, if anyone tries to mess with you, I will destroy them with my bare hands.”

For the first time all day, Elliot’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Sweet, but…” He gestures to his legs. “There’s no way I want this happening to you.”

“It won’t.” I shake my head as I pace. A strong defense is a good offense. It’s always been a huge focus of the team’s, and I’ve always been good at following through. Screw whoever these people are who’re doing this shit, there’s no way they’re taking me down. I stew for a little longer.

“We have to report this.”

“Taryn, we’ve been over it. We don’t know who we can trust.”

“I do. I trust my coach. Completely. That might make me naïve, but I know he’ll believe me.”

“Babe, you could—”

“Shh…” I cut him off with a kiss. A small bubble of warmth finally grows in my chest with that one word from him. “All I want is for you to get better. I’ll fix the rest.”

And I fucking have to. The world has given me a second chance, and this time I’m not going to let anything get in the way. This time I’ll do anything to keep the guy who makes me feel alive, who paints a rainbow right over my heart, and sends love right down into my toes.

***

When I walk into my coach’s office, I keep reminding myself of Elliot. His usually bright face, his pouty lips, his beauty spot. The way his hair feels sliding through my fingers. I can’t say it helps though because I feel hands-shaking, stomach-churning sick. When I pull out the chair, it’s less about me sitting and more about getting my ass down before my knees give out.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Coach,” I say, trying to distract myself from what I’m about to do.

“Of course, Adderson. What happened? You said there was an emergency?”

“Yes, sir, there was.” I link my fingers together and squeeze so tight I’m surprised my knuckles don’t pop. “My boyfriend’s in the hospital.” I don’t know if he notices the way I stumble over the word because my mouth is as dry as Nevada, but if he does, he doesn’t draw attention to it.

There’s a long pause before, “Huh.”

I wait for him to go on. He doesn’t.

“I don’t wanna make a big deal out of this—”

“Is he okay?”

I frown at the question as my words die. “Umm, kinda.”

Coach shifts, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Well, which is it? He’s okay, or he’s not.”

“He is. For now. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

His arms unfold as he flings himself forward and starts riffling through the paperwork on his desk. “Right. If you’re coming out, we’ll need to call a press conference. Honestly, I’m surprised Mikhail isn’t here for this. Didn’t you tell him?”

I cringe at the mention of my agent, because no, I didn’t tell him. Dating a man isn’t something that needs to be managed.

“Hey, whoa.” I place my hand over the papers he’s flipping through. “No. No press conference or Mikhail.”

Coach tips his head to the side, clearly not following. “Then what are we doing here, Taryn?”

“I might be in a bit of trouble.”

So I tell him the whole thing, waiting for the uproar, but when I’m finally finished he draws a deep breath, walks over to his mini fridge, and grabs two sports drinks. He’s massaging the lines on his forehead as he hands one over. “A bookie, Adderson?”

“It’s not like I chose his job.”

“This is gonna be a whole damn clusterfuck.”

“Sorry.”

He waves a hand in my direction. “I’ll deal with you at some point, but right now, we’ve got to find out who’s in on this game fixing. It’s my last year before I retire and hell if I’m going out with my wins taken from me!”

“Any ideas?”

“None. And honestly, I don’t have time to figure it out with the team pissed about last week’s game, and Zane out for the season.”

My head shoots up. “He’s not playing again?”

“Not this year. Hopefully his ankle will heal up properly before next season starts.”

“Wow.” I run a hand over my head. “It’s not gonna be the same without him.”

“No, it won’t.” He narrows his eyes a little as he takes a long gulp of his drink. “Surprised he didn’t tell you, though. I thought you guys were close.”

I shrug. “We are, but he’s been a little weird lately.”

“He know you’re gay?”

I stiffen out of habit at the sound of the word coming from Coach. There’s no judgment there, though. “No.”

“Interesting. You know there will need to be a press conference, if you’re planning on going public with this man of yours.”

There is absolutely, no fucking way that will be happening. “Did you hold a press conference when you met your wife?”

“Taryn—”

“Or for Zane each time he gets a new girlfriend? What about O’Brien or Edgerton or when Trace got married? Where were the press conferences for them?”

Coach gives me a dry look. “I know you think you’re making a point.”

“Because I am. And I’m also putting my foot down. I’m not going to hide anymore, and honestly, after the hospital, I’m not sure I even have that choice because I haven’t exactly held back.”

He kicks out his seat and drops into it.

“Elliot’s going to be living with me while he recovers, which means I’ll be bringing him to games, and who the fuck knows? We might even make out in front of people.” And as terrifying as that thought is, the more I talk, the more freeing it feels.

His mouth screws up to the side, but thankfully he holds back on saying something about guys kissing other guys. “When are you going to tell the team?”

Eesh, now there’s a thought. Telling a locker room full of muscled athletes that you’re attracted to other men. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“They’re your team, Taryn. This is where I draw the line. Don’t you think they deserve to know before they hear about it from wherever?”

Deserve it? No. I don’t owe them anything. But I know where Coach is coming from. The thought of telling them makes me feel sick, but at the same time, it means no more hiding. Maybe they’ll be assholes to me about it, maybe they won’t. But I’d rather be there to defend myself if needed. “I can’t sit around waiting to tell them. It’ll drive me crazy.”

“Well, the team’s here now. It would only take me ten minutes to get them into the meeting room.”

“Now?” My voice is dangerously close to a squeak.

“Your choice. But sooner is better than later, right?”

“Right.” I nod numbly. “I guess I’m doing this.”

“Good. And while you might not want a press conference, it could be out of your hands. In an ideal world, this wouldn’t mean shit, but there will be an impact, Taryn. You play professional fucking football for a living. Your job is to make plays so we fill the stands. Ticket sales will take a hit.”

He’s right, but I’m not backing down, even though I still feel like I could hurl. “The most important thing I can do is try to normalize this. If they want a press conference, they can go right ahead, but I won’t be there.”

“You will be if they force you, kid. Don’t forget you’re under contract, and there are going to be a whole heap of people who aren’t okay with this.”

“I know.” I sigh and kick at the desk leg. “Why… why do you seem okay with it?”

He shrugs and clears his throat. “I’m getting old, and when that happens, this kind of shit doesn’t seem to matter a whole lot. Damned if I understand it, but you show up, you play hard, so that’s all I give a shit about.”

I nod, some of the stress easing, but I know this is only the beginning.

“And the team will keep their opinions to themselves. They don’t have to like you, but they do need to be professional. Reminding them of their contracts should keep some of them in line.”

“Fine, let’s do this,” I say. Because while Coach might not be a dick about this, and my team might even, mostly, be okay, I know there will be some. Some assholes with big voices and small… brains, set on being damn bigots about something that has nothing to do with them. I’m not making it into an argument or a game. I love Elliot, it’s real to me. It’s… it’s fucking normal.

And now that I’ve shared us with someone else, I’m ready to burst. Because Coach knows, and he didn’t start throwing things.

Coach knows, and he still wants me on the team.

Coach knows, and he’s officially, unequivocally on my side.

***

Somehow, the safety of Coach being on my side doesn’t stick around as I wait for the meeting room to fill up. I sent Elliot a quick text to let him know what I’m about to do, and he’s called me about four times and sent a slew of messages checking to make certain I’m sure.

Talking to him about it isn’t an option right now because I don’t want a single thing to make me walk away from this moment. Now that I’m here, right on the cusp, it would be so easy to back down and pretend like this was all nothing. But as easy as it would be, it doesn’t feel right. Standing here, with the words on my tongue and Elliot on my mind, does. And though I’m sure Liam will think I’m doing this for Elliot, he’d be wrong. Sure, the circumstances aren’t great, but if I’d really wanted to go on hiding, I could have.

But I don’t.

Because I’m ready.

Sitting on this side of the room looking on feels weird, isolating, and it’s only as I’m looking back at my team that it occurs to me how fucking many enormous people are in this room. I mentally cross my fingers that I make it out of here alive. Dramatic, yes, but also kinda valid.

“Sorry to cut the workout short, guys,” Coach calls. “But there’s something we all need to talk about before it goes public.”

Well, that explains the heavy smell of sweat. It’s then I notice Coach looking at me.

I clear my throat. “Ah, hey. This is all kind of my fault.” I catch Edgerton’s friendly smile and wonder how long it will last.

“You want to do this, or should I?” Coach asks.

I appreciate the question, but I’ve got this. Pushing up from my chair gives me a feeling of control, and I awkwardly tug down my shirt as I avoid my team’s stares. “The thing is, someone close to me got hurt bad this week.” I avoid going into detail because Coach and I agreed it was best to keep the rest of the stuff between us. “And since then, we haven’t exactly been quiet about our relationship.”

Someone shifts and I catch a low murmur, but I refuse to check who it is. My stomach has twisted itself into knots.

“I’m, umm…” Saying it specifically feels too clunky, like too much, as though the word doesn’t belong here. I stuff my shaking hands into my pockets. “When you guys met Elliot, I introduced him as my friend. That was a lie. Elliot’s… my boyfriend.” My throat suddenly cuts off the words. “I’m gay.”

When no one says anything, Coach hurries to stand beside me. “And as a team, we are all here to support Taryn. I hardly need to point out to you dumbasses that things are going to be a bit rough for him in the media and from fans, but none of that bullshit is going to come from the team. Got it?”

There are a few murmurs of agreement, and I finally chance a look up. O’Brien is smiling at me, and Edgerton looks thoughtful but not angry. I seek out some of my friends—Johnson, Trace, Michals—and while it’s hard to tell, I feel a little spark of hope. The more I look around, the more I pick up on the mixed emotions, though. Some are smiling, others look bored, and some are too slow or shocked to hide their disgust. I take note of those names, hating that while I’d known there were sure to be homophobes on the team, I’d really been hoping it wouldn’t happen. Already I can feel a divide starting to go through the room.

I need to lighten the mood. “Let’s look at this like show and tell,” I finally say. “Just this once, you can ask me anything, and you don’t have to worry about coming across as an asshole. Just ask or say whatever you need to, so when we get back out on the field, we don’t take anything with us.”

“Do you give or receive?”

My eyes fly wide at that question, and okay, I did say anything, but… nope. Not answering that. At the risk of getting hit I say, “Why? You interested?”

Someone splutters, and I quickly laugh before I get punched.

“You don’t need to worry, I’m not interested in any of you jackasses. But seriously, don’t ask guys in same-sex relationships that question because it’s really fucking weird when a straight dude wants to hear all about our sex lives. Next.”

“You sure you’ve never checked any of us out? Not in the locker room or anything?” O’Brien asks.

“Definitely not.”

He smirks. “Why? Aren’t we hot enough for you?”

“Nah, just not much to see.” There are a few laughs and it makes me feel incrementally better. “Being gay doesn’t mean I’m attracted to every guy I see, and those of you who have met Elliot or Liam will know for a fact none of you uglies are my type.”

“Liam was your boyfriend too?” O’Brien asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you’re not bi?” a voice from the back calls.

“Positive.”

“But… but… boobs!”

I laugh this time. The guys are becoming more animated, and even though one or two guys get up and leave, most of them seem intent on the conversation. “Yeah, you can keep them. I’ll take dick any day.”

There are cringes and calls of gross, and okay, I’m pushing it a little, but for fuck’s sake, if I have to do this, I’m going to have fun doing it.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Michals finally asks. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and the room settles. All at once the weight of all those stares lands on me again.

“I was scared. Being different isn’t an easy thing. It’s just this constant reminder that while we might be teammates and friends, it could all be gone in a second if you found out the truth. There are constant slurs thrown around, and okay, I get it’s smack talk or whatever, but some days that shit hurts. And I didn’t want to say anything because then I’m the wimpy gay dude who can’t handle real man jokes. It’s a mind fuck.”

“You know it doesn’t matter to us,” O’Brien says, and I’m grateful. I don’t believe him, of course, because it definitely matters to some people. I can tell by the way Coach’s mouth has gone flat that he’s noticed the way the room has started to thin out.

“I appreciate that.”

“Is your boyfriend okay?”

I’m not sure who asks that question either, but warmth explodes in my chest. I have to work really hard not to get emotional because fuck it if I’m going to come out to my team and then cry in front of them. There are some things they’ll never be able to handle. “Mostly. I’m hoping he’ll be out of the hospital this week, then he’ll move in with me while he recovers.”

“What happened?”

Yikes, another question I don’t want to answer. “I’d rather not say.”

“Sex injury?” Johnson jokes.

I shake my head. “And there you go talking about gay sex again.”

They laugh, and Coach pats me on the back, stepping forward to take over. He runs us through the press conference I’m refusing to go to, and O’Brien and Edgerton are quick to say they’re happy to be there as support. The others are run through what to say to the media until the PR team can be arranged to go over things properly.

I just sit back, both sick and relieved that’s it’s all finally out there. I’m not stupid enough to believe it’ll all be okay, but for now, I can relax.

Just for a moment.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Jetson, the security guard Taryn hired, is some next-level, Terminator shit. He’s got a buzz cut and square jaw, and where Taryn’s muscled but agile and sexy, this dude fucking bulges under his shirt. He doesn’t smile, and I assume he must be ex-army or marines or something that screams a whole lot of PTSD.

Still, when he helps me up the stairs while Taryn parks the car, his hands are gentle, and his encouraging words are soft. My brain can’t put it all together.

I’m still worried sick over what happens from here. Taryn says he’s got it all under control but I don’t see how that can be the case when his team lost again last night. Two days after he came out to them. He was in a filthy mood when he left the hospital, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised when he actually showed up for me this morning. Then again, I don’t think I’ll ever not be surprised to find him here for me.

All through the meetings at the hospital and the lying to the police about not remembering anything… he held my hand, right there in front of people, not willing to let me go through it alone.

There’s still a long road of recovery ahead, especially for one of my legs. It’s in a cast with no way to tell if it will ever be one hundred percent again. The other is wrapped, and I have strict instructions on how to care for it, number one being no walking until I meet with my specialist in seven to ten days. And between the operation and hospital visit… there was only so much my insurance covered. My five-year plan has been blown out to impossible levels. Both Rainer and Taryn tried to cover the bill, but I refused. And when Rainer tried to cancel his flight to Ibiza while I recovered, I knew it was just one more excuse to play it safe. Taryn and I drove him to the airport this morning and put him on the damn plane ourselves.

Taryn bounds up the stairs with my bag slung over his shoulder. He dumps it down the hall in his room while Jetson grabs me a glass of water and some more painkillers, which he places on the side table before retreating downstairs.

“Nice guy,” I say to Taryn when he finally emerges. He’s changed his shirt to a soft gray one and has pulled on a pair of sweat pants.

He snorts. “Better not be. I hired him to keep you safe.”

“You big sap,” I joke, trying to make this all normal, rather than focusing on the fact I have fucked up legs and no way out if someone comes for me again.

“I’m serious.” He sinks down on the lounge beside me, and I reach for his face, running my hand over the stubble that has grown out into a soft, thick beard. He turns his face to press a kiss to my palm. “I was so worried, Elliot. That’s not going to happen again. I’m going to protect you.”

“That’s sweet and all, babe, but this isn’t on you. It’s on those dicks who thought it’d be fun to teach me a lesson. And I’ve done two out of the three things they asked of me. I sent in my resignation, and I’m out of the state.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe I should have let you go…” He doesn’t even try to sound convincing.

“Don’t get cold feet on me now, big guy. You’re stuck with me for the next four to five weeks.”

He screws up his face. “How on earth am I gonna get through that?”

I aim a light punch to his shoulder. “Hey! I’m an excellent roommate. I cook, I’m semi-clean, and I can keep viruses out of your computer.”

“Don’t have a computer.” His attention has already drifted to my body. “And you’re far too injured to cook or clean. I think we’re going to have to figure something else out.”

He reaches for my waist and nuzzles his face into my neck.

“I’m not trading my body for a place to live, Taryn,” I warn him before melting into his touch. I turn my face toward his until his lips brush mine when I add, “You can have it for free.”

He lets out the most delicious noise as he deepens the kiss for a moment before pulling away. “Do not get me worked up right now. Doc said you need rest.”

“Yes, and what’s more relaxing than a daily BJ?”

Taryn lets out a burst of laughter before he gets up and heads for the kitchen, his erection very noticeable in his pants. As he moves around making dinner, I lean back on the couch and watch him, feeling like a little light has blinked on inside me. He hums a song off key and throws me a smile every time he notices me watching him. Being here, having Taryn, it calms the shitstorm inside me. And it’s like, no matter what happens, this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

He cooks spaghetti and garlic bread and when he brings it over and nothing is burnt, a little burst of pride hits me. He gently pulls my less injured leg over his lap and massages my calf lightly with one hand as he eats with the other.

It’s suddenly so obvious to me why I couldn’t walk away.

I love him.

For the first time in the history of my life, that thought doesn’t scare me. My revelation is quiet and small, yet I feel like I could drift clean off the couch with the rightness of it all. We finish eating, then hold hands and kiss lazily, and he tastes like garlic and onions, and I know I taste the same. He tells me how insecure he was, and I tell him how afraid I was, and we whisper and kiss and talk and laugh until I fall asleep with his breath in my ear and his heartbeat under my hand, completely gone with love.

***

We only get one blissful day together before Taryn is back at training. Jetson rotates watching the house with another security guard, Iora, so I never have to worry.

But I still do.

I still think about the room and the drain. The bruises from the zip ties around my wrists have started to fade, but the memory clings on. The steel in the man’s eyes. The sharp blade of the knife. The moment the hammer first made contact…

Fuck.

Phantom pain shoots up both legs, and I grimace as I fight it back. I took my painkillers an hour ago, so I know that other than a few mild aches, there’s no way the pain is real, but damn if I can tell my body that.

It fades after another few seconds, and I slump back into the couch. Half a day without Taryn and I’m already bored. My laptop and phone are gone, and I haven’t missed them so far, but there’s only so much TV I can watch before I start getting restless.

And that amount isn’t much. There’s this itching under my skin I can’t get rid of, like I need to be working, need to be doing more. Gary called me after I turned in my resignation to see if there was any changing my mind, and I’m still on the fence about whether he was being genuine or trying to test me. Because he has to be the one behind it all. He’s the only one who knew I was suspicious.

“Iora!” I project my voice enough that she’s bound to have heard me downstairs, and after a couple of moments, her heavy footfalls approach.

“What do you want?” Her demeanor is far drier than Jetson’s, and even though she’s well over six foot, has arms like tree trunks, and spikey black hair, there’s something maternal about her. She and Jetson make an awesome pair.

“I’m bored. I need to get out of the house.”

She snorts. “Riiight. Because that’s a definite possibility.”

“It’ll be quick. I want to buy another laptop since mine is gone.”

Her expression doesn’t change.

“C’mon. Please?”

“We both know boss man would kill me, so that’s a hard no.”

“Iora…”

“Elliot… Literally nothing you say is going to change my mind, so there’s no point trying, little man.”

I flip her off, and she starts laughing. “I’m injured. Take pity on me.”

“Yeah, that shit doesn’t work on me.” She goes to head back downstairs then hesitates. “Tell you what, I’ll text Jetson and see if he can pick up one on the way. You have the money, right?”

“I might currently be sponging off my boyfriend, but yes, I have my own money. It’s sort of what got me into this mess.”

She eyes me again before giving a noncommittal hum and leaving.

It’s another four hours until Jetson arrives, and by that time, I’ve caved into my boredom and shifted into my wheelchair to awkwardly try and prepare dinner. It takes more than double the time it should since I have to reach up for the counter while I chop the ingredients for the stir fry, and by the time I’m done, I literally collapse back onto the couch, completely wrung out. Taryn can cook when he gets home, but at least it was something.

When I’m woken by a nudge to my ribs, the new white box in Jetson’s hands makes me moan in relief. I’m well aware it’s a sad day when you react that way over a computer, but fucking hell, I need some access to the world if I can’t actually go out in it.

“Jetson, you are officially my new favorite person.”

“Careful,” he says. “Boss man will have my balls if he hears you saying that.”

I grin, loving the way they call Taryn boss man. I’ll have to try it later in bed.

Iora ducks back up to say goodbye and tease me over my injuries some more before she leaves and Jetson settles in for the night shift. Taryn should be leaving training any minute now, but it usually takes around half an hour for him to get home in peak traffic. While I wait, I busy myself setting up the new computer and signing in to all my accounts. It’s not until I log into my banking app that I’m finally able to relax a little when I see my accounts haven’t been completely cleared out.

My fingers tap lightly on my thigh as I wonder whether I still have access to work’s online storage. Considering we don’t have an official HR department, it’s entirely possible. Suzanne is usually way too overworked with administrative duties that processing an employee’s exit paperwork would probably get put on the backburner.

But even if I can access it, do I want to?

I pretend to think it over, but there’s no doubt in my mind I’m curious as hell. If something’s been planted on me, I could potentially find it and get rid of the evidence. I have no idea if the evidence would be there or on my physical hard drive, but if there’s a slight chance I can keep Taryn and I out of trouble, it’s definitely worth the risk.

But first, I have to cover all traces of my access. I’m not a hacker by any means, so I start with the easiest thing—setting up a VPN to hide my IP address. From there, I have to go searching deeper, looking for the exact program I’ll need to mask my entry and the files I access. It takes me an hour to download and do remedial tests on the software, but it looks as solid as my skills can figure out.

With a deep breath, I type the link into the address bar and wait for the page to load. Slowly, like I’m afraid it might jump off the screen and punch me in the face, I type my credentials in and wait to see if it works.

To my relief and dread, it does.

It must be a sign, albeit a pretty weak one. I’ve spent years organizing and developing my processes for how I store everything and encrypt the data. It’s hackable if you know what you’re looking for, sure, but anything here that shouldn’t be would stick out like a sore thumb.

I click through from one section to the next, checking through my files and making sure the encryptions are all still in place. Someone’s been in here, judging by the history, but I can’t find anything new.

Some of the anticipation starts to seep out of me. I’d been so sure I’d find what I needed.

I’m about to close out when I’m struck by another idea. I may not have figured out who that number belonged to, but I know enough about their betting habits that I should be able to find similar patterns if they’ve ever used me too.

I’m not that hopeful, but Taryn still isn’t home yet, so I start to combine some of my data from the last few years. The spreadsheet I import it to is basic and quick, but it will do what I need it to for now.

First, I filter by money spent and set it to five thousand, which is a pretty common amount. From there I start to look for betting consistency and amounts won, and then discount any bids that lost. There are a couple of people who look pretty lucky overall but have the occasional loss, and while I’m not ready to rule them out completely, I move them over into another document.

When I have a limited range left, one name catches my eye, and I’m barely processing what it means when I hear Taryn’s voice downstairs. I didn’t even register his car pulling up. While he shuffles around downstairs, I make a split-second decision and download everything to my computer then wipe my records from the work drive in case there’s anything I’ve missed.

And actually… if I can remote access my old laptop, I can activate the self-destruct there too, which guarantees to remove all the evidence the man said they planted.

“Taryn?”

He appears at the top of the stairs. “Hi, gorgeous.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and eyes the mess I’ve made of the counter. “Let me guess, bored?”

“So fucking bored. And Iora was a total buzzkill.”

“It’s what I pay her for.”

I wrinkle my nose as he drops down beside me and pulls me into a deep kiss.

“Hi,” he breathes against my lips.

“Hey.”

“I missed you today.”

I smirk and pull back. “At least you had shit to do to keep you occupied. I was this close to pulling my hair into a bun, smudging my mascara and crying into a tub of ice cream.”

Taryn laughs. “Don’t be silly. You don’t wear mascara.”

“I’d be willing to make that sacrifice.”

His amusement dies as his expression softens, and he swipes a thumb over my cheek. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t overdo it.”

“It was a couple of vegetables. I’ll live.”

“I’m not disputing that.” His attention shifts to the laptop perched beside me. “I see Jetson is officially wrapped around your little finger.”

“How do you know it wasn’t Iora?”

“I have my ways.”

“They told you, didn’t they?”

Taryn grins, and I’m kind of obsessed with how it lights up his eyes.

“A dude can’t keep a secret around this place…” I joke. But now that he’s drawn my attention back to the computer, the anxiety passing through me surges back into focus. I bite my lip as I look at the screen, wondering how much to say.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, reaching over to tug my lip back out. When I release it, he catches it in his teeth and gives me a little nip.

“Taryn… I might have figured something out, and I’m not sure what to do with this information.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s very possible I’ve worked out who that number belonged to, but I really have no way to prove it.”

He sucks in a quick breath, releases it, and rubs his hand over his mouth. “Who?”

“Charlene Lewers. My boss’s wife.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

I’m worried about Elliot. He’s so wrapped up in the idea that he can find the person who did this to him that he’s barely talked about much else these past few days. At least he managed to wipe his old laptop, which seems to have eased his mind a little, and I’m damn impressed with his skills. But I’m worried, and I keep suggesting that maybe we should look into a shrink or something, but every time I offer, he abruptly turns the conversation around. I told him I’d protect him, but I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job.

So I try to distract him instead, but the distraction only lasts for as long as it takes for the blow job afterglow to fade, and then it’s like I can see the multitude of thoughts starting up in his pretty head.

Going to training makes me anxious because I hate leaving Elliot. Last night he stayed up combing through social media, looking for any links. I’m so worried I briefly considered calling a therapist to pay him a home visit, but I’ve held off from crossing that line so far. He’s not making it easy, though.

The team finishes watching the Hawks game tapes and heads for the gym where Johnson and Edgerton are talking loudly about what they got up to over the weekend. The team hasn’t been treating me all that differently this week, but I have noticed a few random stares and side eyes.

I jump on the seated overhead press and start to work my shoulders, the sound of grunts heard over the radio. At least working out gives me a chance to clear my head and ignore everyone else around me. My shoulder twinges, that same old injury that keeps acting up, but I work through it like the doctor told me to.

Even as I focus on the music and count out my reps, my mind keeps drifting back to Elliot. Elliot, waiting on my couch. Elliot, thin fingers flying across his keyboard. Elliot, whose hair really needed to be washed days ago, but still manages to look like the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.

A smile starts to form and for once, I don’t fight it.

“Someone’s happy,” O’Brien teases, taking the machine next to me.

“Yeah.” I hesitate as I try to balance my breathing and the reps. “It’s been known to happen.”

“My woman does that to me too.” He winks. “Elliot must be a special guy.”

Somehow my stomach simultaneously drops and jumps. I lick my lips, barely able to believe this is a conversation I’m actually having. There’s nothing to be lost now. “He is.”

Nothing more is said as we work through our reps, but he doesn’t cringe away or act weird, and I can’t help feeling like it’s a fucking miracle.

I push harder and harder, buoyed on by relief.

Then something in my shoulder snaps.

Pain shoots down my arm and across my traps as I let out a long groan. I immediately hug my right arm to my body, feeling the throb of my heartbeat in my white-knuckled grip.

“Taryn, you okay?”

A few voices join the first, but I hunch forward, forcing myself to breathe and trying not to jostle my bad arm. Coach shows up a minute later, and I follow him out of the gym, down two halls, and into the first aid room.

He’s fast and efficient as he checks me over before our trainer does the same.

“What the hell happened?” he snaps.

“Something in my shoulder. I dunno. It’s been acting up for a while now.”

Coach curses under his breath. “What did your PT say?”

“Nothing. Doc said I was fine.”

There’s a heavy pause. “Which doctor?”

“Fallins.”

Before I can say anything else, he’s on the phone with Doctor Fallins who arrives fifteen minutes later.

“Well, well, Taryn. What have you done here?” he asks, pulling my arm toward him. Another jolt of pain shoots through the joint, and I have to hold back from punching him.

“Fucking hurts,” I grunt.

He hums as his cold fingers prod and press at my burning skin. Coach looks on, arms folded, phone held loosely in one hand.

“Looks like you pushed too hard,” Doc says.

“You told me if it starts to act up again to push through,” I spit back at him.

He chuckles. “Only if it’s slight pain. Surely you know your limits by now?”

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I hold it together. He’s only been on our medical team this year, but he’s been good to us. Well, until now at least, but I guess everyone makes a shitty call sometimes.

But I swear, if that shitty call has cost me my career…

“You’ll be fine,” he finally says. “Looks to me like a slight strain. Take some painkillers, ice it, and go light on the exercise. You’ll be fine for Sunday.”

Thank fuck for that. The pain in my shoulder suddenly feels a whole lot more bearable now that I know it’s nothing major. And yeah, I feel like a bit of a douche for reacting like I did, but holy hell it hit hard.

Coach and I thank the doctor, and he leaves us in the type of quiet that could split the air.

“Get up,” Coach says.

I hurry to my feet, and my shoulder gives a painful throb that almost makes me swear out loud. “Sorry to make such a fuss,” I mumble.

Coach stares at me for a beat. “You’re coming with me.”

I hurry to follow him from the room. “Okay, where?”

“The hospital.”

“But Doc—”

“Also told Zane he was fine to play, and now he’s out for the season. I’m not taking chances, Adderson. Get in the truck.”

It’s awkward trying to climb up into the cab while holding my injured arm still, but I manage it. Barely. All my shit is back in my locker, so I can’t even text Elliot to give him the heads up. And it’s not like he could do anything anyway, but it’s pretty damn special I have him there to tell things like this to. At this moment, I want nothing more than his soothing voice, telling me it’s going to be okay. Because, yeah, I know that, but I wanna hear it from him.

“Taryn,” Coach says, sounding kinda guarded. “Remember all that stuff you came to me about last week?”

As if I could forget. “Yes, of course.”

He twists his mouth up to one side, squinting against the midday sun. “We’ve lost two games in a row now, then the Jets game the week before caught my attention, along with some others before that. I’ve been watching through some footage, trying to see if there’s a player or any links, but so far there hasn’t been anything to cause suspicion.”

I let out a long breath. “I’ve gotta admit, it’s definitely a relief to be able to rule out a player.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, it is. But the more I watch, the more I review the game stats, the more something feels off.”

“Yeah, I thought the same.”

“What do you remember about our second loss?”

“We played like shit.”

“Well, we lost, so yes, but objectively it was a good game… if we were playing the team we prepared for.”

I frown. “But… we did play the Cubs.”

“Oh, you were prepared for Kurt Bradley, were you? And Neil Davidson and Jason Churng?”

“Well, no. They were all ruled out for that game.”

“And yet they played anyway. So did Zane, even though the hospital said it looked like his ankle was broken before he ran out on that field.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “How the hell can they know that?”

“I got them to pull the scans from the week before. Zane’s ankle was chipped, he should have been resting it, but instead, he was given painkillers and an ice pack and told to take it easy until the game. Sound familiar?”

His implications start to set in. “Wait… you think Doctor Fallins had him play on purpose?”

“Definitely how it looks.”

“So you think he’s the one who’s been fixing the matches?”

“I think he’s certainly been manipulating the odds in his favor.”

“But it wasn’t just our team that’s had injuries and last-minute roster changes. How could he have managed that?”

Coach shakes his head. “I dunno, Adderson. All I know is we have to prove he’s been messing with our team before we even think about the others.”

“How do we prove it?”

Coach throws his indicator on as we pull into the hospital parking lot. “Son, I think you’re about to.”

***

A pinched nerve. One tiny little thing is what’s causing me a world of pain. I expected the hospital to be an in and out process, but Coach was determined to get to the bottom of the issue. Thank fuck he did.

Even though it means more time off the field and all my training to be completed with my PT, I feel better knowing I didn’t keep playing. If I had, I eventually would have ended up like Zane. I try calling him again on the way home, but like all the other times there’s no answer. I don’t want to push too hard because I can imagine the mood I’d be in knowing my season was over, and even though he’s under contract for next season, that really means nothing in this business.

Which is stupid as all hell because Cooper Zane is one of the best.

The pain is long gone by the time I get home, and it amuses me that Elliot and I can start comparing notes on painkillers. I missed a slew of texts and calls from him, and by the time I called back, it sounded as though he was ready to hobble down the street hunting for me. He also called me a ton of names before begging me to get home. He doesn’t have to ask twice.

I bound up the stairs and drop down next to him before tugging his face close enough to catch his gorgeous lips.

“Are you going to explain yet?” he asks around my mouth.

“Soon.” I go on kissing him until he has to physically push me away. I moan at the lost contact, wanting nothing more than to get lost in his taste, his warmth, his touch. Geez, I’m gone, and I’m not even sorry.

“Taryn…”

“Argh, fine.” I slide back against the armrest of the couch. “I got injured today, and I’ve been at the hospital all afternoon.”

“What the fuck? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I left my phone in my locker. It sucks, but it’s not serious.”

“So why were you at the hospital?”

“Coach didn’t want to take the doc’s word for it, so he got me checked out. Lucky too. Pinched nerve. If I’d kept playing on it, I might have ended up needing surgery.”

Elliot bristles. “Your doctor didn’t know that?”

I take a deep breath. “Thing is, he might have.”

His confusion is evident in the frown pulling at his eyebrows. “What—”

“Coach thinks Doctor Fallins has something to do with the rigged games.”

“Fuuuuck.” Somehow Elliot makes that one word mean so much. Fuck, that’s some deep shit. Fuck, what a mess. Fuck, my career could have been ruined by that asshole, and fuck, Zane’s already has been.

“That’s the theory, anyway. Think Coach is going to the board tomorrow, but with no proof, I dunno. Not sure much can happen.”

Elliot jolts upright and snatches up his laptop. “That’s two people, Taryn. Your doctor and my boss’s wife. There has to be something, a link, maybe a social media connection?”

I hum. “Everyone is friends with everyone on social media these days. That won’t count for much.”

Still it doesn’t stop Elliot. He closes off from me completely as he starts searching through the layers of the internet I would have never thought to look at. Feeling forgotten, I ease him back in my arms so he’s resting against my chest, his computer on his lap. His fingers move fast, his eyes flicking back and forth behind his glasses, a random chunk of hair falling loose over his temple. I brush it back and press a kiss there instead. The slightest movement twitches at the corner of his lips.

“You said Cooper Zane…”

“Out for the season.”

Elliot hums, fingers set off at a punishing speed as the pages flick through on the screen. I can’t keep up.

“If…” I lick my lips not knowing how to answer. “If we can’t prove it, if we never find out who’s behind this for sure… are you gonna be okay?”

Elliot’s tawny eyebrows creep up, and he tilts his face toward me. Only the sounds of his breathing pass between us for a moment. “I want to say yes. I really want to believe it. But I keep thinking about what happened. It’s weird. I didn’t think I’d be affected once I got out. It’s not like he was going to kill me or anything—at least not this time.”

My arms tighten at the thought of anyone daring to touch him. “You’re safe now.”

He doesn’t acknowledge me, just rubs a hand down his face. “I’m worried I’m not far enough away. I’m worried they’ll come back. For me, maybe. But worse is the thought they’ll do something to you.”

I snort. “Fuckers can try.”

“Not funny, Taryn.” His harsh words are underscored by the vulnerability in his eyes.

I shake my head, forehead finding his cheek. “Sorry. I know it’s not. We’ll find them, and when we do, it’s gonna take everything in me not to murder them.”

He hums. “I love it when you talk homicidal to me…”

And thank fuck that breaks the tension. I clip his ear with my teeth and force my attention back to the screen before I maul him. “We can’t have you worrying constantly, so we’re left with only one option. We need to figure this thing out.”

He drops a quick kiss on my cheek before turning back to his search. He has some kind of spreadsheet open on one side of his screen and a website on the other. “Wooow-ly fuck.”

“What is it?”

Elliot hits a few more keys, and the open pages spread evenly over the screen. “The other day I saved all Charlene’s bets in one file, and this one”—he points at a line highlighted in yellow—“is a bet she placed on Cooper Zane getting injured. Then I logged into the cloud and pulled those photos I sent you the other week. Here”—he points again—“and here and here. All bets from Charlene on Zane’s injury.”

“She knew?”

He goes back to typing. “She definitely knew,” he mutters.

I watch as he moves from page to page, searching across platforms until he finds Doctor Fallins’s social media. There’s a bunch of pictures of games and him with different high-profile players. I’ve always liked Fallins because he seemed like a legit dude who actually cared about the players. He always asks me how I am and reminds me to drink extra water… This kind of thing doesn’t seem in character at all.

I frown as Elliot scrolls through the photos, and when he clicks over to one of a benefit night that took place before preseason, I drop my hand over his. “Wait.”

He does, thankfully not prodding me for answers as I stare at the screen.

“This was for some children’s charity. Liam and I went as friends, but there were hundreds of high-profile people there. If your boss is as rich as you’ve said, he could have been in that room. Or even at the event we went to the other night.”

“You think?”

“It’s worth a shot, right?”

Elliot catches his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it. “Right, okay.” It’s the only warning he gives me before he hunches forward and starts searching for the charity. There’s a webpage that has pictures of the night, a bunch of local Philadelphia news sites with write ups about the fundraiser, and a few sports articles about the players who attended the event. Elliot finds his way back to his boss’s social media and clicks through his pictures, but he doesn’t find anything specific.

“Can I?” I reach out for his laptop, and even though he hesitates, he eventually hands it over.

“Can’t hurt.”

I sign in to my social media accounts and start searching through my teammate’s personal pages. There are a few who like to post photos from the shit we go to—Zane especially—and when I start to search through his photos, I come across a bunch from the night of the brain cancer fundraiser. There’s a picture of Zane with Fallins, and a few of Zane and the team. Another of Zane and me, and yet another of him, me, and Elliot. But just as I’m about to keep scrolling, Elliot stops me.

“Holy hell.” He zooms in on the screen and points out a woman standing in the background, openly staring at us as the picture was taken. “That’s Charlene.”

We stare at her for a full minute.

“Still doesn’t prove anything,” he finally says. I don’t like how flat he sounds.

“But it’s something. They had the opportunity to meet. They were in the same room, right before Zane was injured.”

“My boss is a dick, but… he’s always been so funny about everything being above board. He caught onto a scheme in basketball last season and nearly bust a nut. He reported it anonymously to the NBA. He’s a lousy bastard, but he has a weird set of ethics buried somewhere down in there.”

“Which is why he was so pissed when you took that large bet.”

“Yeah. I mean, it was about the money too. He loves his income. But I guess when what you’re doing is already illegal, you’ve got to hold onto some morals, otherwise you’d drown.”

“But his wife…”

“Yep. His wife.”

I blow out a huff. “Kinda sounds like he’d know about it then.”

Elliot’s lips scrunch and release. “Guess so.”

He finds another handful of photos, and then finally finds the exact connection we’re looking for—Doctor Fallins and Charlene Lewers listed as board members of a charity for immunodeficiency.

I tap the screen, and Elliot’s quick to move it out of my reach. Trying to stifle a laugh, I point again, this time not touching. “Well, there’s no way they can say they don’t know each other when there’s all of six board members for that charity.”

“True.” Elliot’s head drops back onto my shoulder. He’s finally bothered to wash his hair, and I love that it smells like my shampoo. “Now what the hell do I do?”

“We take this further. It’s the only thing we can do.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

I’m so damn glad Taryn made the call because I probably would have deliberated moving forward for weeks. Instead, I feed off his decisiveness which is why, a week later, right after my post-op follow-up appointment, we’re in the elevator of my old office building.

Taryn’s beside me, and Iora and Jetson are behind us both. It’s ridiculous, but also the only way Taryn would let me leave the house, and now that the specialist has given me the okay to ditch the wheelchair, like fuck am I going to let Taryn handle it all. Nerves attack my stomach, and I itch to grab his hand, but that’s hard to do when the only things holding me up are the crutches digging in under my arms.

“He’s going to kill me,” I mutter, but it’s loud enough that they would have easily heard.

“At least that would give us something solid on him,” Iora states.

“Your concern for my wellbeing is overwhelming.”

“Your dramatics are overwhelming.”

“Don’t worry,” Taryn cuts in. “I’d be concerned if you died.”

“Concerned, huh? Don’t strain yourself.”

He smirks at my reflection in the elevator mirrors. “I’d cry at your funeral, if that helps?”

It does help. Not the crying at the funeral thing, but the distraction works wonders. Until the elevator slows and the doors slide open.

Suzanne is behind her desk like always, and I have this weird feeling of both coming home and complete disconnect. She stands, torn between welcoming me like she always has and asking me what the hell I’m doing there with three mountainous bodyguards.

“Elliot?”

“Gary in?”

“Umm…” She hurries from behind her desk, but I keep walking—limping—straight past it, awkwardly maneuvering one leg still in a cast and one in a brace. After a cursory glance over the other three, she thinks better of trying to stop us. I hear her curse right before I open Gary’s door. He doesn’t look completely surprised to see me, and I’m not sure whether he’s covering that he is surprised or if Suzanne somehow tipped him off in the three point seven seconds it took for us to walk across the lobby.

He doesn’t say anything as we enter, and I awkwardly lower myself into the seat across from him, happy to finally take the pressure off my aching legs. On top of my busted-up knees, the strain of constantly repositioning my weight is wearing down my thighs. Iora and Jetson step into the room far enough to close the door behind us, but Gary’s gaze stays glued to Taryn as he takes the seat next to me.

“This is an interesting development,” he finally says.

“Yes, I bet.” I’m feeling less than confident. “Considering you and your wife had my knee caps smashed in.”

Gary bristles. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t think we’d figure it out?”

Then to my surprise, he smiles. “I don’t think you’ve figured out what you think you’ve figured out.”

I frown as I sort through his words. “Of course I have. You’ve been fixing games, and we have proof.”

The stormy expression I’ve been waiting for the whole time finally settles across his features. Gary folds his hands on his desk and sits forward. “Are you questioning my integrity?”

“This is more of a formality, really. Think of it as me giving you notice. The NFL is being notified as we speak. They’ll take our concerns to the police, and I’ll hand over the evidence I’ve gathered.”

“And what evidence might that be?”

“The bets being placed in your wife’s name, across multiple bookies, all on the same games, same injuries … all of them winners.”

His jaw works. “And the evidence you have on me?”

“Her bets are being placed through your employees. Do I need any more?”

“So, because my wife has gotten lucky, you automatically assume we’re fixing NFL games? That’s a little farfetched, wouldn’t you say?”

“No.” We knew the evidence wasn’t exactly stellar, but I was banking on confidence and bravado making it sound like more than it is.

“Show me this evidence.”

Taryn leans forward and drops the itemized printouts on the desk. As Gary flips through them, I watch his face, waiting for a tell, for any slip to give away his thoughts. None come. Finally, he sits back in his chair and turns his attention to Taryn.

“I’m surprised to see you here. I would have thought you’d think twice before showing up in public with a gay man.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. My coach knows, my team knows, and others will find out as they find out. I’m not hiding it anymore.”

Gary smirks. “Mature.”

“I suppose I have you to thank for this new perspective.”

“I wish I could claim that honor. But unfortunately, none of this has anything to do with me.”

I snort. “You as good as threatened me after I took that massive bet.”

“Because I thought you were dirty dealing, Elliot.” He frowns, thumbing through the paperwork once more. “Ask your guard dogs to stand outside.”

Taryn laughs. “Yeah, not a chance in hell.”

“If you want to talk openly, I suggest you do it. And now. I’m not in a patient mood.”

“Sorry…” Taryn says, shaking his head. “What part of this makes you feel like you’re in charge?”

“The part where your evidence is jack shit. But I’m willing to talk.”

Taryn and I exchange a quick look. I know he wants to keep me safe, but even though Gary is a solid guy, I’m pretty confident Taryn could take him. I give a short nod.

With a pinched expression, Taryn asks Iora and Jetson to wait outside. It’s not until the door clicks closed behind them that Gary speaks again.

“What do you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do I have to do to make all this disappear?”

I glance over at Taryn who looks like he’s barely holding back from punching the guy. “I thought you said this has nothing to do with you?”

“It doesn’t.” And damn him, he looks far too relaxed for someone potentially headed for jail time. “But I can’t deny it looks like my wife is involved.”

Taryn lets out a skeptical sound, but I talk over the top of it. “Looks like? We have the proof right there.”

“No, what you have right here is proof that you’ve been working as an illegal bookie, which will throw everything you and your boyfriend have to say out the window.”

And that’s the crux of it all. He’s right. Now, he has me pinned. “If you don’t think we have anything, why are you looking to bargain?”

“Because I’ve spent years building the reputation of my business. If it gets out that my wife has insider information, it’ll automatically throw speculation on me, true or not. This whole situation sounds like a loss for the three of us.”

True. If we do the right thing with this, there’s no way anyone will believe we had nothing to do with it all, especially if that supposed evidence is still out there.

“I take it you have a plan?” Taryn finally asks.

Gary smiles, and his game face is back. “I have ways of persuading people to do what I want.”

“By breaking their knee caps?”

Gary laughs. “That’s far too crude for me. Amateurish. If you threaten someone properly, their mind will submit without having to touch their body.”

“Well, someone broke—”

“Clearly.” He cuts me off. “But I don’t have time to argue who and what and why. You give me these papers, and keep my wife’s name out of it, and I’ll get you the evidence—real evidence—you need.”

The offer is tempting. Very, very tempting. Our way, and the names get out there but we all get dragged down, and there’s only the slight possibility of our links being enough. His way… if we can get proper evidence that will at least have this doctor taken down for the reckless way he’s been treating his players, that would be worth it… right?

When I glance over at Taryn, I’m relieved to see his slight nod. Knowing we’re on the same page with this makes me feel more confident about the decision.

“Okay.”

“Deal?”

“Evidence first. Show us what you have, and if it’s enough to bring this person down, we’ll give you all the originals of that paperwork.”

He nods. “Deal.”

With nothing more to say, I awkwardly shift to the edge of my seat and Taryn hurries to help pull me up and position the crutches. I’ll be so damn happy when I’m done with them. As I start for the door, I realize Taryn hasn’t moved. He’s drawn right up to his full six foot three and planted his feet wide.

“One more thing,” he says, his normally warm voice as cold as Gary’s. “You will get me the name of the person who hurt Elliot. You will find them, and you will make sure they never think to mess with him again. If you don’t, the deal’s off. I don’t give a shit how incriminating your evidence is.”

He turns on his heel and yanks open the door, his dramatic exit hindered by the way he has to wait and help me out.

And of course, Gary gets in the last word. “I’ll do you one better, footballer. Forget the name, I’ll get you the person who hurt Elliot. And I can promise you it won’t be pretty.”

By the time we reach the elevator and step inside, Taryn’s breathing has evened out and is almost back to normal.

“Feel better?” I smirk.

He doesn’t answer; he just wraps his arms around me tight and doesn’t let go.

Chapter Thirty-Five

When we get home, Elliot lets out a groan of relief to be back in familiar territory. I wrap him up and hoist him into my arms like I have so many times before, his crutches clattering to the floor. Carrying him up the stairs bridal style is probably something I’ll keep doing long after he’s better.

“I can’t wait until I can walk properly again,” he moans into my neck.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I hover, unsure which direction to head. In the end, my dick wins out, and I turn for the hall, carrying Elliot into my bedroom, and when I lay him out over my bed, I’m hit with the idea that I want this to be forever. He belongs here—in my bed, in my house, in my life. My chest restricts as I look down into his beautiful face, and all I want to do is hide away in here with him forever.

“You’ll be out of the cast soon, then the braces will make it easier,” I say, gently positioning his legs to the side so I can blanket his body with mine.

“I know. Thank fuck.”

“You won’t need me anymore.”

His chuckle is low and deep. “What’s this shit?”

I press my face farther into his neck to cut him off from what I’m feeling. “I mean, you’ll be able to go home soon enough.”

“Home?” He sounds confused, and I hope I’m reading him right.

I finally pull back to look at him. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s… Well, even with everything apparently okay, I still want to move out of my apartment. Maybe find a new one a bit farther away…”

“Hey.” I cup his face. “You’re safe now. But apartment or no apartment”—I suck in a deep breath—“that’s not what I want. I want you to stay here. I want to come home to you every day. Move in. Properly. Officially. Please?”

His eyes widen at all the things falling out of my mouth, and I half want to take them back, but I’d only say them again anyway.

His lips start to curl up at the corners. “You… want me to move in here?”

“You’re already living here—”

“With an expiration date. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah there is. This way it’s torture not knowing how much longer I’ll have you here.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“No. Never.”

“But…” His forehead crumples under his confusion. “You were with Liam for six years.”

“And it wasn’t right. Which goes to show time means nothing.”

Elliot’s hands cover mine. “You’re serious?”

I’m almost too afraid to answer. I force myself to anyway. “Yes.”

“You’re really serious?” His smile splits his face completely in half. “Move in. Here.”

“Still haven’t given me an answer, babe.”

“I’m sorry, but if you can’t read my ridiculous smile and shaking hands for what they are, maybe you’re a dumb jock after all.”

I hum and wrap my arms around his waist. “Still not an answer.”

“Yes, you big idiot. Yes, I want to move in with you.” His smile is heartbreaking. “I love you. Such a stupid, fucking amount.”

My heart could beat right out of my chest, and because I have to do something or I might cry, I lean over and catch his mouth with mine. I kiss him with bruising pressure, cupping his jaw with one hand and palming his cock with the other. We’ve been taking sex slow since Elliot got injured, but now that he’s well and truly on the mend, I can’t hold back anymore. I strip off my shirt, then kick my pants and underwear off before undressing Elliot. I take it easy with his pants, easing them over his knees, but have no reservations about yanking his shirt up so hard the cotton makes a sharp noise in protest.

I finally pause when he’s laid out across my—our—bed, lean body on display, long thin cock leaking onto his stomach. My breathing deepens when I meet Elliot’s lust filled eyes, and I reach out, slowly running my hand through his hair until I tighten my hold. “You’ve made me very happy,” I tell him, and all he manages is a strangled moan. I lean forward and press another hard kiss to his lips. “Now I’m going to show you exactly how I plan on taking care of you.”

“Taryn…” he pants against my lips. “Fuck me.”

That gets a smile. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

Confusion briefly ruffles his brow until I take his hand and draw two fingers into my mouth. His stare never leaves my lips as I suck and once his digits are good and wet, I slide them from my mouth and guide his hand around to my ass.

His eyes fly wide, even as he traces my crease. “You… you want…”

“I want to ride you.”

“But I thought—”

“Like I told you, I’ve been practicing.”

Some of the lust seeps from his expression as his eyes soften. “You’re sure?”

“There’s no one else I’d trust with this.”

He stops hesitating. I grab the lube, and Elliot covers his fingers completely. His fingers slip between my cheeks, and I shudder as he lightly brushes my hole. I’m still anxious and worried about how this is going to feel because there’s a massive difference between my fingers and his cock, but I’m anxious to try more.

Elliot traces a circle around my entrance before easing a finger in. “This okay?”

I nod, because even though there’s a slight burn, I’m prepared. I try to relax and try to take him in. He adds a second finger and the stretching increases to a point where I completely retreat into myself.

“Stay with me, Taryn.” His fingers still. Up to the knuckles. Waiting for me to adjust. It feels like the pain will never go away, but a couple of seconds later, it subsides.

“I’m okay.”

When he starts to move them again, the pain is dull and holy hell, every nerve ending in my ass starts to come alive. Then he pegs my prostate.

“Holy fucking shit!” I say on a gasp.

Elliot smirks, picking up the pace, even as I reach over to my bedside table and pull out a condom. He adds a third finger, the stretch challenging my will to relax but not enough to take me out of the moment.

I roll the condom over his leaking cock, covering it in a generous amount of lube, and then, I take back control. I pull his fingers out and pin both his wrists above his head before taking his cock and lining it up against my hole.

I want to sink down, prove I can take all of him, but my ass clenches at the thought. So instead, I take my time, relaxing and applying pressure until I take in the tip. A weird grunt leaves me as I feel him breach my hole, but Elliot’s head drops back into the pillow, exposing his throat.

Acting completely on impulse, I lean forward and bite into his shoulder as I work my way in shallow thrusts down onto his cock. The more he stretches me, the farther I go, the less it hurts, and when I finally bottom out, the backs of my thighs pressed into his hips, I release his shoulder and give him a cocky smirk. “I’m gonna make one hell of a power bottom.”

Humor breaks through his arousal, and he lets out a quick laugh before his cock pulses inside me and his face relaxes again. “Somehow, even with my cock inside you, you’re still Mr. Toppy.”

I nuzzle in against his face. “Top, bottom, I don’t give a fuck.” One hand tightens on his wrists as I grab his jaw, tilting his face up to mine. “All I know is I’ve missed being rough with you.”

“Do it,” he breathes.

I growl as I straighten, releasing his wrists so I can plant both hands on his chest. Before I get started, I calm enough to say, “Tell me if I hurt your legs, okay?”

He nods and it’s all I need.

My body weight presses him into the mattress as I push up onto my knees and start to fuck myself on his dick. I’m not in the mood for slow or sweet—I can make love to him another time—now, all I need is to hold him down until we both come.

Elliot’s hips start to give short, quick thrusts as I pound down against him, and fuck me—literally—I’m not going to last very long. My hands tighten in his hair again, and I yank him up toward me, until my cock is rubbing between both our stomachs, smearing precum over our skin. The new angle takes him even deeper, and when his cock slams into my prostate, my thighs start to tremble.

Elliot kisses me, deep and all tongue, while he grabs my hips and starts to guide my hard, fast rhythm. I moan into his mouth. Still rutting against his stomach, I pull back enough that I can suck his bottom lip into my mouth and then bite down hard.

His eyes roll back. “Taryn, I—”

“Look at me.” My fingers tighten in his hair, holding his face in front of mine. As soon as his gaze meets mine, it’s all over. I cry out as my cock erupts, shooting all over Elliot’s stomach, his chest, and when he pulls back a little to watch, a final rope of it hits his bottom lip. I ride him right through my orgasm, completely losing touch with reality, and when I lean forward and lick the cum from his mouth, Elliot’s hands tighten on my hips. He yanks me down as his cock starts to jerk inside me, and he lets out a shaky groan.

“Fuck…” he moans, dropping back onto the bed, face flushed and hair sticking out all over the place with sweat. He’s never looked more perfect.

Pulling off him makes my ass throb a little, but it’s not completely unpleasant. I deposit the condom in the trash then grab the tissues on my bedside table and wipe as much cum off us as I’m able. We can shower later.

I slump beside him, and Elliot looks like he’s seeing stars. I know I sure as hell am.

“Jesus…” he whispers, his voice still sounding lust drunk. “That was…”

“Interesting.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Unexpected was the word I was going for.”

“Why? I told you I’d been practicing.” And now that I’m no longer horny, now that I’m coming down from my high, I want nothing more than to wrap him up in my arms and show him how much I love him.

“Yeah, but… I thought you didn’t like it.”

I roll onto my side to press lazy kisses to his chest. “It was an experience, that’s for sure.”

“You didn’t enjoy it?” The panic that hits him is adorable.

“Umm… did you somehow forget that I shot you in the face?” I snigger then bite down on his nipple, making him hiss. “Fucking you is definitely my preference, but I’m very down for riding your cock every now and then.”

Elliot’s whole body seems to relax. “I want to be clear that it’s not a requirement.”

“I never thought it was.”

“Good.” He grins suddenly, pressing a soft kiss on my mouth. “As soon as I’m all healed, you can bend me over and do all the filthy things you like.”

An affirming noise rumbles from my chest as I pull him closer, bare skin flush against bare skin. “Fuck, I love you.”

“It still weirds me out to think that a few months ago I nearly walked away from you.”

“Let’s face it, you were always coming back.”

Elliot rolls his eyes. “Easy to feel cocky when you’ve got me naked.”

“Again, that’s a thing that was always going to happen.”

“I want to disagree, but your muscles and tats and cock put up a good argument.”

I release him with one arm and lift it to flex my bicep. “Oh, you mean these muscles.”

His stare lingers on my arm even as he tries to play it off. “Yeah, yeah, sexy football guy, I get it.” Then he grabs my arm and drags me closer, running his tongue along the vein on my bicep.

“Your resistance levels are at a ten, for sure.”

“Shut up.” He leans in and inhales deeply. “You blew my mind. I’m still not firing on all cylinders.”

“Fine by me. But…” I swallow thickly. “You meant what you said? About moving in.”

“Honestly, I’m terrified. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“And”—I clear my throat—“I don’t want you to think you need to find a job right away.” I rush to get the words out. “I know how you feel about money, and I get it, but I really want you to get better first, then find something you love.”

“Taryn—”

“Let me pay for everything until then. Only until then. You have no idea how much I want to. And that way, you keep the money you have left so you’ll never be worried about feeling owned.”

“Taryn.” He slides his hand over my mouth. “Money or no money… I’m not worried. Not with you.”

My chest explodes with happiness, and it’s lucky we don’t have any other plans today because we won’t be leaving this bed any time soon.

“I thought I had it all planned,” he whispers against my ear. “But I never planned for you. I never planned for someone who could make me feel so whole while I’m so broken. And I have no clue where things between us are going, but it’s kind of exciting. I’ve always hated unpredictability, but I think for the first time ever, I like the not knowing.”

“I know what you mean. Things with Liam were smooth, very few issues until everything was the issue. I don’t want that again. I want it to be you and me and taking it each day at a time. We take each step as it feels right, no matter what timeframe we put on it.”

“Maturity? That’s kind of hot.”

“Oh yeah? Wait until I start investing in stocks and buying sensible shoes.”

Elliot groans and arches his back. “Talk dirty to me.”

I pinch his side, and he tries to squirm away, but with my weight and his legs, he doesn’t stand a chance. “Good luck getting away from me now.” And I’m not only talking about on the bed.

“You say that like I’d want to.” He gets a spark in his eyes. “Babe, you’re never getting rid of me.”

And his cheeky smirk shows he’s trying to make it a threat, but I’ve never heard anything better. I’m practically floating, still trying to process how I can possibly have it all. How I can possibly feel so happy, so full, so damn unworried about everything in my life.

But then I look at him, and I stop trying to make sense of it. Because I don’t need to.

All I need is Elliot, and the promise that there’s more to come.

***

Gary follows through on his promise. Elliot had been right that his boss was having him followed, and while the people tailing him hadn’t seen him get taken, they’d been suspicious of his sudden disappearance. Gary had a list of the license plates of every unusual car that went by his office and had already passed it onto a friend on the police force. After our visit, it took him forty-eight hours to find Elliot’s attacker and another twenty-four to “convince” the guy to turn himself in.

I shudder, thinking about the tone Gary used when he briefly explained. “Your boss is one scary fuck,” I say to Elliot as I circle the block, looking for a parking space.

“Definitely yes, but he’s loyal too.”

I raise my eyebrows a little at that. Sure, Gary might have had Elliot followed because he’d suspected foul play, but he’d also suspected that Darcy was going through Elliot purely because of his connection to me. If that was the case, we were both going to be used to take the fall. “Loyal is a strong word, but I can’t deny he’s smarter than I’ll ever be.”

“Oh, babe, you’re a football player. Isn’t everyone smarter than you?”

I reach over to pinch his thigh, but he bats my hand away. “For that, you’re giving me a blow job tonight.”

“Oh, can’t. Injured. Sorry.” He smirks, and it takes all my willpower not to smile back. Cheeky bastard. Normally people can walk a day or two after surgery, but that asshole really fucked Elliot up. The doctor said the tissue damage was so bad on one side it might never return to normal, but we won’t know for sure until the cast is removed, just after Christmas.

Anger tries to take over again, but as with every other time, I force myself to breathe through it. I wish I’d been there with Gary when he did… whatever it was to this guy, but as much as I might talk big, I’m not really sure I want to know.

Elliot taps my shoulder, pointing out a parking spot, and just as I’m pulling into it, my phone starts to ring.

“It’s your coach,” Elliot says, staring at the car display. We trade a quick glance before I answer.

“Hey, Coach. You’re on speaker.”

“Adderson, good I caught you. The boyfriend there too?”

“I am,” Elliot answers.

“Excellent. I have some, ah… well, I wouldn’t say good news, but I have an update.”

“About?” I ask.

“The match fixing. Turns out some evidence has appeared, and it’s, well, I can’t see him getting out of it now.”

I switch off the ignition, sure I know exactly what evidence Coach is talking about. When Gary made the fucker who took Elliot turn himself in, he gave him screenshots of the conversation between Fallins and Charlene, all with her name omitted. I still don’t know how he’ll stop Fallins from mentioning her, but if he pulled off this much, I’m sure he’ll manage.

“Ah, who?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Doctor Fallins. We were right about him. This new evidence paired with what I already had was enough to get him talking. Seems there were four team doctors all in on the scheme. He named them this morning, but I don’t think giving them up will be enough to reduce his sentence, given the fact he hired a guy to rough up Elliot. It won’t be long now before the media picks it up, so I’m calling all the players and letting them know first.”

Holy shit. Looking over at Elliot, the relief I’m feeling is clearly reflected on his face.

“So that’s it?” Elliot asks. “It’s all over?”

“For you and Adderson, yes. You boys did good, but I can’t guarantee you won’t be questioned during all this. For now, the commission will take over. We’ve got a few press conferences they’re trying to pull together, and Taryn…” His voice softens. “I’ve asked that we do the press conference to announce your relationship in the midst of it all. I’m hoping people will be way too distracted by everything else going on so you and your boyfriend won’t get much of a thought.”

Elliot wraps his hand around mine, and I offer him a small smile. Honestly, with everything else going on, it doesn’t scare me as much as it used to. A few guys on the team are pretending like I don’t exist, but most are pretty good about it.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. And just a reminder, if anyone starts asking you questions about the scandal, your response is ‘no comment,’ got it?”

We say our goodbyes, and after hanging up, I just sit there for a moment. That’s it. Everything is out in the open, and now it doesn’t matter if I want to hold Elliot’s hand or make a social media post about us… I can. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

“You okay?” he asks.

I smile. “I really am.”

It’s slow going for him, and as we move from the car to the restaurant where we’re meeting Zane, I have to help him along. Elliot, like with everything, is pretty chill about it and has finally agreed to start working with a PT to strengthen his legs again and see a therapist to help with his memories of that day.

When we make it to our table at the back, Zane is already there, and he hurries to kick out a chair for Elliot. I can feel the weight of people’s stares on me, but I face away from the room and do my best to ignore it all. I’m not technically out just yet, but I’m no longer hiding.

“Hey, man,” Zane says, patting me on the back. “How have you been?”

As we get settled, I eye Zane, trying to find any resentment or anger over missing the back end of the season. With only one game left, we’re out of the playoffs, so it’s not like he’s missing much. “Good, actually. I’m trying to keep a low profile while I look after this guy, though.”

Zane grins at Elliot. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for all that.”

“You had your own shit going on.”

“Yeah, but I’d already figured you two out. And I’d planned to be there when you finally felt comfortable letting us know. It was going to be this whole thing, where you told us and I stood beside you like, I got you, brother.”

Elliot laughs and after a second I join him.

“Wait, you figured it out?”

“Yep.” He takes a self-satisfied sip of his coke. “I dunno how the other idiots didn’t see it.”

He had Elliot and I figured out after one night, but never suspected anything about Liam and I after years. I guess that says more than I ever could.

“Well… I figure if I let people slowly get used to us, by the time next season starts, no one will care that I’m gay.” My stomach clenches even as I say those words because I know no matter how much I’m trying to normalize our relationship, it’ll never be something that people don’t notice or comment on. Having Elliot and having football is always going to be an issue.

But for the first time ever, neither of those choices feels like a sacrifice.

“Well, I’ll have to send you my luck.”

“Or help me kick the asses of anyone who gets in my face about it.”

Zane smiles faintly, tipping his glass from one side to the other and watching the Coke bubbles form patterns around the edge. “About that.”

His tone immediately sets me on edge.

“I’m out.”

“What?” I ask, voice too loud for the restaurant.

“I’m done. Finished. My ankle is going to keep giving me issues, and now that I know who’s responsible, I’ve already spoken to my agent about next steps. It’s going to suck up a lot of my time.”

“Coach called you?”

“About half an hour ago.” His expression darkens. “I can’t believe that fuck got me injured on purpose.”

I shake my head, not sure what I can say. If Coach hadn’t caught my injury in time, I might be having to consider the same thing Zane is.

“He’s an asshole alright,” Elliot agrees.

“That’s not the only reason,” Zane says. He bites his lip and turns away. “Don’t want you to think I’m stealing your thunder or anything, but I’m bi. Way further into dudes than chicks, though, and… well, I really want to see if I can have what you guys have.”

“That’s not a reason to give up playing, though.” Hell, I’m not going to.

He draws a line through the condensation on his glass, distracting himself from the conversation. “Theoretically, I could keep playing, but I don’t have the energy, Taryn. Not only because of the homophobic shit. But the traveling and the distance… I think it’s time to settle down.”

“Fuck.” I run a hand over my face. “Well, good for you. Obviously. That’s a big choice to make, but if it’s what you want, I’m happy for you. I… can’t imagine you not being there next year. Who am I going to share a room with now?”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Who knows? But shit, brother, if we’d actually talked to each other, maybe this would have come out sooner.”

I hum in agreement. “Might not have been so lonely.”

“Might have had someone safe to hook up with.” He grins and shoots a wink at Elliot who rolls his eyes. “But then I guess Liam would have been pissed off.” He hurries to take a gulp of his Coke and something in the way he said the name pings my suspicion.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you guys were clearly dating, right? I mean, a guy friend you brought to all the events we had? I feel like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.”

I lift a shoulder. “How could you? I was determined to hide it.”

He stifles a shaky breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

I look across at his dull eyes, understanding him more than ever, and only now letting it hit me that he won’t be coming back. “Jesus, it’s not going to be the same.”

“Nah, it’s not. But I’m pretty excited.”

“We’ll still catch up, right?”

He flattens his mouth and nods. “When you have time, sure. Between Elliot and football, I’m sure you’ll be keeping busy.”

“I keep my man on his toes.” Elliot reaches over and tugs my ear, but before he can do it again, I grab his hand and link our fingers together. On top of the table.

“You sure do.”

Zane smiles a little. “I hate both of you for being so disgustingly happy. Just so you know.”

“We’ll take it under advisement,” Elliot says in a tone that makes it clear we’ll do no such thing.

Because while PDA might still be low on the list of things I’m interested in, I am disgustingly happy. Elliot is everything I never knew I needed, and now that he’s moving in with me officially, it will only get better from here. I’m not worried about us breaking up, or what will happen in the future, because as naïve as it might be, this feels right.

And when it comes to the two of us, I’m all in.

Epilogue

Three months later

“You do know what offseason means, right?” I watch as Taryn keeps going with his reps like he’s on a mission. After the clusterfuck of last season, he’s working harder than ever. And, of course, I’m insanely proud of him, but I also want him to take a moment to just relax as well.

His only response is a grunt. Ah, my boyfriend, the Neanderthal.

I straddle the leg press and wait for him to finish up. It’s nice to have a boyfriend who motivates my ass to work out, but I’m always finished way faster than he is. If I let him, he’d probably spend all day in his home gym.

Our home gym, I guess, though, even after living here for the last three months, I struggle to completely wrap my head around that. It’s like I suddenly have everything I ever dreamed of and more, but I just keep waiting for everything to fuck up again.

“You done?” he pants, grabbing a towel to wipe the back of his neck. And damn he looks amazing covered in sweat. Well, always. He looks amazing always.

“Do you really need to ask?”

He gives me a quick smile before getting up to grab my cane and hand it to me. “How’s it feel?” He nods toward my knee.

“Not bad.” And today I’m not lying. There’s only the briefest twinge as I put my weight on it, and while I probably don’t need my cane, I’ve also learned my lesson about pushing things too far.

“You sure?” Taryn’s smile turns wicked as he backs me up against the wall. “Because I’d hate to have to carry you up the stairs. It’s such a chore.”

“Chore?” I say with a snort. “You spend the whole time groping me.”

“And I give zero apologies.” His voice drops low as his body presses against mine.

“Do you give zero apologies for how you smell too?”

He chuckles against my cheek before sliding his nose along my jaw and burying it in my neck. “Complain all you like, you smell amazing. Just like after sex.”

I laugh because not quite, but Taryn never seems to see all the shit wrong with me. All he sees is the best. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, and I’m okay with that. Because Taryn is the best, and the longer he thinks I deserve him, the longer I get to keep him.

“I’m going to marry you one day,” I say, and as soon as the words are out, I immediately freeze up. “Oh, fuck.”

Taryn pulls back slowly, carefully, eyebrows knitted. “What was that?”

I shake my head. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his lips crash into mine, and he kisses me with the type of care that could make me weep. “I love you,” he whispers between kisses. “I love you so much, and one day, I’m going to marry you too.”

Get Rainer and Colton’s story here.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B082PVHH16/

Rainer is running from his future.

Colton is hiding from his past.

Can the magic of Ibiza bring them together in the present?

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And if you’re after something a little sweeter, don’t forget my YA pen name S. M. James.

https://www.amazon.com/S-M-James/e/B07DVH3TZQ

As with any book, this one took a hell of a lot of people to make happen.

First, my cover designer Story Styling Cover Designs did a fantastic job on reimagining Taryn for that gorgeous cover.

Thanks to Kirk from LesCourt for the amazing beta read, and Suzie Selva for my edits.

Lori Parks, you were a gem as always with my proof read and I always appreciate how timely you are with your work.

Thanks to my formatter Rebecca Bosevski, for fixing this mess of a word doc and making it look ridiculously professional.

Eden Finley, your notes and ongoing commentary were fucking incredible, and thank you for letting me pick your brain while talking absolute smack at each other.

Sasha Wallace, your beta reads are always so thorough and insightful, and I’m so lucky to have made friends with you early on because you’ve always been there when I needed you.

And of course, thanks to my fam bam. To my husband who constantly frees up time for me to write, and to my kids whose neediness reminds me the real word exists.

Copyright ©

BET ON ME - 2020 Saxon James

All rights reserved.

First published in Australia by May Books 2020

Newcastle, NSW, Australia

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