“You’re a regular fucking cliché, aren’t you?”
“And you’re defensively defaulting into dick mode,” I shot back. “What it comes down to is that you’re my boss. The boss I live with.”
“For four more months.”
“Yeah, but even so, I would think you’d understand why I don’t want to go through this again. I don’t want to be the guy who . . . fucks up every job because of an inability to draw boundaries at work.”
Gavin’s expression flickered and his jaw unclenched. “That was a different situation. I’m not like that douchebag, and this job is temporary.”
“I know you’re not and I know it is, but it doesn’t change the messed-up power dynamics in this situation.”
“I don’t have power over—” he paused, frowning. “Fuck, okay. I get it. But I’d be just as screwed if you abruptly bail on me. I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to owning a house or organizing my life. I need you here.”
It was the first time he’d admitted to my value as his assistant, and I couldn’t stop myself from smugly grinning. “Yeah. You do. Case in point—your mortgage was two months overdue. Please don’t be that athlete whose home goes into foreclosure despite having a nearly sixty-million-dollar salary.”
Gavin didn’t look surprised. “I never had money before, and I’ve never owned anything. I don’t know what to do with all this shit now that I have it.”
“I know. I get that.” I patted his thigh, and it flexed beneath my hand. “I’m not coming down on you. I’m just saying you need to start paying more attention or invest in a personal assistant in the long term. Paying your mortgage has nothing to do with you being under house arrest.”
Gavin grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Get back to rejecting me.”
“I’m not rejecting you. I just can’t fuck up this job because you’re a good kisser. I’ve done it before, and I’m not doing it again.”
“Okay, I get that, but be real and admit I’m a better kisser than that other guy.”
“Stop being a clown. I’m serious, Gavin. We need some boundaries.”
“So then have boundaries. I’m not stopping you.”
“We both need to stick with them. No flirting. No eyefucking—because in retrospect I now realize you’ve been doing it all along.” And boy, did it blow my mind to realize Gavin Brawley’s intense stare down had been him checking me out. Including the first time I’d stepped into Joe Carmichael’s office. “No more asking to kiss me.”
Gavin stared at me from beneath his eyelashes. “I won’t push up on you if you don’t want me to.”
Relief hit me. I’d expected him to argue. To somehow turn things around and say I was the one tempting him. Or accuse me of flirting with him and instigating the entire situation. It was the type of shit I’d gotten from guys in the past when I’d tried to end things, or slow things down.
“Good. Things will be a lot easier if we both keep our hands and eyes to ourselves.”
“If you say so.”
He was sullen, but I could deal with that. I stood and began to turn away, but his voice rang out clearly and loudly.
“But what if you ask to kiss me?”
I looked over my shoulder. “That’s not going to happen.”
Gavin had closed his eyes again. “We’ll see.”
***
The day went by too quickly. There was a lot to do before I went home for the weekend, which turned into me running around for most of the day, and I barely saw Gavin after our conversation. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for that to happen given how cavernous the empty house was, but it left me feeling unsettled.
Was he avoiding me on purpose? Was he upset by our conversation? The most frequent question in my mind was, Was he really that disappointed that we wouldn’t fool around again? It was an odd concept. I’d been operating under the assumption that Gavin was horny, and I was the nearest available warm body. But maybe not.
Before going outside to catch my cab to the LIRR, I found him in the game room. He was holding a pool stick in one hand and his phone in the other.
“This weekend?” he asked the person on the other end. “Yeah. I got you. Uh-huh.”
I hefted my backpack over my shoulder and waited. He hadn’t yet faced me.
“Right. Well, I’ll let you know. Look at my schedule and whatnot.” Another pause. “Yeah, talk to you later.”
Gavin hung up and turned to me.
“There’s nothing on your schedule for this weekend except a call with Joe.”
“‘Bout what?”
“Vice wants to do an interview with you. Send one of their journalists to the house to hang with you for a couple of days.”
Gavin’s mouth pulled to the side in a skeptical sneer. “Those little hipster dipshits? Fuck all that. Pass.”
“Don’t be that way. They’re like . . . alternative media for millennials, and primarily interested in a day in the life of Gavin Brawley, rather than trying to dig for dirt about why you’re such an asshole.” I cocked my head. “Although if you’re an asshole to the reporter, I’m sure that would end up in the story.” When Gavin just pinned me with the same flat stare, I smirked. “Just think about it. They took interest after the hashtag ‘DatBrawleySmile’ started trending.”
Gavin was again blank.
“I took my own videos of you playing yesterday, and uploaded them to Instagram. Within an hour, people were obsessing over the grin on your face during the scrimmage. Apparently, it was the first time your fans had seen you look remotely happy.”
“Oh.” He still didn’t seem too impressed. “And that shit started trending?”
“Yeah. Apparently, smiling makes Brawley the Alpha Asshole a sexy bad boy instead of just a jackass.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah, you seem really interested.” I snorted. He was predictably apathetic about the media’s, and his fans’, perception of him. “Anyway, I guess one of the editors at Vice was intrigued enough to reach out to Joe. They want to talk tomorrow morning. I think you should consider it. If it makes you more comfortable, you could make sure he comes over while I’m here.”
Gavin brightened. “Yeah. Let’s do that. But only for a day.”
“Cool. Tell them when you call. Don’t let Joe try to talk you out of it.”
“Joe can’t talk me out of shit.”
His defensiveness had gone from being exasperating to endearing over the past eight weeks.
“Who was asking about your schedule, anyway?”
“Max. He wants to come over.”
My chest clenched. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Gavin studied me. “It’s probably a good idea. Might help out with our little situation.”
I nodded, backing out the door. “Yeah, that’s true.”
Gavin eyed me for a moment longer before turning to the window. “Cya on Monday, Noah.”
“‘“Bye.”