“Uh. Because, as I said, you’re a sucker for a pretty-faced fuckboy with a heart.” Jasmine patted my hand. “Now tell me what happened. You listened to me bitch about Marcus, so it’s your turn.”
I tapped my feet against the floor, lips pursed and brain grinding out a way to explain how I’d wound up on Gavin’s lap.
“We got physical.”
“You fucked?”
“No. But I wanted to. His dick felt pretty good against my ass while I was shoving my tongue down his throat.”
Jasmine reared up from the bed. “Oh shit. Tell me everything.”
I told her everything. Starting with his “thank-you” kiss in the pool house and the second one in his bedroom. And how my basic ass had brought him a first-aid kit, knowing he was in the shower at the time, because I’d wanted something to happen between us. Or I’d wanted to see if something could, since that kiss had been on my mind all damn day.
And how it’d felt too real. Too deep. Because all of that kissing and touching and rubbing on each other had started stirring up feelings besides lust. I’d started thinking about how nice his hair felt between my fingers, how strong his hands were on my body, and how amazing it was that he could be so careful and sweet despite the ferocity he showed on the field.
In short, I told her that I was screwed.
Chapter Thirteen
Gavin
The conversation with the Vice editor was weird, and I immediately wished I’d waited to make the call when Noah was present. I voiced this concern to Joe, and he made some fucked-up comment about me needing Noah to take a piss these days. Total bullshit, since the dude had no desire to go anywhere near my dick.
“It’s basically gonna be a human-interest story,” the kid from Vice said.
We’d done a conference call on Skype, which meant I had to look at this scrawny bearded twenty-two-year-old bastard while he twirled a pen between his fingers. He was nice enough, but there was something about his expression that screamed I can’t wait to exploit you. Or maybe I was being cynical.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means they make you look good,” Joe said obnoxiously, speaking over everyone and taking up all the space in the conversation. “Instead of just being an aggressive football player, he humanizes you.”
“So, you think I need humanizing,” I said. “What am I, an animal?”
“No, not at all.” The kid—Spence—kept twirling his pen, smiling cheekily. “But people only see you in one way, and I want to capture other sides. What better way to do that than shadow you for a weekend? I want to get to know the real Gavin Brawley and tell his story.”
“If we do it, it’ll be for one day,” I said. “When my assistant is here.”
Joe sighed at the same time as Spence clicked his pen and asked, “What’s his name?”
“Noah.” There was no way I was giving Noah’s full government name to some random reporter. “Actually, hang on for a second.”
Joe’s face screwed up, but I didn’t pause in standing up from my desk and grabbing my phone. I tapped Noah’s number and went into the hall, pacing the long corridor while the phone rang and rang. It went to voice mail once, I frowned, and tried twice more before he picked up.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m out, Gavin. We never discussed me being on-call on the weekend.”
“No one said you had to be on-call.” I frowned at his impatience. “I just asked what you’re doing.”
“I’m with friends.” A closing door sounded loudly on the other end, and Noah’s voice pitched lower. “Do you need something? I can call—”
“I just wanted to ask you something.” It was hard not to ask which friends he was with. Friends like Jasmine or like mechanic boy? “About that Vice piece.”
“Oh.” Was there disappointment in his voice? I couldn’t tell. “Well, what do you want to know?”
“The guy is saying it’s some kind of human interest piece. Wants to humanize me. But I’m wary. Vice has run all kinds of fucked-up articles on the NFL in the past.”
“And you disagreed with them?” There was an edge in Noah’s tone. “Because I remember them being about things like the constant assaults and the toxic culture, which are valid topics.”
“I didn’t say I disagreed. Just because I love football doesn’t mean I’m blind to all the awful shit surrounding the NFL. But I still don’t want to wind up in an article where they twist all my words to make it out like me being a miserable bastard has anything to do with the NFL suspending me.”
“You think it would hurt your reputation with fans if they make it seem like you’re bitter about your punishment.”
It was hard to admit, but that was exactly what had crossed my mind. I’d just developed a reputation beyond douchebag, and it was nice to get a few thousand less insults from fans. Everyone thinks that shit doesn’t weigh on athletes, but it can. At the end of the day, it was the sport I loved. The sport that had saved me. But it sucked to get constant hate from people who claimed to love it as much as I did.
“I just don’t feel like getting dragged now that everyone has laid off me. They’d make it out like I’m talking trash because I don’t think I should have been punished. Which isn’t true at all.”
“Okay.”
I could almost see Noah’s nod through the phone. The way he would press his thumb against his lower lip, eyes narrowing, as the gears in his head churned.
“When are they coming to shadow you?”
“We didn’t set a time yet. Do you think I should do it?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Who else would I ask?”
“Your agent? Simeon or Marcus?”
“She already gave me the go ahead, and they’re traveling.”
“What about Max?” Noah cleared his throat. “He’s a model, isn’t he? He might have opinions about this type of thing.”
I paced farther to the end of the hall. “I’m not calling Max, and I don’t give a shit about his opinion. He only talks to me when he wants to get dicked out.”
“Call?” Noah’s voice was a little too casual. “I thought he was there.”
I halted my pacing and stared at the stretch of windows across from where I now stood on the landing of the staircase. It would have been easy to dismiss all traces of hope that I’d ever get another shot with Noah after our conversation on Friday night, but I’d held on. It hadn’t been all me that night. He’d kissed me just as hard and pinned his body against mine just as insistently. But I hadn’t expected him to really feel some type of way about me seeing Max, even though I’d childishly hoped he’d be jealous.
“Why’d you think that?”
“Because you said he wanted to come over.” A pause. “And you posted a picture of yourself on Instagram looking pretty satisfied this morning.”