Chapter Ten
Adrián
I was going to kill Judd.
He stayed the length of every practice, unlike fifty percent of the others who took the bonus hours to get shit done while their kids were occupied, and worked on Simeon the entire time. Laughing at his jokes, asking questions about plays and technique, admiring his dedication to the kids, and asking questions about his family in Louisiana.
I learned more about Simeon by eavesdropping on their conversations than I’d ever learned on my own. It emphasized that I was trash, and Judd was actually serious about conning Simeon into liking him. Because in my world, a fan putting this much effort in had to be for a reason. There were bragging rights attached to hooking up with an NFL player, and that chance it would get serious and you’d get access to that money.
Except Simeon had said Judd was closeted, so it couldn’t be for the glory. And it seemed unlikely he thought they’d hop into a relationship that would get him money. Maybe it was a fetish thing.
My cynicism allowed me to consider all of that, and I didn’t know that it wasn’t at the back of Simeon’s mind either, but he seemed to like Judd. Unless he was good at pretending.
“Why are there so many cameras outside?” Delilah demanded. “Our scrimmage isn’t until next week!”
“They’re here to talk to us about the coming storm,” Simeon said. “About the way the Center has been helping with preparations.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “It’s only a tropical depression.”
I laughed, and she flashed a triumphant smirk. Earlier on it’d been established that if I got along with only one child during this entire shitshow, it would be Delilah. Her family was cool, too, even though I barely spoke to them. I’d complained to Delilah one day about missing my mother’s pasteles, and the next Monday she’d come in with a pan of them freshly made by her grandmother.
“Sandy was a tropical depression, and look how much destruction it caused,” Judd butted in.
“Yeah, but there are like three other factors that combined to make Sandy a super storm soooo . . .” I was being immature, but I couldn’t help it. “Not the same sitch, homie.”
Judd seemed taken aback by my sarcasm. Simeon just shook his head from where he was stacking cones and putting equipment in boxes. I saw the edge of his mouth twitch before he schooled his face into neutrality again.
“I’m sure it will be fine. We just have to take precautions because this neighborhood is in a flood zone.”
“How does that affect your lives?” Brayden asked. “Are you just helping for the photo ops?”
God, these kids were little jerks. I’d hated it at first, but now I loved it. My mother would have smacked me in the head by now, but I found them hilarious.
“Yes,” I said. “I need all the publicity I can get to make people think I’m remotely likeable.”
“I know that’s right,” Simeon muttered.
The kids giggled. Judd smiled at Simeon like a loser.
“Why don’t you guys go get your stuff?” I suggested to the rest of the group. “We’re shutting down early to finish boarding up. Your parents will be here soon.”
There was a collective groan, but they complied. All but Brayden, who already had his small duffel bag and was impatiently waiting for his father. Shaking my head, I knelt on the floor and went back to gathering the padding that usually cushioned the floor.
“Are you coming over again, Coach Boudreaux?”
My head snapped up so fast something cracked.
Simeon ruffled Brayden’s hair. “Nah, kiddo. I’ll be here for a while, and then I have to take care of my place on Long Island.”
Brayden pouted. “Maybe after the storm?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Hands tightening around the pads, I forced myself to shove them in the storage totes. I used too much force and slammed my knuckle into the edge of the hard plastic bin.
“Fuck!”
Everyone looked at me. Grimacing, I held up my knuckle before sucking on it. Simeon arched an eyebrow. He turned to Judd and Brayden again.
“I’ll see you guys after the weather calms down, okay? Hopefully we’ll have practice on Tuesday as planned.”
Brayden waved and started for the door with Judd reluctantly following. He started to say something but appeared to think better of it after glancing at me. I kept sucking on my knuckle until they were gone and the rest of the kids trooped out.
“You went to their house?”
Simeon had returned to stowing equipment in boxes. “Yes. Last week.”
After we’d fucked, I silently filled in. Huh.
“Why?”
“Because they invited me over to dinner, and I didn’t mind taking the invitation.” Simeon closed one of the boxes and glanced around for tape. “Judd made gumbo.”
“Wow. He’s trying hard to get in your panties, ain’t he?”
“Sure is.”
There was a hint of a smile in his voice that stopped me cold. I went from frozen to breathless to fired up in the space of a breath. I got to my feet and crossed the room, pushing the box away to stand in front of him.
“You didn’t really fuck that clown, did you?”
Simeon scoffed. “Why’s he a clown, though?”
“Because he’s a fucking jersey chaser, obviously.”
“Maybe he just thinks I’m pretty.” Simeon made his eyes go wide, blinking long eyelashes at me. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”
“I think you’re an idiot who fucks without thinking.”
I sort of expected him to get pissed off and go off on me so we could argue, but he just snickered. “Okay, Gavin Brawley. I haven’t heard that one before.”
He returned to his quest for tape, and I stood there like a jackass glaring at him. My anger was like a snowball growing bigger the longer my mind went downhill, courtesy of supplied mental images of their stupid gumbo dinner and what may have happened after Brayden went to sleep.
“Why would you put yourself in that position after what happened last time?”
“Wow, you really do sound like Gavin.” Simeon put his hands on his hips and looked. “Y’all really expect me to give up guys because of a bad incident? I already cut back on going out. I’m supposed to stay at my house alone?”
“You don’t have to be at your house alone. Last week I asked if you wanted to go eat like three fucking times, and you told me you were busy.”
“I was busy.” Simeon jerked his thumb at the doorway. “With Judd.”
Heat flooded my face. “So you can hang out with him and not me?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Because he’s trying to date me, and you’re not.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Isn’t that right, Adrián?”
“Yeah, whatever.” My nostrils flared. “So, did you fuck him?”
Simeon was on the cusp of an incredulous laugh. I could see it in every twitch of that well-formed mouth and in the crinkling of his eyes.
“What difference does it make?”
“I just wanna know.”
“Why?” he pressed. “How does it concern you?”
How did it concern me? Every response, especially the pissed-off ones, were offensive. As I evaluated all of them before spitting them out, I knew they’d send the wrong message even if I didn’t mean it the way they’d sound.
Because I have a right to know who else you’re fucking if we’re still gonna fool around was the phony retort that kept wanting to leap out, but it sounded too much like a sub about gay dudes not practicing safe sex. It was no way in hell correct or in line with my real concerns. But now that I’d started checking myself before opening my mouth, I knew it was all wrong.
In reality, what I should have said was, Because the idea of him touching you makes me want to crack his skull open, but that sounded legit psychotic. And jealous.
Christ.
“Just tell me, Simeon.”
“Fine.” He lifted his chin. “I didn’t fuck him. But we did kiss.”
The half second of relief that had filled me drained away in the gutters that we were all hoping would keep the Center from flooding. They hadn’t had sex, but somehow this pinged me harder. It was worse.
I looked away, jaw clenching.
Simeon touched my chin, trying to make me face him, but I jerked out of his grip.
“Adrián,” he said softly. “All that shit that happened the other day . . . you know that was just fucking around, right?”
Wow. He was really going for it.
“You get that, right?” Simeon touched my face again, forcing me to look at him. His eyes narrowed. “It was just a game.”
My own words thrown back at me lodged in my chest and scraped at my typically impenetrable heart.
It made no sense.
I was the one who’d shoved him away first. The one who’d bounced after I’d had an orgasm so powerful I’d felt it in my balls for the entire drive home. He’d looked both decadent and completely wrecked, stretched out in front of me like an offering, and I’d turned away.
But him saying it to me sucked the air out of my lungs and the warmth from the rest of my body. It felt like a punishment. I couldn’t stop wondering if it’d hit him the same way, or if he hadn’t felt this chest-clenching sense of rejection at all.
“Yeah,” I said roughly. “I know.”
“Good.” Simeon clapped me on the shoulder. “Now fix your face so we can go talk to those reporters.”
Simeon
There were enough cameras outside of Grand Street Center for it to look like a movie set.
They weren’t anything new to me, nor were the reporters and hopeful autograph seekers lingering nearby, but them being set up outside the Center rubbed me the wrong way. It really did make this all look like a photo op when, in reality, I just cared about helping the staff. It hadn’t taken much to realize the place was understaffed and underfunded. The gratitude in Yaritza’s face had been enough of a reason for me to offer we help them prepare for the coming storm. But Mel, and then Casey, had jumped on the chance to add this narrative to the story of Bradreaux—our hybrid name assigned by the media—giving back.
“You’ve been here for four weeks now,” Stacey Conroe, my favorite MSNBC anchor, said while beaming up at us. “Are you starting to feel like part of the community?”
“It’d be hard not to,” I said with a smile. “The staff here are some of the most dedicated and hardworking people I’ve met since moving to New York. They took us in as if we were two of their own, gave us a quick rundown of what we could do, and expected a hundred and twenty percent just like they give every day. It’s been a real ride.”
“Ahh.” She turned to Adrián. “So no special treatment?”
There was an awkward pause as lights flashed blindingly around us. Adrián had his attitude tattooed on his face, and it showed no sign of being temporary. His lips were pursed and pushed out, big dark eyes focused on some distant point beyond the mess of people around us, and his hands were shoved in the pockets of his Predators hoodie.
Only when one of the paps called out to heckle him did Adrián’s gaze snap back to us. I had trouble controlling my body’s reactions to his anger, and I would never be sure what it meant about me that his fire-and-brimstone stare turned me on so much.
“No,” he said flatly. “They didn’t show us special treatment.”
Stacey smiled, undeterred, but she cocked her head in confusion. Usually he was entertaining in an interview, even if he was trash-talking. This new thing was reminiscent of Gavin Brawley.
“What made you decide to go above and beyond your coaching duties here?”
Adrián was already staring off into the distance again, so I picked up the slack.
“Unfortunately, Grand Street Center had their funding cut this year and they’re understaffed. With so much else to do, it was taking a long time to prepare and board up.. It was actually Bravo who started helping out first,” I said. “Just on his own, without asking, he stuck around last night to store the equipment. I jumped in, and despite the staff telling us they had it under control, it was the least we could do. After all, they took us in.” I couldn’t help a wry smile as I waved at the cameras. “Took all of this in.”
Stacey laughed. “Too right. But I’m sure they appreciate the efforts, especially given you both have experience preparing for a hurricane.”
I tensed. Beside me, Adrián snapped to awareness with a sharp cut of his gaze in her direction.
“Simeon, I know you in particular experienced a lot of turmoil during Hurricane Katri—”
“Can you not?”
Stacey’s mouth snapped shut.
Adrián crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.
“Let’s stick to the Center and not do the tragedy voyeurism thing, all right?” He rolled his eyes and turned to the camera. “Look, we’re here because we want to do right by Grand Street Center. If you want to help pick up the slack due to their recent loss of funding, you can go to their website and donate. I’ll match dollar for dollar until they get back everything they lost.”
“Wow,” Stacey said. “That’s amazing of you! It really shows that this has gone beyond a mandated assignment by the NFL.”
“Yep.” Adrián looked from her to the cameraman to the rest of the reporters. “We got everything?”
They didn’t, but things moved on a lot faster with him ice grilling everyone in the vicinity. Stacey was stalwart, though. She was going to do her damn job whether some beautiful linebacker had an attitude problem or not. And she never once rerouted to the Katrina questions.
We ended the interview with another plea for people to donate to the Center, and then everyone started wrapping up. There were some gossip reporters practically oozing with the desire to ask inappropriate questions, but we hauled ass back into the safety of the Center while the NYPD cleared everyone out.
Inside, the Center was darker now that the sun had started to go down. Sheila and Yaritza had slipped out the back, trusting us to finish boxing up and putting away the athletic equipment as promised and shut down for the night. That kind of faith was humbling in a way I hadn’t felt in a while.
“You can take off if you want,” Adrián said. “Go out the back and head home. I’m just down the block.”
“I know, but I’m staying.”
“Your choice.”
There was a lot I wanted to say to him. About him interrupting the questions, about him pimping the Center unprompted and matching donations. And about him mean mugging the world as a direct result of our conversation about Judd. Judd who’d tried to kiss me and had smiled and apologized after I’d politely asked him to back off. In another life, I’d probably get a kick out of dating him and hanging with his son, but this life guaranteed I couldn’t bring myself to trust another fan.
We worked in silence, and after a while, the noise from the camera crews lessened. I glanced out the window just in time to spot the news vans driving off. A couple of determined paps were still lingering across the street with cups of coffee and heavy cameras around their necks.
“Everything’s off the floor,” Adrián said, dusting off his hands. “And they finished the windows while we were outside doing that bullshit.”
“Come on, Adrián,” I chided. “It’s part of the job.”
“Heh. Whatever.” Adrián grabbed his fitted Marlins cap and put it on backwards. “I hope everything at your house is good. I know you live by the water.”
“Up on a hill, though. Should be okay.”
We stared at each other, him still tense and guarded and me indecisive about where to take this. Whether I should take it anywhere. I had a very specific plan in mind for this boy, and none of it had to do with the confusing mix of desire and fondness that had welled up in the couple of minutes spent watching him get no-nonsense on a reporter.
“Thank you,” I said finally. “I don’t like talking about Katrina.”
“I figured. It can’t be easy. Definitely not worth going into for some bullshit interview.”
“It’s not. I lost several people. Extended family, friends . . . And the ones who survived lost everything. My mama had just bought our first house, then it was gone.” I ran a hand over my hair. “Not something I want to think about if I don’t have to. So I appreciate you cutting in. I never would have.”
“Because you’re too nice.” Adrián laughed dryly. “To people who don’t even deserve it.”
I wonder if he knew he was one of them, or if he thought him cleaning up his act now erased everything that had happened before. Starting with the Fox News bit and ending with his willingness to fuck me while refusing to treat me with any kind of . . . affection or respect. It was that that hardened my insides.
“I’ll see you after the storm, Bravo.”
I went for my backpack. After a moment, he followed.
“Simeon.”
“What?”
Adrián came up behind me, well within my personal space, and turned me to face him. With a large hand curling around the back of my neck, he pulled me in so fast that I only caught a glimpse of inky eyelashes and the tip of his nose before his mouth slanted in a kiss.
My hands rose, clutching the front of his hoodie. Everything else in my head crashed to a screeching halt. There was nothing but the drumming of my heart in my ears, the rustling of clothing as he yanked me tighter against him, and the faint way I sighed once our lips parted.
He tasted so good. His mouth was so warm. And his tongue was so talented, slicking against mine in a slow caress. Those long fingers slid up to cradle my face while he drank from my mouth like a man seeking youth from a fountain, at first questing and tentative and then hungry and demanding.
And I could do nothing but dig my fingers into his hoodie and try to keep up. I’d wanted to kiss him for a couple of weeks now, because it was part of the deal for me. If I had sex with someone, I wanted to feel their lips on mine. To be two humans sharing a moment in time and not just two people rutting together to get off. And I’d wanted it more because he’d denied it.
But this feeling building inside me? The trembling hands and satisfied moans while frantically returning his kiss? It had nothing to do with triumph and everything to do with the warmness I’d felt as I’d watched him shut the interview down.
We pulled away, but we continued to grip each other close. My eyes flicked open just enough to see him looking at me the same way—dreamy, flushed, and full of lust.
“I don’t need to go by my house.”
Adrián dragged his gaze from my mouth. “What?”
I licked my lips, taking a deep breath. “I don’t really need to go home.”
The fog cleared and a boyish smile crept up. “Wanna come by my way?”
“Yeah.” I dragged the pad of my thumb along his full bottom lip. “I do.”