“I’ve only got a few minutes, Steph,” Eric said when he answered the phone half an hour later. “I have to meet the reporter downstairs by eight.”

He checked himself in the mirror and figured he was decent enough for an interview. He was almost too tired after his shower exploits to care. Designer jeans, an orange polo, and his Chuck Taylors would have to do.

“Well, aren’t you just somebody special?” Stephanie teased, her voice bubbly even after a long day of cheerleading practice followed by extra time at the gym she logged on her own. The woman was an animal and the only friend who could keep up with Eric’s work hard, party harder lifestyle. “And here I thought you’d be missing me. Hmph. I guess I’ll have to go to a bar and pout until I find myself a date.”

Eric smirked. “I thought we had agreed that hookups weren’t actually considered dates. Even if you do drink the man into the poor house before he takes you home.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said with a laugh. “If you weren’t queer, I wouldn’t have this problem, you know.”

“I don’t think you understand the definition of the word problem,” he said, punching the button on the elevator. “You are never without a guy begging to buy you drinks. And hell, even if I liked girls, we’d kill each other if we dated. We’re too much alike. Besides, Coach says there’s no fraternizing with the Marauders cheerleaders.”

“You could switch teams,” she paused with a giggle. “Get it?”

“Ha,” he said, followed by a real laugh. “You’re so cute and punny. Hey, I’m getting on the elevator, so I’m probably going to lose you. I’ll call you on my way home tomorrow, babes. Promise.”

“Okay, love you, Brick.”

“Love you too, Steph.” He ended the call, feeling a little lighter.

Stephanie Paige had been Eric’s best friend since he moved to Miami. She was as smart as she was beautiful and the only person in his circle who knew for certain that he was gay. And, of course, she teased him about it, relentlessly. They had become friends when she’d hit on him and he’d done everything but tell her he was gay to get her to back off.

She’d told him at the time, “You’re either gay or stupid for saying no. And since I know you’re not stupid, I’m only left to presume you’re gay.”

He’d laughed until his cheeks were wet.

“Wait? You’re really gay?” she’d asked, her eyes wide in shock.

How could he not tell her after that? And he was glad he had. She had kept his secret and proven to be more than a fun party friend. She was someone he trusted, someone he could turn to when shit was getting him down. Eric didn’t show many people that side of him—he was the upbeat guy who brought the fun to the field—but every once in a while it was good to have someone you could just be yourself with, warts and all.

Eric entered Overtime Tavern, the sports-themed restaurant, and signaled the bartender as he approached the circular cherry and brass bar. Signed headshots of famous players from various sports and teams lined the walls and the wait staff wore referee and cheerleader uniforms. “Balvenie, neat, double.”

The bartender nodded and Eric took a moment to appreciate the man’s ass in his black slacks. He lifted his gaze, grinning into the mirror behind the counter and caught Jordan Barr staring at him with the same look of appreciation.

Guess jeans were the right choice.

“Your drink, sir,” the bartender said, sliding the drink to him.

“Room 8412.” Eric took a sip of the scotch as he turned and smiled at Jordan. Damn, the man looked almost as good fully clothed as he had in Eric’s shower fantasy. That tailor-made navy shirt made his light blue eyes a deeper, murkier shade that fit his broody personality.

“Just couldn’t stay away from me?” Eric asked with a slow smile.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Jordan responded, easing up beside him. “Guinness, please. I’m in room 8630.”

“Same floor,” Eric murmured. “That’s convenient.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Jordan asked, his tone hard though he didn’t move away, Eric noticed. In fact, Jordan shifted slightly closer as he claimed his beer and turned to lean back against the sleek metal.

“Well, I’m having a drink.” Eric raised his glass. “And waiting on a reporter who is apparently late.”

Jordan sighed. “Let me guess, you’re here for an interview with Brett Ramirez?”

“Yeah.” Eric tilted his head, considering the other man. “Don’t tell me you’re here for him, too?”

Jordan nodded. “And how much you want to bet this interview has nothing to do with our work with the summer camps?”

Eric cursed beneath his breath. “If Matt couldn’t resist, I doubt Brett is going to be able to either.”

At that moment, a short, dark-haired man wearing pleated khakis and a freshly pressed, pin-striped oxford swung through the glass door leading into the bar and strode across the darkened room toward them.

“Well, I see y’all beat me here,” he said, coming to a stop in front of them. “Sorry, I’m running late. I’m Brett. It’s nice to meet you both. Convenient that you two are friendly enough to hang out and wait for me.”

Eric fought the urge to roll his eyes. Subtle, this guy was not.

“I just got here,” Jordan said. “I was running late, too. Should we get started? I have an early flight out tomorrow and want to get some sleep tonight.”

“Of course, of course, let’s find a table.” Brett motioned for them to lead the way. They circled around the leather couches in the center of the watering hole to a secluded booth at the corner of the room. Brett ordered a light beer from the waitress who materialized from the kitchen, barely giving her time to get out of earshot before he hit the ground running.

“Thanks again for meeting me. I wanted to interview you together because of the game-fixing rumors. Word has it players from both of your teams could be involved.” His dark eyes shifted between the two men sitting across from him. “I’ve been compiling my research for weeks and then I saw that you two would both be in Tampa at the same time. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“And you thought the ambush method was the way to go?” Jordan asked before Eric could jump in and deflect Brett’s insinuation without addressing it directly.

“Not at all. I mean, if you have nothing to hide, why would you feel ambushed?” Brett motioned to where his cell phone was sitting on the table beside his beer. “By the way, I’m recording this, just so you know.”

Eric glanced at the cell. “We wouldn’t want you to misinterpret anything we say, so I am glad you’re recording. I have nothing to hide.”

“Good. Then I’ll start with you.” Brett shifted his way, practically salivating as he leaned across the table. “The Florida Marauders have seen a huge shift in their luck since you joined them five years ago. A lot of wins over teams they couldn’t hold their own with before. Including a win over Houston, your old stomping grounds.”

“I personally don’t think of hard work and dedication as luck,” Eric replied, fighting to keep his tone neutral and to play dumb as long as possible. If he got angry or was too quick to defend himself, he knew this snake would use it to make him look guilty. “And we lost to Houston twice before we beat them.”

“But since then you’ve beaten them four games in a row,” Brett pushed. “That has some people speculating that the Marauders’ winning streak isn’t as much about hard work and dedication on the field as it is about off-the-field deals being made behind the scenes.”

Eric shrugged and forced a smile. “The only off-the-field deal I know about is the bucket of beer and bucket of wings deal at O’Malley’s Place on Wednesday nights. Hit that action as often as I can get it.”

Brett’s phone rang. He looked at the screen with a frown and sent it to voice mail. “Sorry about that. Sometimes my wife doesn’t understand I have to work late.”

“Well it can be hard, I imagine,” Eric said. “When your partner works odd hours.”

“Right? But she’s great,” Brett said, shooting Eric a slightly confused look as if he didn’t expect a football player to have compassion for the woman left at home. “Now back to the question if you don’t mind. I can tell you’re a smart man, Mr. Higgins, so don’t pretend you haven’t—” Brett’s phone rang again, cutting him off midsentence. He frowned, biting down on his bottom lip.

“It’s not like her to call twice. I better take this.” He slid around the circular booth and out one side. “I apologize, I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

Brett walked off to take his call, and the awkward silence at the booth grew as thick as real turf after a spring rain. Eric called the waitress over and ordered another scotch while Jordan sipped his Guinness.

“He’s just fishing, you know,” Eric finally said. “There’s nothing for him to find, and nothing to worry about.”

Jordan shrugged. “I’m not worried, I haven’t done anything.”

The silence expanded like a hot air balloon as they waited for Brett to return. Eric used the time to appreciate Jordan now that they were up close and personal. That dark blue shirt was tailored to fit him perfectly, hugging his shoulders and trim waist. The jeans kept things casual, but casual was always better in Eric’s book. Eric leaned back, glancing beneath the table to see what shoes he was wearing—flip-flops.

Of course. Why not?

He snorted and Jordan replied with an arched brow.

“What’s so funny?”

“Flip-flops with tailor-made clothing. I like it.”

Jordan took another sip of his beer. Did the man never take a full drink?

“Flip-flops remind me of where I came from. There was a time when that was all we could afford—three dollar sandals from Wal-Mart once a year. Twice if they broke before we outgrew them.” Jordan brought the Guinness to his lips and drained half the glass.

Eric’s smile faded, the comment making him remember other things about the boy this man had been—like his herd of younger siblings and his sick single mom. “How’s your mom?”

Jordan looked up sharply. “What?”

“Your mom,” Eric repeated. “She was sick when we were growing up, right? Something chronic?”

“MS,” Jordan said, obviously surprised. “Yeah, she’s… She’s doing okay. I can afford to buy the off-label prescriptions for her now so that really helps.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Eric hesitated but decided there was no harm in letting his heart do the talking for a little longer. “She’s lucky to have you. Too many people forget about family when they make it big.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Brett hurried back to their booth, his face pale and visibly shaken. “I am so sorry, but I have to go. My dad’s had a stroke. I’m going to have to reschedule,” he said, in a shaky voice.

“Go,” Jordan said. “Take care of your dad.”

“Yes, go,” Eric agreed.

“I hope everything turns out OK,” Jordan added.

Eric glanced over, seeing the intensity in Jordan’s eyes and knowing they were on the same page—there was nothing more important than family. But then Jordan had always been that guy, the kind who put family first and was never too cool to give his little sister a hug in front of the other guys at camp.

Brett thanked them, grabbed his briefcase, and exited without a backward glance.

And then they were alone again.

Eric wanted to break the tension with some sexy quip, but the mood was different now than it had been in the green room. He wasn’t sure how to get them back on potential fuck-buddy ground. Now there were feelings, memories, and admiration in the mix that went beyond Eric’s passionate esteem for Jordan’s ass.

Damn, this man had him way off his game.

“Listen, it’s not a good idea for us to be seen together,” Jordan said, breaking the silence.

“You mean seen together unsupervised?” Eric took a deep breath before adding in a softer voice, “I’m not gonna lie. I wish we could have some unsupervised private time. And I think you feel the same way.”

“I feel tired, is what I feel. And not in the mood to mess up my life.” Jordan stood and drained his beer. “Private time isn’t going to happen, Eric, so let it go. It’s just you and your hand tonight, man.”

Eric smirked as Jordan walked away. “Quoting Pink. That’s not gay at all,” he mumbled as he finished off his scotch.

Fuck it, he was hungry. If he couldn’t satisfy his appetite for Jordan Barr, he might as well hunt down some dinner.

He thought he remembered a Chinese takeout place across the street. Sliding out of the booth, he headed out of the hotel and into the wet-cotton heat of late July in Florida. Pre-season was just around the corner, and he was ready, though playing in full uniform in south Florida heat was sometimes like treading water while wearing chains.

He pushed into The Dragon’s Breath Restaurant and ordered from a friendly Chinese man wearing a “this is my fancy shirt” tee. Thirty minutes later, he was regretting his decision not to order room service.

How fucking long did it take to put together some moo goo gai pan and a couple of Spring Rolls? Thank God they served beer while he waited. Eric drained one beer and then another, more slowly. Finally, after forty-five minutes of watching China’s Got Talent, they called his name and he collected his food and headed back to the hotel.

Eric walked through the brightly lit lobby, past the front desk where the night shift clerks were busy checking in a few late night arrivals to the elevator, and pressed the already lit button. He was so starved all he could think about was getting to his room and ravaging his food.

And then he heard Jordan’s voice.

“I think Fate is conspiring against us,” he said.

Eric turned toward him, admiring the way the soft lights near the elevator emphasized the warm honey color of his hair. “No, Fate’s on our side.”

“You think?” Jordan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

“She keeps throwing us together. I’d say she clearly wants us to have some quality time.”

“Quality time,” Jordan echoed with a smirk that made Eric want to kiss it right off his full lips. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I’ll call it anything you want, sunshine, as long as you don’t tell me to get friendly with my hand again.”

Jordan smiled, his first seemingly genuine smile today. It was goofy and uninhibited and sexy as hell.

Someone had clearly never left the bar…

The elevator dinged and they waited for it to empty before they stepped aboard. The door closed and they stood alone in the cabin.

Eric took a deep breath, unable to decide which smelled better, the Chinese food or Jordan. The air between them seemed to sizzle, so charged that Eric’s palms itched and his cock twitched in his pants. His cock refused to believe that Jordan had meant that thing about private time never happening. Not after that smile.

“Want to join me for dinner? I have plenty,” he asked. And then you can stay and I’ll have you for dessert.

Eric imagined Jordan spread out naked on his bed, the other man’s cock so hard it was leaking as Eric slowly brought his tongue to the tip and swept the first intoxicating drops of arousal away. He was imagining Jordan begging him to suck him hard and deep and the way Jordan’s strong hands would fist in his hair as he took every inch of him down his throat, all the way to his balls when Jordan let out a ragged sigh.

“Fuck it, I’m not hungry for food.” Jordan turned, pushing Eric against the mirrored wall of the elevator.

Jordan grabbed him by the nape of his neck and crushed his mouth over Eric’s. Jordan’s five o’clock stubble was like flint to Eric’s face, igniting his skin. The kiss was deep, hungry, uninhibited, and enough to make Eric’s erection swell thicker, harder, begging to be let out to play.

Eric dropped the food, grabbing Jordan’s face as they consumed each other.

A low rumble left Jordan’s throat as Eric angled his head, giving in to the ravenous kiss. He slid his tongue deep into Jordan’s mouth, tasting beer and a hint of whiskey. His balls ached, and he felt like he’d die if he didn’t get his hands on Jordan’s bare skin.

Eric moved his hands down Jordan’s body to his tight ass, pushing their hips together. He could feel the heat coming from Jordan’s stiff cock. As he ground against the other man’s engorged length, Eric imagined taking Jordan’s cock deep in his throat. He needed to taste him. Needed to take him deep, to feel that shaft hitting the far back of his mouth.

Eric Higgins knew how to give a blowjob. He knew how to get down on his knees and suck like there was no tomorrow. He was dying to give Jordan Barr the best head he’d ever had, so good that it would be Eric’s face in Jordan’s mind the next time he took his own cock in his hand. He wanted to lick every inch of the other man’s dick, and then draw him in deep, so far down his throat that Jordan could see the outline of his shaft from the outside.

With a groan, Jordan fisted a handful of Eric’s hair, forcing him to break the kiss before he attacked Eric’s neck like it was his last meal, kissing and biting. Eric’s head fell back as his hips thrust forward. Jordan reached around, grabbing a handful of Eric’s ass and pulling him tighter to his hips, grinding against him until a growl sounded lower in Eric’s throat. Fuck, this man smelled like beach, beer, and sex and Eric was past ready to dive in.

The elevator dinged and Jordan jumped, pulling away.

Eric met his gaze, his breath still coming fast and his cock doing its best to burst through his zipper.

They stood staring at each other for a breathless moment before the elevator doors started to close once more.

Jordan reached out, pushing the doors open again as he cleared his throat. Eric picked up his takeout bags and they stepped off together, awkward silence returning like an elephant in the room.

“Offer still stands for dinner,” Eric said. “My room is just down the hall to the right.”

“This was a bad idea.” Jordan shook his head as he backed away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start something I can’t finish, but with the cheating scandal looming and me needing better than a good season, I can’t risk this. We can’t be seen together, and we can’t be together. Ever. At all.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for hearts and flowers, man.” Eric wanted to keep this casual, but Jordan’s words actually stung, hitting him in a place he hadn’t been vulnerable for a long time. “Just come have dinner with me, see where this goes.”

“It’s not just the cheating scandal, Eric.” Jordan took another step away, keeping his voice low as he turned to scan the hall in both directions. “If the world knows I’m gay, my career is over. You’ll survive it. You’re strong, loved by fucking everyone, and have a well-established career. I have four siblings I’m putting through college and a sick mom who depends on me.”

Jordan’s hand came to rub his shoulder. “Plus an injury I’m still fighting my way back from. If I come out now, I’m done. I can’t take the chance.” He took a deep breath and his jaw tightened. “I’m sorry. But I just can’t.”

Jordan took a left toward his room, moving away down the paisley carpet without looking back. Eric stood there, heart still racing from the kiss and his cock aching for Jordan’s touch, but he didn’t make a move to go after the other man.

He got it. He didn’t have to like it, but he got it.

With Jordan on his mind more than ever, it seemed that Eric was in for another shower. A long shower with that white-hot kiss playing through his mind on endless repeat, while Jordan was as good as a world away.

But maybe this was for the best. He wasn’t ready for a real relationship again, and judging by the way his entire self—body and soul—responded to that man, it was doubtful Jordan was fling material.

And that wasn’t just disappointing. It was scary as hell.