Blindsided: Fake Boyfriend Book 4 Page 3

  Guess he’s gonna blow me off again.

  I don’t know why I’m trying so hard with him when it’s obvious he doesn’t want to be friends now or whatever.

  Teammates. I can handle that even if I’ll hate it. I want to clear the air with him so we can go back to working like an actual team. I’ve never had to doubt him until today.

  Out on that field, he broke more than our friendship. He broke trust.

  Yeah, it was only one tackle he let through, but it was a tackle I shouldn’t have had to worry about. Not with him. If he can’t even keep a teammate off me during training, how’s he supposed to do it during an actual game?

  I dress slowly because defeat weighs me down. Miller doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, and I don’t know why that gets to me so much. Any other guy I’d write off and not care about, but when we were in college, we were so close it felt like all I needed was him. Girls came and went, and my parents and brother were back home in Denver. Miller and I both had a ton of friends, but they didn’t know the real us. They knew the football stars. The big jocks on campus.

  I always thought Miller understood that, and what we had wasn’t your average friendship, but clearly he’s outgrown it. Or maybe we weren’t as close as I thought we were.

  Outside the locker room, I hate the way my face brightens when I see him there waiting for me.

  “What took you so long? Did you have to do your hair to make yourself pretty or what?” Miller reaches over and messes up my hair.

  “Fuck off.” I swat at his hand. “We doing this?”

  “Uh, yeah. Is it all right I invited Jackson too? I figure if you’re going to ream me for that tackle today, the new kid can see how much of a hard-ass you can be when we fuck up.”

  I can’t talk about everything in front of Jackson, and Miller either knows this or thinks I only want to yell at him for the shitty practice.

  Looking Jackson in the eye after the other day is gonna be fun.

  It’s not strained between us, but it’s not exactly comfortable. I get the feeling he thinks it’s because he was with a guy, no matter how much I want to tell him it’s not. But if I do that, I have to explain I now feel weird around him because he and his boyfriend made something in my brain short-circuit and I haven’t been able to think about much else since it happened. Other than football. And Miller. But all of it seems to tie together in my head, and I don’t know why.

  “We ready?” Jackson asks behind me, and I startle.

  “Uh … yeah. Let’s go. Wait, where are we going? What’s good in here?”

  “I know somewhere that won’t give us food poisoning,” Miller says.

  “Sold,” Jackson says with a laugh.

  Chapter Four

  MILLER

  “Hooters?” Talon asks. “You brought us to Hooters?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Truth is, it’s the most manly, most I’m totally into only chicks and not you place I could think of.

  “Jackson’s gay, for one,” Talon says.

  “They have awesome onion rings here. I’m good,” Jackson says. “And I’m starving.”

  I brought Jackson as a buffer, because Talon should only stick to football talk if someone else is here. He wants to talk to me about what happened a few weeks ago and how blocking him at every chance is a dick thing to do, but the way I see it, there’s nothing to discuss. It’s not going to happen again, and he’s straight. Talking about it will only remind me of how much I fucked up by repeating old mistakes.

  As we enter the restaurant and are assaulted by the scent of fried food and toxic masculinity, the hostess greets us with terms of endearment like “sweetie” and “cutie” and “hot stuff.”

  When we’re seated at a table and finish ordering drinks from the waitress, a weird vibe settles between all of us. Talon refuses to look at Jackson, I refuse to look at Talon, and Jackson looks at the menu as if this is normal. Or maybe he can tell something’s up and wants to bury his head.

  “So, uh, let’s hear it,” I say. “Rip me a new one for being distracted today.”

  Talon looks between me and Jackson and then looks at the table as he casually says, “Don’t do it again.”

  That’s all I get?

  “That’s it?” Jackson asks. “I was expecting some drill-sergeant type shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m so disappointed in you, Talon.”

  The waitress appears with our drinks, and as she puts Jackson’s down in front of him, she practically pushes her boobs into his face, which makes Talon and I snicker.

  “As disappointing as that experience was?” Talon asks when she moves away.

  Jackson takes a sip of Coke. “Eh. They’re just boobs.”

  And that’s how I know I’m definitely bi and not gay. “Just boobs?”

  “Do you know how productive I would be if I had that reaction to boobs?” Talon says. I almost laugh until he turns to me. “Is that why you were distracted today on the field?” His eyes narrow. “Like boobs in general or a certain pair? Are you seeing someone and didn’t tell me? Because that’s not cool after—” He slams his mouth shut and looks at Jackson again whose eyes are ping-ponging between Talon and me.

  “Hey, look at that, my phone’s vibrating.” Jackson grabs out his phone, which is so not ringing, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending it is. “It’s Noah. I better take this outside.” He rushes out faster than a wide receiver on a breakaway.

  “I’m not seeing anyone,” I say.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” I know exactly what he means, but I’m not gonna spell it out for him in the middle of a restaurant. Hooters, at that.

  “Why are you avoiding me?”

  What if you never see me as anything more than a guy you share girls with? Or worse yet, what if you see right through me and want nothing to do with me anymore?

  “I’m not.”

  “Now you’re lying to me? Look, man, I get where you’re coming from with the media finding out and all that. I can promise it won’t happen again, and I won’t ask you about it anymore, but you have to stop pretending like you’re too busy for me. I don’t want a stupid night of drunken fun to come between us.”

  He doesn’t understand that it wasn’t just a stupid night to me, and he never will.

  “I can do that,” I lie.

  “Okay. Problem solved. We go back to being you and me and pretend that night never happened.”

  If only it was that easy.

  Talon moves on as if the issue is now done and buried. “Now, how long do you think we should make Jackson suffer with pretending to be on the phone to his boyfriend?”

  I manage a strained smile. “Until we finish off his food, at least.”

  “Good man. There’s the Miller I know and love.”

  I try hard not to show how my body tenses. If only he knew what saying that kind of shit does to me.

  I’ve heard stories about queer guys crushing on their straight friends and how hard it is. But hearing about it and feeling it are two completely different things. The twist in my gut when he says something like that makes my chest tighter and tighter until soon his words will be like a tourniquet wrapped around my heart.

  * * *

  The best thing about training camp is we barely get time or have the energy to jerk off let alone go out or do anything. It’s made things between Talon and me easier because we can’t spend awkward dinners together weirding out Jackson too often. It’s only happened once since Hooters, but now Jackson is mysteriously “busy” when Talon mentions going for dinner. Says he spends his alone time Skyping his boyfriend who’s in the middle of moving from New York to Chicago for him.

  We’re so exhausted a few weeks in that when Talon and I do go out to dinner, we’re generally too tired to do anything but eat, grunt one-word answers at each other, and leave. And while I’m doing my best to make everything appear normal between us, it’s not like it used to be. I think he knows it, but he’s dropped it since our last conversation.

  I want to put us both out of our misery, but that would include coming out to him, and that’s something I haven’t done with anyone—not even the guys I hooked up with after Talon had left.

  When he graduated, I was so lost I had no idea what was going on with me. There was a hole in my chest, and I had to figure out if it was a Talon thing or a guy thing.

  Closet doors are heavy, and college campuses are surprisingly filled with lots of guys happy to experiment behind them.

  So I tried, but it never felt the same.

  When I made the NFL, I worried about one of my hookups coming forward, but they never did. The thought of the possibility scared me out of trying to hook up with another guy again, though.

  Even though I enjoyed fooling around with those guys, I walked away each time satisfied physically but feeling hollow inside. Because while I was with them, I was picturing somebody else. When I’m with women, the ghost of Talon doesn’t haunt me.

  Now that he’s moved here, he can haunt me in real life.

  And as I walk into the weight room, and he’s over on the other side of the gym on the elliptical machine, I sigh because I can’t help it when I look at him. It’s a sigh of frustration, appreciation, and longing all rolled into one.

  It doesn’t help I’ve never been more nervous on final cut day than this year. I’m only twenty-seven, I still have years of my career ahead of me—hopefully—but I’ve been off this training camp. The shit between me and Talon is affecting my game, and I hate to say it because he’s the best guy I know, but I wish he’d never taken the contract with the Warriors. He should’ve stayed with New England, or hell, there were rumors Denver wanted him too. He could’ve gone home to his family, and I could’ve conti
nued to live without the constant reminder of him.

  “You look like you’re gonna hurl, Miller,” Henderson says from spotting Carter on the bench press. “Someone scared of getting cut?”

  For a team captain, he’s not very captainly.

  I ignore him and tune out the world so I can make it through my workout, but when I’m on the leg push finishing my last set, Talon walks across the room, and I falter like I always do when he lights up whatever Goddamn space he takes up.

  Something twinges in my leg, and I let out a grunt of pain—okay, might’ve been a manly screech—and catch everyone’s attention.

  Talon, of course, makes his way straight over to me. “You okay?”

  I wince. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Think I’m done though. My body’s protesting.”

  Talon grins. “You’re getting old, man.”

  “I’m younger than you, asshole.” When I stand, my leg protests. “Oh, fuck.”

  I almost topple to the ground, but Talon’s right there to hold me up, and then Jackson appears out of nowhere on my other side.

  “Come on, big guy,” Jackson says. “You need to go to the trainer. You might’ve sprained something.”

  “Just what I need,” I mutter. Another pain I can blame Talon for.

  They help me hobble into the trainer’s room and onto the massage table. The pain gets worse when I put pressure on the leg, but I’m sure I’m fine. I just pulled something.

  The coaches and trainer all wear solemn expressions when I can’t keep quiet at the poking and prodding the trainer does to me.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure everyone, but it’s as if I’m invisible.

  “It’s a sprained hamstring,” the trainer says.

  “Must’ve pulled it while working out,” I say, trying to be helpful, but all it does is welcome a “No shit, Captain Obvious” from Talon, who hasn’t left my side.

  “Get him back to the hotel and make sure he ices that thing,” Coach Caldwell says and storms out of the room.

  “Such a slacker,” Talon jokes. “Come on, lean on my shoulder, but don’t break me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re precious.”

  Athletes push through the agony of injuries all the time. Pain is insignificant, and we’re reminded constantly that a broken player is an expendable player. But no matter how many times I tell myself that I’m okay—that the trainer is wrong and I only pulled a muscle or landed on it funny and can shake it out—every time I put a little weight behind it, I want to scream.

  Talon’s arm around me isn’t even enough to forget about how painful it is. Not even the scent of his shampoo that smells exactly like college or the scruff on his chin where he hasn’t shaved for days. Everything that has distracted me these past few weeks can’t distract me from the burning in my leg.

  The university hosting training camp is within walking distance of our hotel, but I can barely make it to the campus entry, let alone a few blocks up the street.

  “Let’s chill here and get a cab,” Talon says.

  He lets me go, and I lean against the building, trying to catch my breath.

  “Are we sure it’s a sprain and not a tear?” he asks, assessing how much I’m struggling. “Like, should we maybe go to the hospital?”

  “It’s just a sprain,” I say. “The trainer wouldn’t have let me go if it could be anything worse.”

  Talon taps away on his phone. “All right. Cab should be here in a few minutes.”

  He slips his phone in his pocket, and then the awkward silence that’s been happening since Talon joined the team reappears once again. At least this time, I can blame my leg.

  “So … funny story.” Talon rocks back on his heels. “I walked in on Jackson and his boyfriend a few weeks back. Totally naked and grinding all up on each other.”

  I practically choke on my tongue. “You what?”

  “Yup. Well, they weren’t having sex-sex. Like … gay sex … you know …”

  I snicker at him fumbling over the word anal.

  “They were naked and … yeah … grinding.”

  “Umm … why exactly are you telling me this?”

  Talon shrugs. “Distraction? Is it working? Bet you’re not concentrating so hard on your leg when you’ve got the image of two dudes going at it in your head.”

  God, the last thing I need right now is a hard-on, so I try not to think about what that would’ve looked like. Jackson’s almost as big as me—big muscles, tall frame. Although, he’s only six-three, and I’m six-five. His boyfriend is around six-one and lanky with a lithe but toned body …

  Stop thinking about how hot they’d be together.

  “Wait, is that why you two have been weird around each other lately?” I ask. “I thought it was because …” Of us.

  I can’t say that out loud because I’m supposed to be going back to normal with him.

  Talon frowns. “It’s not weird between Jackson and me.”

  “You refuse to look him in the eye even when you’re talking to him.”

  “That’s because I … because I thought … and then I’m all … I mean …”

  “Aww, did someone forget how to use their words,” I say in the same voice I talk to my niece with.

  “Shut up.” The tips of Talon’s ears turn pink, and now I’m pissed at myself for mocking him. Because if the flush creeping across his face and his awkwardness have anything to say, it’s that he might not have entirely hated seeing Jackson and his boyfriend together.

  Don’t be a fucking idiot, Shane.

  Right. Straight guys don’t get turned on by gay sex. They just don’t.

  Chapter Five

  TALON

  Standing here in the sweltering July heat, waiting for a cab, I come so close to talking to Miller about walking in on Jackson and Noah and asking him if my reaction is normal, but before I can, my brain reminds me that I’ve been naked with the man and not just in a locker room.

  We’ve shared a bed and countless women over the years, and suddenly, I’m seeing it in a new light.

  My mind thinks of Miller’s hard muscles and drops of sweat breaking out over his skin, and I’m not talking about when we’ve been training or on the field. I remember vividly the sound he makes when he comes. Before now, I didn’t realize I’d paid so much attention.

  He’s right that things between me and Jackson aren’t great, and that’s eating at me too. I don’t want to be awkward around him, but to get over it, I need to get those images of Jackson and Noah out of my head.

  I need an explanation … no, that’s not the right word. Clarity? Rationalism? Whatever it is, I don’t know how to get it without an outside perspective, but laying it out there like that?

  Yeah, I don’t want to play that game.

  I’m the guy who has it all figured out. Or, I appear to be. Ask me about women, ask me about football, hell, ask me about a diet regime to suit your workout needs, I’m your man. Sexuality confusion?

  Fuck, is that even what this is?

  I look over at Miller leaning against the wall, his head back against the brick of the building and his eyes closed. His chest rises and falls fast, as if he’s breathing through the pain, and as my gaze travels over his large chest, powerful arms, and thick and powerful thighs, I can’t help thinking how amazing he looks.

  So, uh, yeah, I guess I can definitely say this is confusion. But if I think hard about that, then I have to wonder when it started. Because even though walking in on Jackson and Noah is the thing that made me step back and go … hang on, that’s not a normal reaction for a straight guy, I’m now thinking I’ve done other things I should’ve realized before.

  Shared a bed with Miller being the main one.

  My sarcasm senses tingle, and an annoying voice in the back of my head says: it’s not gay if it’s in a three-way.

  I snort, and Miller’s head lifts.

  “What’s funny?” he asks.

  Lie. Lie your ass off. “I was thinking we’ve been through some shit together, haven’t we?”

  He smiles, and dimples appear. It reminds me of the millions of times I’ve seen that exact expression on him, and warmth fills my chest.