Page 90 of Studs Up
“Would playing nice make it better or worse?”
His grey eyes turned up, and he blinked slowly at me as if he couldn’t believe I had asked the question.
“I don’t know,” he breathed and bit his lip. Sliding my arms around him, I held him tight and dipped my head to kiss under his ear.
“When you know, that’s what we’ll do.”
He sighed when I sucked on his skin and wrapped his arms around me.
“Stop making this so fucking easy,” he murmured.
“I ride your ass,” I said. “How is that making it easy?”
He laughed so hard it echoed off the walls long after he gave in to my kisses and moaned softly.
“Let’s play nice,” he said, and I straightened up.
“Sure?”
He nodded. “It’s time, I think.”
“Alright.” I kissed his temple and let him hold on for as long as he needed. There was a part of me that didn’t care. Let people think what they want to believe. But a growing part of me wanted to protect him so badly I was willing to hide this forever.
He agonized over every single decision he made. He was carefully considering all of the options, consequences, and dangers that came with being gay.
I wanted the world to fuck off and let him live.
And so we went down to breakfast for the first time together. There were a few raised eyebrows in the ballroom where the hotel accommodated us, but other than that, no one really took too much notice. I was determined not to overdo it and sit with him, but Charlemagne was Charlemagne, and he slapped me on the back. My breakfast nearly sailed across the room, and I glared at him.
“So we are getting along now?” He asked with his bright smile. If he had some switch where I could turn that off, I would do it. No one should have that much sunshine in them.
“We’re tolerable,” I grumbled.
“Good,” he declared. “You’ll eat with us then.” He grabbed a second plate, piled it high, and then aggressively elbowed me to the table with Holden, Alex, and Marcel.
Holden glowered at me. I glowered back. Later, I would explain, but for now, the glares were an acceptable way to look at him.
Holden’s body was stiff, and he picked at his plate as Alex brought up a dangerous topic.
“Heard Theo West is talking to Seattle.”
Our table froze.
Theo West was a wonder kid left back playing in the English league. Now, there were a few reasons for Alex to bring this up. One was a distraction, if so, way to go, Alex. Another was rumor mongering. Silly season was coming, and rumors were going to fly higher than the moon, and nothing was guaranteed until the ink was dry on the paper.
Another was to stir the pot between me and Marcel. If it was true that West was in talks with Seattle, that meant Marcel was out of the job. He’d be benched and then probably dropped at the end of his contract next year.
My job would be a thousand times easier with the speed and accuracy of West on the left. I could be a proper central defender and trust the guy on the wing. Even better, I wouldn’t have to worry about protecting Diaz from Marcel’s mistakes.
It was the right move. It was also a pipe dream. West was going to be expensive as fuck, and the MLS wasn’t the English Premier League. We didn’t have hundred million dollar deals.
The pay cut he would have to take would be substantial and no one took those kinds of cuts.
I dreamed for a fraction of a second until I saw how red Marcel had become.
“Bullshit,” Marcel snapped. Bits of egg spitting onto his plate.
The lazy turn of Alex’s head suggested my last guess was the right one.
