Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I also can’t call him a kid when he’s three years older than me.
The only time I’ve ever exuded Noah’s type of confidence is on the field. Football has been my escape from everything. It’s been my savior. My focus. Now I’m being forced to show off the side of me I’ve been hiding forever.
Hiding wasn’t by choice; it was a necessity. There have only been a handful of gay players in NFL history, but the ones who have come out publicly have all done so after retirement or got cut during preseason.
“Matt?” Noah brings me out of yet another inner freak out about my career falling apart. He reaches for my shoulder and squeezes. It’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but all it does is make me keenly aware that a hot guy is touching me. We won’t be crossing those lines—this is business and nothing else—so I flinch away from him.
His brow furrows. “You okay? You’re not stroking out on me, are you?”
“Sorry.” I step aside to let him in.
When he brushes past me, he meets my eyes and smiles. He has an athletic build like a basketball player—all arms and legs—and is almost my height, but he’s skinny. Then again, it’s probably unfair to compare him to my two-hundred-thirty-pound frame.
Noah wheels his suitcase in behind him.
“I thought we were meeting on the ship,” I say.
“Damon told me to get down here so we can arrive together. OTS either has a leak or maybe the cruise ship company has talkative staff. There’s paparazzi set up at the terminal. We’re supposed to act coy as if we don’t know they’re going to be at the docks.”
“Goddamn it. This is already turning into a shit show.” How much longer will this be a story? “Make yourself at home. I’ll pack.”
“You’re not packed?” Noah asks.
“I planned on going last minute.”
“Good idea. Keep them waiting.”
“Right.” Like I planned this.
All I need to do is shove my toothbrush and shaving kit in my bag, even though I didn’t end up using the razor this morning. I haven’t shaved in weeks. My beard is impressive, and I can’t be bothered getting rid of it.
It takes all of two minutes to pack my stuff, while Noah sits on my hotel bed, tapping away on his phone.
Trading my Bulldogs cap for an old Yankees one, I pull it on and a pair of aviators that cover half my face.
“You think changing your hat will make you more inconspicuous?” Noah asks, phone still in hand.
I hate those things. Never used to. Now when I see them, I’m paranoid someone’s taking a photo of me. And mine? It goes off every two minutes and has for the past several weeks. The off button is my only savior.
“Matt?” Noah asks. “Are you always this spacey?”
“Are you always this nosy?”
Noah throws his hands up in surrender. “No need to bite my head off. But seriously, don’t let Damon see you in that ball cap. He’ll probably drop you as a client.”
“Mets fan?”
“The biggest. Like psycho about it.”
“The other hat I have is my Bulldogs one.”
“Here, we’ll swap.” Noah throws his Mets cap at me.
“Won’t Damon be pissed at you for the Yankees hat?”
Noah grins. “It’ll be a good way to mess with him.”
“Sounds like a healthy friendship.” I slip his hat on and pull it down low.
I double-check I haven’t forgotten anything while Noah waits for me in the hallway.
When we head for the elevators to go down to the garage, I avoid eye contact and don’t bother saying anything either. Like Damon said, this is a business arrangement. Pure and simple. I don’t need to be friends with the guy to make it look like we’re together or whatever.
Personally, I don’t think this charade will work in getting me a contract or fixing my image. I don’t see how it could work. If I do get on another team, having a boyfriend won’t mean shit in the locker room. I’ll still get the stare downs, the slurs, the threats … The world may be more tolerant now, but we’re far from acceptance. Especially in the sporting world where closet doors have only recently started to creak open.
Noah taps away on his phone through the halls of the hotel and in the elevator. The tap, tap, tapping noise has me gritting my teeth. I want to throw his phone at the wall.
“You okay?” Noah asks, his eyes not even on me but on his screen.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, seems it.”
“How would you even know? Your eyes are glued to that thing.” I tip my head in the direction of his phone.
Noah shoves it in his pocket. “There. Gone. Now what’s up?”
“You mean apart from the obvious? My career’s in the toilet and my representation thinks I’m so desperate they have to find a boyfriend for me? Yeah, my life’s fucking grand right now.”