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“Probably,” Gavin said, nodding. “What’re you gonna do if he does?”
“Punch him in the face.”
Gavin burst out laughing. It was such a foreign sound that it startled me, as did the way his golden eyes crinkled at the sides. The sound was so oddly pleasant that my irritation crumbled. I grinned.
“Look, I get a little riled up when it comes to people invading privacy and dehumanizing. I went through it a lot in school when people found out I’m gay. They thought it automatically meant I had some kinky sex life, and they were entitled to the details. Or to watch.” I glanced in the direction the photog had gone. “I know it’s totally different, but it drives me insane. You may be a rich asshole, but you’re still a person.”
“You really are a righteous little hero, aren’t you?”
“If that’s how you want to put it.” I stalked around him and headed back to the patio. “I’m not trying to humble brag. I just like helping people. And defending people who can’t defend themselves.”
“You think I can’t defend myself?” Gavin asked incredulously. “Wow. This is a conversation I never thought I’d have.”
I threw him a dry look. “I’m not talking about physically, you big damn jock. But if you think about it, you have zero control over what they say about you and what they make people believe about you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I think it sucks.”
Gavin’s brows rose. I expected him to say something disparaging or sarcastic, but he just looked down at me with his arms hanging at his sides. He seemed . . . confused. Maybe surprised.
“You’re a person,” I said again. “And they should treat you like one.”
When the silence continued to stretch, I turned away to hurry to the patio again. I expected his damn turkey burgers to be dry, but I’d just saved them from destruction. I placed them on the platter while Gavin quietly trailed behind me, and returned to the massive kitchen. He sat on one of the stools and watched as I arranged his food on a plate with seafood salad I’d picked up from the market that morning.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” he asked, changing the subject likely because I’d made him uncomfortable.
I shoved the plate and giant tub of salad at him. “Someone.”
“Who?”
I sighed. “A person. Eat your food.”
Gavin glanced down at his plate then at the empty space in front of me. He scowled. “Which person? Loverboy from Friday night?”
“Why is this important to you, Gavin?”
“Because I wanna know who you’re discussing me with, Noah.”
“Oh, please. Like my every conversation revolves around you.”
Gavin stared at me like he knew I was completely full of shit. Then looked at his food again. “Where’s your overpriced Subway sandwich?”
My jaw dropped. “You’re calling my food overpriced?”
“Yes. Eight bucks for chemical-infused bread and a little bit of meat. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”
“Wow. Good thing I didn’t ask for your scintillating review of what I eat.”
Gavin dropped his elbows on the table. It was unfair how his biceps stood out like carved boulders just by him moving his upper body around. It was also sickening how soft and shiny his hair was in the streaming sunlight. He savagely bit into one of the burgers, killing a half pound of turkey in four bites.
“So, where’s your lunch?”
“Why are you so hung up on this?”
“Because I’m sitting here stuffing my face while your skinny ass sits there with nothing.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that your people skills are severely lacking?”
“You just talked about how much the media hates me. People read me about my faults all the damn time.”
He had a point.
“I didn’t have time to pick up something of my own, and I’m too exhausted at night and in the morning to pack something.”
“Make time.”
“I crash as soon as I get home,” I said. “But thanks for your concern about my well-being.”
“I’m concerned about how half-assed you perform every task because you have no energy,” he retorted. “Why didn’t you get something from the grocery store?”
“Because the gourmet-piece-of-shit store you sent me to is more overpriced than my overpriced sandwich! Not everyone can afford to shell out twenty bucks for a premade sandwich filled with eight tons of kale, you know. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“And why’s that?”
I snorted out a laugh. “Seriously? You told me you make insane amounts of money. I live in a two-bedroom apartment—or two-closet apartment—with my father, while drowning in enough student debt to ensure I will never pay it off until I’m in my fifties. And I grew up just as poor as I am now, with my mom making miracles out of canned beef stew, herbs, and rice. I’ve always been poor, and it will just follow me into adulthood because I didn’t have the luxury of some sports scholarship and a ride into the NFL—”
