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“All of that shit talk,” I said with a gasp. “And you got nervous about me talking about eating pussy.”
He cringed again. “Fuck you.”
“Just admit I win.”
“Is everything a competition, Bravo?”
“Dude, we’re athletes. Of course everything is a competition.”
Simeon graced me with a chuckle. “Okay, you right. But if we’re keeping score, the game has just begun. Next time, I’m gonna get you good.”
“Bet.”
Chapter Five
Simeon
“How’s my backup doing?” I asked, tossing my brace in the air and catching it again. The doc had said I could take it off, not that it did me any good since I was still banished from practice and the field. “Thrilled to have a chance in my limelight?”
“He’s shitting bricks,” Gavin said. It was their off day from training camp, and he’d taken the time to come visit me in the Hamptons. He looked the same as always, all golden hair and golden eyes and shitty attitude, but that attitude was never directed at me.
“He’s been second string for years, and now he’ll be starting the first six games. The media is already tearing his ass apart, and the season hasn’t started yet.”
I flopped down on the couch next to Gavin and rested my head on his big shoulder. “That’s no fair. The poor bastard didn’t even get a chance to strut his stuff yet.”
“Since when is anything fair?” Gavin threw an arm around my shoulder and pulled me in for a half hug. It was the most affection he gave anyone who wasn’t a blue-eyed piece of ass named Noah Monroe. “Also, he doesn’t help himself by suddenly having a noodle arm.”
Groaning, I buried my face in his T-shirt. “This sucks, dude. This season we were supposed to be on top of the world. Me, you, and Marcus—the two dope-ass musketeers and one surprisingly dope white boy.”
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Blame that clown you’re playing camp counselor with.”
“Oh, I do. And he knows I do.”
“Heh.” Gavin pulled his phone out one-handed, and I watched him read a text from Noah. They weren’t exactly mushy, but the soft smile that briefly appeared on Gavin’s face warmed my heart. He ruined it by asking, “That motherfucker showing his ass yet?”
“Not really anymore.”
“Yeah? Shocking. I expected him to make this hell for you, which is why I was pissed at Mel for suggesting you do it.”
“Don’t be pissed. I’m starting to see what they’re trying to do.” The last few days had made it clear what Mel and Casey’s plan had been with our team owners. Force us to teach kids leadership and sportsmanship skills, throw that around the media instead of our ability to teach kids how to learn plays and tackle each other, and absorb some of those skills our damn selves. “Like . . . part of me is pissed, you know? They’re treating us like some little kids needing to learn a lesson, and it’s demeaning, but it’s sort of working. So it’s hard to criticize.”
“It’s working?” Gavin gave me his infamous brow arch. “You’ve been there half a week.”
“Yeah, and we already see some progress. We came up with a bomb routine for the kids, we’re finally getting them out on the field because they’re proving we can trust them out in the world to not act like fools, and we only argue like three times a day.”
Gavin cracked up.
“That’s an improvement,” I said. “Trust me. I was ready to knock that sucker out not even three days ago.”
“And now?”
“Now we’re kinda coming to an understanding.”
“What understanding is that?”
I tilted my head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t really know yet, but it should be interesting.”
Gavin shook his head, disbelieving, and I switched topics to the Barons once again. Not being with them after months of not being with them unless we had a promo gig was like being kept away from my brothers. It was a different situation from Gavin’s the previous fall, because I could technically go see them when they had downtime, but I didn’t. All things considered, the cuts of exclusion and depression would be sharper if I was that close and . . . it wasn’t a good use of my time.
I was still working out to stay in shape for my return to the field in October, but the camp was kicking my ass. Teaching kids was no joke. Especially when I had a traffic-heavy commute back and forth by car or a three-hour journey via public transportation. If there was an easier way to do it, I hadn’t found it yet.
Gavin left around seven to make his own journey back to New Jersey since the team lived at the facility during conditioning, and I tried to crash early since I had to get up at five. It wasn’t the getting up that got me, since we also woke at the crack of dawn at training camp; it was the traveling while barely awake and cranky as hell. And normally I was a morning person. How did the average working sucker manage this crap for their entire lives?
