Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend Book 4) Read online

  “You don’t marry the girl who bangs your friend in front of you. They know that.”

  “Is that slut shaming I hear?”

  “No, but normal people kinda prefer it if their partners don’t willingly fuck their friends.” I don’t know how this concept is lost on Talon.

  “I don’t get it, man. I’d love a wife who’d let me play with others. Or watch as she played with others.”

  “That’s true love.” I rinse off and stop the shower. When I step out, Talon holds a towel out for me as if this isn’t weird at all.

  He’s always been carefree and had an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude. He’s comfortable in his skin and doesn’t care about our current state of undress. Living in a locker room for over ten years will do that to a guy, but this isn’t a locker room, and his assured confidence hasn’t wavered.

  Me, on the other hand, I’m hoping to hell he doesn’t look down and see how much I’m enjoying the view.

  Guilt gnaws at me. Not over last night but the three years we were pulling this type of shit in college. I fear he’ll figure me out—that I like sharing with him way more than I should. Keeping my secret from him is a betrayal of the utmost degree. Yeah, I like women, but Talon helped me discover all those years ago that I like men too. And after he graduated, I spent a year figuring out exactly what that meant. After experimenting with a few other guys, I came to the conclusion I really like one man in particular. The guys in college proved to me I was bi, but I think I’m technically pan. I fell for Talon because of who he is, not because he’s a guy.

  “I know your momma told you to share as a child, but I think that’s taking it a bit too far.”

  I hate that my voice comes out croaky, but it’s taking all my energy to make words work at all.

  “It’s … I dunno … better when there’s more than two people.” He looks at me for confirmation of that.

  I dry off and wrap my towel around me, hoping Talon can’t see the tent in it. “One of the girls kept moaning your full name, even when she was with me. She probably only agreed to a four-way so she could say she bagged Marcus Talon. Trust when I say my name and … that other girl’s will not be in the retelling of her story.”

  “I guess that’s for the best,” Talon says. “Maybe we should get them to sign NDAs beforehand.”

  I snort. “Hey, ladies, you can’t see my dick until I see a signature. Classy as fuck.”

  Talon laughs.

  “But that won’t matter anyway. It, uh, shouldn’t happen again.”

  Talon slumps. “Not you too.”

  “You’ve seen what the media has put Jackson through the last few months. Can you imagine if this got out? People are freaking out because he has a guy in his bed. One guy. What will they think when they find out what we’re doing? We’re not in college anymore, NDAs aren’t foolproof, and if the league—”

  “It’s not like we’re … like Jackson.”

  “Gay, you mean? You think the media will care about technicalities? You and I have shared a bed on more than one occasion. Yes, there are other people involved, and to us, it’s not a big deal, but I don’t think that makes it any less scandalous. It probably makes it more.” I won’t mention contemplating taking magician classes to make the girls disappear—that’s a whole other issue.

  “Okay, I get it, but it still sucks. We should be able to do whatever the hell we want off the field.”

  I scoff. “How about you whine to Jackson about that. He’ll probably punch you out after what he’s been through.”

  Being the first out guy in the league, Jackson hasn’t had it easy.

  I go to walk out of the bathroom but pause in the doorway. I shouldn’t ask, but the question comes out anyway. “Would you really want a relationship with more than one person? Like … a permanent arrangement?”

  My heart stutters, preparing for an answer I’m not sure I want. A yes would give me hope there was some sort of future with him, but it would also mean I’d continue to make the same mistakes again and again, and nothing between us would change. I’d still be with him but not with him.

  “What, not for you?”

  The fact Talon’s deflected and hasn’t answered my question isn’t lost on me.

  I shake my head. “Nah, I couldn’t do it. Like you said, this is fun and all, but if I was serious about someone, it’d be just them.”

  “Oh, to have that type of attention span,” Talon says with wistfulness in his tone.

  I can’t help laughing at the big idiot, and now I’m back where I was six years ago—in his bed but not allowed to touch him. And until last night, I was blissfully unaware of how much I’ve missed him.

  Talk about fucking torture.

  Chapter Three

  TALON

  Miller is ignoring me. Me. None of my other friends could get away with that, but Miller’s not like anyone else in my life. He’s … I don’t know what he is. He’s like a brother to me, but that label feels wrong—especially after the shit we’ve done.

  I haven’t seen him since the night we took those two women home, and it’s been weeks. It hasn’t been for lack of trying on my part. I haven’t doubted myself this much since I was a freshman and actually had to work to get a girl’s attention, and I don’t know why it’s getting to me so much.

  I had expectations signing with the Warriors. Miller and me back together again, us against the world, and winning the Super Bowl and living out our almost decade-long fantasy of holding that trophy up together.

  It’s always been the dream, so I don’t know why he’s not the same Miller I knew in college.

  Granted, we haven’t really known each other these past six years, but we made a pact his freshman year. It was gonna be us.

  Now there’s a chance for it to happen, and he’s blowing me off, and I don’t know why.

  Today, he can’t avoid me because it’s the first day of training camp, and if he thinks I won’t call him on it, then he doesn’t know me at all.

  We don’t have to be attached at the hip, but if he’s pulling away because he regrets what we did, I may have to slap him upside the head.

  It was just sex. Really hot, awesome sex. But it didn’t mean anything, and it’s not like we touched or nothin’, so I don’t know why he’s being weird about it. It’s nothing new for us. I know he’s worried the press will find out, and that’ll bring a shitstorm upon the team—the team who currently pays me waaay too much to throw around a football—and when I think about it like that, it probably was a mistake to risk it all for an orgy. That still doesn’t explain why he’s avoiding me though. It won’t happen again. No big deal.

  After enduring the mother of all press conferences kicking off training camp, Jackson and I are sent to the stadium to meet the rest of the team on the field.

  Jackson and I are the only dipshits in suits thanks to the press conference, and DeShawn notices immediately.

  “Nice tie.” He nudges me. It takes me off guard, and I stumble, because I’m too distracted by wondering why Miller isn’t even looking at me.

  “Hey, careful with the merchandise. Jackson and I are precious,” I say. Because, well, I’m me, and I can’t help it.

  “Precious is one word for it,” Miller mumbles.

  His mocking snaps the tension between us, and I throw my arm around his giant shoulders and try to get him in a headlock.

  “What was that? Didn’t hear you,” I taunt.

  He fights back but not hard, and I begin to think I’ve read too much into his radio silence the last few weeks, because this is us. It’s what we do.

  We goof, we joke, and our antics could be mistaken for that of teenage boys.

  Coach Caldwell’s voice puts an end to it though. “Cut the shit, Talon. Everyone, take a seat.”

  There’s a round of grumbles, and I don’t realize what they’re for until Coach starts his speech. It doesn’t go the way these things normally do. We’re sat down like children and told how to play nice with the new
gay kid on the team. That’s paraphrasing, and it sucks that Jackson has to go through this at all. I want to yell out that this whole damn thing is unnecessary, but if the glares certain teammates are sending Jackson’s way are any indication, it seems we’re not all up to date with the love is love movement.

  It’s a sad day when I’m considered more mature than others.

  Once we’re released, some of the guys hang around on the field, but Miller stalks off like he’s on a mission. He’s not gonna get away so easy.

  I catch up to him and throw my arm around him. “Dude, where’s the fire? Was gonna go for a beer.”

  His shoulders stiffen under my arm, but that doesn’t mean anything. The guy’s a tank. His shoulders are probably ninety-nine percent muscle and always that hard.

  “I’ve still gotta put in a few more hours in the gym.” He rubs his stomach. “Definitely ate too much crap over break. Training is going to kill me if Coach doesn’t first.”

  “All right. Guess I better put in the hours anyway.”

  Miller looks down at his feet, and I’m back on the he’s-ignoring-me bandwagon. I grab his arm to stop him from walking down the tunnel toward the locker rooms.

  “Are we cool?” I ask.

  He pulls back, almost taken off guard or confused. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “I dunno, man. You’re acting weird.”

  Miller shakes his head. “Just got a lot going on right now. Not all of us were born superstars like you. We have to actually work for it.”

  “What the fuck?”

  He has never said that kind of shit to me before, and he knows how much I hate it. I may play hard, but I work harder. Everyone only ever sees what they want to, though, and that’s usually the fun side of me.

  “You know what I mean, Talon. You have more natural talent in your arm than any of us do in our entire bodies.”

  “That’s because I’m Talon-ted … Get it? Talon-ted.”

  Miller huffs, but I can’t work out if it’s a true laugh or he’s pitying me.

  “Well, it’s not funny if I have to spell it out,” I mumble.

  He shakes his head. “I can’t lose my place on this team. I … I need to focus.”

  “Got it.” I think Miller’s full of it, but he isn’t completely wrong. We should be hitting the weights to get back in top physical form for the season to start.

  I let him walk away, and for the first time since I moved here, I realize things between us can’t easily go back to the way they were in college.

  Apparently being a grown-up means shit changes, and if that’s the case, when the fuck did I get old?

  I always figured a life-altering moment would begin with a gut warning or spidey senses telling me something’s not right. But no. Apparently, whatever controls my life, whether it be fate, the universe, or a god with a sick sense of humor, whatever it is, they’re probably laughing their ass off at me right now.

  With Miller being weird, I had the plan to drag Jackson out for a few drinks. The coaches have roomed us together because of my status and his … gayness. They think having me around Jackson will give him some sort of protection. I’m happy to do it, but I wasn’t expecting the eyeful I just got.

  It’s nothing I haven’t seen before being on the road with testosterone-filled athletes who need to blow off stress, but this was different.

  Jackson and his boyfriend, Noah, were going at it when I walked in, and I couldn’t bring myself to walk away.

  I stood, mesmerized by their bodies moving against one another. Hard muscle against Noah’s toned frame, miles of bare skin, light against dark … Even though they were rutting against each other like animals in heat, Jackson whispering claiming words of love and forever while they got totally lost in one another is what I can’t get out of my head.

  As soon as they realized I was there, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I have no idea what I said or did, but my feet led me down to the lobby as fast as they could carry me.

  Now, sitting at the hotel bar with a glass of scotch in front of me, I can’t bring myself to take a drink in fear I won’t be able to swallow it without choking.

  It’s not from disgust or shock or whatever someone might expect a straight guy to feel when seeing two men naked and writhing, moaning manly sounds and grunts, and covering each other in cum. Nope, it’s the utter surprise of how much I liked it that’s freaking me out.

  Not just liked it but got hard over it, and I don’t mean a little twitch of interest. My cock was practically sticking straight up as if volunteering to join them.

  I’ve seen porn where it’s been two guys on one girl. Hell, I’ve lived that with Miller, but doing stuff with him or any other guy had never occurred to me. I didn’t even know something like that could turn me on. Seeing Miller’s muscular arms wrapped around a woman’s petite frame drives me wild, but I always thought it was her or both of them together that was the appeal. Now, I can’t help thinking otherwise, because what I just saw flipped a switch … or opened my eyes. Or something.

  I internally groan and refrain from banging my head on the bar in front of me.

  I don’t know what’s worse: making a big deal out of nothing and possibly creating a weird relationship with my roommate or that I can’t stop picturing Jackson on top of his boyfriend.

  They moved in sync, like they knew each other inside and out. It was frantic but also full of tenderness, like the way Jackson cupped his boyfriend’s face as he kissed him slowly, and they were so invested in each other they didn’t even hear me come in.

  Until this moment, I’d only heard of that type of love existing. People claim it. You see tenderness between lovers when they walk down the street. The kiss of a hand. In the gentle way their mouths come together. But that’s all in public. It’s tame and appropriate. It’s not primal or needy.

  When Miller said he could only be with one person, I didn’t understand it, but there’s no doubt in my mind I just witnessed what he meant by it. All of my relationships have been about having fun, and fun to me is as many sweaty bodies as you can fit in a bed.

  I wonder if Miller’s ever had that—the elusive single soul to connect with. The way he spoke about being with one person, it sounded like he knew from experience. He didn’t have anyone serious in college, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’ve fallen out of touch these past six years. He could’ve had a harem of women, and I wouldn’t know.

  I wonder if he’s ever looked at anyone like Jackson looks at his boyfriend. I wouldn’t even know how to see someone in that light. I’ve never felt it with any woman I’ve been with, and I’m pretty sure they’ve never felt it for me.

  After twenty minutes of overanalyzing, I realize I’ve become a walking cliché—having an existential crisis in a bar.

  By the time Jackson finds me, I’ve almost finished my drink but am no closer to figuring out what just happened or why I’m comparing what Jackson and Noah have with my friendship with Miller.

  “So … uh, that happened,” Jackson says.

  I snort, but one look in his eyes, and I can tell he’s freaking out.

  Shit, here I am thinking about me, like always, I haven’t even wondered what could be going through Jackson’s head.

  “Whoa, Jackson. It’s okay. Wait, do you think I’m pissed you were hooking up in our room? You think I haven’t seen that type of shit before on the road?”

  “Not with two guys, no.”

  That’s definitely not the issue I’m having. Or is it?

  I try to explain what happened, but I totally dig myself a deeper hole I won’t be able to get out of if I keep going. “I feel like a creep. For, like, watching and stuff.”

  Jackson looks even more freaked out now. Great.

  “Not for ages or anything. I was taken off guard, and I couldn’t move, and then it was all over, and I had to say something, or you would’ve thought I’d been there the whole time, but I wasn’t, and …” Fuck, kill me now.

  “C
an we totally forget this ever happened?” Jackson asks. “I’ll never sneak Noah into a hotel room again, and if you ask for a new roommate, I will totally understand.”

  “Not going to ask for a new roommate, dickhead.”

  Jackson smiles, and just like that, we promise to never mention it again.

  Now if it was that easy to forget it too.

  “Blue eighteen! Blue eighteen! Set. Hut.”

  On the field, I become a commanding figure. Everyone sees the fun-loving me on the outside, but when that clock is ticking, there’s only one thing I want. The touchdown. The points. The glory.

  What I don’t want is getting sacked because my offense can’t keep defense off my ass.

  Training is not going well. The team this year is made up of newbies, rookies, and a couple of veterans, yet we’re all playing like we’re in the juniors.

  I cough, my lungs hurting from being crushed by Henderson—one of our linebackers and team captains.

  “Sorry, Talon,” he says as we climb to our feet, but it sounds sarcastic. I’ve been warned he’s a bit of an asshole and thinks he’s the best on this team. Well, not anymore. When he sees I’m not playing like he is, he tries the blame game. “Miller fuckin’ tripped me.”

  “No sweat.” Just blood.

  Stop being dramatic.

  Miller at least looks ashamed. Henderson may be hazing me for being the new guy, but Miller’s supposed to be my protector. He checks my blindside so I don’t have to.

  “Where were you on that one?” I bark.

  “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Let’s run it again.”

  Miller turns to go back into position, but I stop him.

  “You and I are gonna have words. Tonight. Dinner. And you can’t say no this time.”

  His mouth opens to protest, but he thinks better of it. “Got it.”

  We get through practice without another complete screwup, which puts me in a better mood than this morning. But when we break for the day and hit the showers, Miller’s one of the first guys out the door.