Down by Contact (The Barons 2)

With a long-suffering sigh, I met Casey’s eyes again. “Was this community-service shit your idea?”

“Shockingly, no. It was Mel Hawkins’s. Simeon’s agent. She’s also sick of the drama, and since you’re both out of commission and a waste to your teams, she wanted a solution that would improve both your reputations. Show some unity, downplay the homophobic rumors flying around, and make you both look a little more like grown-ups.”

“Uh-huh. And if some magical community service stint can’t make us get along?”

“Then you’re doing yourself a huge disservice.” Casey walked behind his desk. “You’ll be working with a small community center in Williamsburg, and if you think you won’t have a ton of eyes on you the entire time, you are mistaken.”

* * *

The worst, or most interesting, part of the Predators and the Barons both having practice facilities and stadiums in New Jersey was that it was easy for us to run into each other. Players on both teams tended to gravitate to the same hot spots, restaurants, and neighborhoods. I’d opted for a condo in Brooklyn rather than spend my cash on some big-ass mansion in the Hamptons or Short Hills like a lot of the other guys (although the prices were probably on par), so I was closer to Mel Hawkins’s office and got there first.

I’d offered to meet on Simeon’s turf instead of my own to hammer out the details of our bullshit punishment. A decision I now regretted since Mel Hawkins was giving me that empty smile she was known for. Polite on the outside, but I could feel all the rays of her judgment. She was fun to look at, though. A gorgeous woman with dark brown skin, short hair, and big eyes that were skewering me to the uncomfortable leather chair. She probably hated my ass. Hard to blame her when I’d started shit with one of her stars. Also injured, but apparently it’d just been a sprain.

“Nice office,” I said.

She inclined her head so slightly it was barely a nod.

My mouth twisted to the side and said, “Really like the black on white on gray. Gives good insight about the inner workings of your soul.”

Casey sighed. Mel’s lips twitched.

I grinned winningly. No one could resist the ole Bravo dimples. I was a big hulking motherfucker with a competitive streak the size of the tristate area, but my little-boy smile had power. Historically, I’d been able to win over people who wanted to hate me. I convinced myself this streak would continue until Simeon strode into the room and pinned me with a look that I felt like a shot in the gut combined with a chill down my spine. Good God. It was hard to believe Simeon Boudreaux, the hype man with the rapid-fire way of speaking, New Orleans accent, and cheerful personality, could look that hateful.

“Good morning, Mel,” Simeon said, flashing his agent a warm smile. It didn’t wilt at all when he turned those mega volts on Casey. “How you doing, Mr. Rose?”

“Good, Simeon. Thanks.”

Simeon plopped down in the chair next to me without again glancing in my direction. I tried not to pay attention to him but couldn’t help a quick look at his arm. It was in a brace, but apparently, he’d be fine in a week. Good thing. I wouldn’t wish medical leave on anyone. Somehow in all my years of playing, I’d avoided major injury. And now I had to knock on some wood before someone put the mal de ojo on me.

“This is pretty odd, right?” Simeon slumped down, thighs spread, and lean body fully sprawled in the chair. “Two agents and two players don’t usually meet like this.”

“You’re right, but we’re all adults here, and we don’t need a precedent for a meeting,” Mel said. “Just like the two of you didn’t need a precedent for getting in a fistfight in the middle of the most-viewed preseason game in recent years.”

I groaned. “You sound like my mother.”

“Do you always compare women to your mother, or do you save that for moments of discomfort?”

Raising my hands in surrender, I said, “My bad.”

Simeon bit back a smirk. Maybe she got on his case too. Somehow I doubted he ever did anything worthy of a stern talking-to. Besides sucking dick in public. My gaze dropped to the full swell of his mouth before swinging away.

Casey was staring at me with a raised eyebrow. Christ.

“So is this the part where me and homeboy—”

“You can call me by my name.”

Ohh, someone was testy.

“Where me and Booty—”

Simeon gave me an ill side eye. “What the fuck?”

“Oh,” I said, giving him the cutest smile I could muster. “That’s what me and my boys call you. Y’know. Boudreaux . . . Booty . . . Sounds the same, right?”

“Sounds like y’all be talking about my ass.”