Down by Contact (The Barons 2)

Now, that was interesting.

“Dumb shit? Please tell me more, Mr. Perfect.”

“I never said I was perfect,” Simeon snapped.

“You don’t have to. Everyone paints quarterbacks as these amazing leaders, but in reality you’re all just boring as hell. It’s like a default setting. Although at least you managed to spice it up a bit by being a giant gay man.”

“Man, I never thought I’d meet someone who says dumber shit than me, but guess what? You are on your way to winning that award, you goober.”

“Heartbreaking.”

Pete cleared his throat in our general direction as an indication to get some of the food. I grabbed our salads and my chicken roll so we could tuck in.

“Whatever,” Simeon said. “Just try to be good around the kids and help me plan.”

We spent the next thirty minutes hashing out a rough lesson plan for the four hours we’d have with someone else’s unruly children. In reality, it was mostly Simeon coming up with stuff and me telling him if it sucked or not. He was so into it, like really wanting the kids to have fun and learn things, that I was starting to feel like an asshole.

As much as I wanted to hate him, there was something about Simeon that made me want to do a good job. I told myself I just wanted to show him up, but part of me also wanted to show him that I had it in me. There was something worthwhile beneath all this smartass trash talk. I could be just as good as him if I wanted.

Chapter Four

Simeon

The plan was simple—waste the entire first day on getting-to-know-you icebreaker shit and talking about teamwork and sportsmanship so we could make a real plan for the next day. How hard could it be? Kids loved shooting the shit, right?

Wrong.

“So, you’re gay, right?”

“Ohhhh,” the other kids said in a chorus. Thirteen-year-olds were a trip, and this sassy redhead was apparently going to be the ringleader. Or at least attempt to be one.

The kid’s name was Brayden, and I knew he was going to be a smart little cuss. He’d strolled in wearing skinny jeans and flip-flops—definitely not ready or willing to play football. I wondered who’d even put him in the program. Forcing sports on kids irritated me to no end.

“Yeah, I’m gay,” I said. “But it’s not an appropriate question.”

“Why not? It was on the news. We’re teenagers, you know. We do watch the news.”

“No, I don’t. The news is boring.”

Brayden gave the kid next to him, Jory, a dirty look. “So how do you know stuff?”

“I see it on Twitter.”

“Twitter!”

Brayden looked outraged. No one else seemed impressed. Delilah, a girl with long dark hair pulled back in a massive bun, sat up on her knees and pointed at me. She looked like a mini version of Yaritza.

“I think it’s cool that you’re gay. My moms were excited you’re coaching us.” She looked over at Adrián, who’d failed to introduce himself as he hunched over a notebook and scribbled. “Not so much him, to be honest.”

Damn, these kids were rude as fuck!

“Okay, let’s start over.” I ran a hand through my hair, scratching at the curls and likely making them poof out. “Do you all know each other?”

She gave me a condescending look. “I don’t even live in Williamsburg.”

“So where do you live?”

“Sunset Park. And Nicole lives in Red Hook,” she added, pointing to the girl next to her. “But we go to the same school.”

I didn’t get it. At all. Where I was from you went to the school in your damn neighborhood.

“You know what? Maybe it’s good you don’t know each other,” I said, trying for a grin and likely looking desperate as hell. “We’re all new to each other, so we all have to learn how to work together. We’re probably not going to see much time on the field today, but tomorrow—”

“How do you two work together?” Brayden asked shrewdly. “Aren’t you both suspended after starting a riot?”

Adrián’s head shot up. “Da fuck?”

“Bravo!” I barked. “Watch your mouth.”

He gave me that half sneer/half squint and jerked his chin at Brayden. “You can’t be having these kids spreading wrong info. That’s ridiculous. It wasn’t no goddamn riot—”

“Wow, son. You really have no self-control, do you?”

“It is not that serious. You think they don’t say worse?”

“He’s right,” Jory said, grinning. “Just not in front of my mom. She’d beat my ass.”

“Sounds like a CPS case,” Brayden said, smirking.

Delilah mean mugged him harder than Gavin Brawley at a press conference. “It is not that serious.”

I shot Adrián a glare. “See, man?”

He wasn’t paying attention and jerked a thumb at Brayden, who was still looking between me and Adrián with a smarmy grin. Who knew preteens could smarm that hard? Kid needed a medal.

“It wasn’t a riot. It was a little misunderstanding that got out of hand.”