Illegal Contact (The Barons 1)

“Yes.”

“Then you better take it.”

“And you better stop trying to hump my assistant,” I said.

“Marcus already read me,” Simeon said, rolling his eyes. “All I have to say about that is if you don’t bang the kid by the time you finish your house arrest, I’m gonna do it. He’s fine and smart, and probably a slut in bed.”

I gritted my teeth. “I don’t care.”

Simeon winked and turned back to the game. My best friend, unable to keep his pants zipped long enough to stay out of trouble. This time, with me. But it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t as observant as Marcus who had somehow cottoned on to my growing attraction.

I looked down at my phone again, and tapped out a message.

Gavin: Times are hard so I’m making an exception. Can you come?

Max: Yup. As long as you have the cab ;) You’re a long way from Williamsburg.

Gavin: On it. i hope you plan on getting fucked all night.

Max: Wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Nine

Noah

“I’m not going.”

I rolled my eyes at my father. “You, the fanatical Barons fan, are refusing to go to fan day.”

“Do you know how expensive stadiums are?” he asked, trailing after me as I headed for the front door. It was the crack of dawn on a Monday morning, and he was far more bright-eyed than me. “And I’m not taking your money. I wish you’d stop with the handouts.”

“I’m your son. It’s not a handout.”

He shook his head. “When I get another job I’ll go to events. Right now I can’t afford to have fun. But you and Jasmine should have a good time.”

Frustration welled inside of me, but I swallowed it. For as long as I could remember, this stubborn pride had caused my father to reject help even when we needed it. It had always been my mother to compromise, or to sneak behind his back and accept help from family or a food pantry if we couldn’t make ends meet. I strongly believed it was part of the reason their relationship had deteriorated. It was hard to reconcile yourself with the fact that your husband, or father, was so ashamed of our lives that he’d refused help even when we’d really needed it.

“Fine. Be that way.” I paused at the door with my backpack slung over one shoulder. “Don’t forget, I’m staying in Long Island until Saturday night. I’m working Saturday instead of Wednesday so I can go to fan day.” I gave him another withering glare. “If you need anything—”

“Stop mothering me.” My dad leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his flannel shirt, and tattoos peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves. “Noah, are you sure you want to keep this job?”

The question caught me off guard. I’d been working for Gavin for over a month now, and this was the first time my father had shown outright skepticism about it. Although, maybe that wasn’t true. His unease had been palpable when he’d seen my first paycheck. After that, I’d asked for my pay to be—direct-deposited into my bank account. Other than my father’s disbelief and worry, it made me feel better than Gavin just . . . handing me a check. And I didn’t even want to analyze why that would bother me.

“I hated it at first, but I’m finally in a rhythm. I got to know Gavin a little better, and we get along now. We have things in common. Besides, it’s only for another few months.”

“A lot can happen in a few months,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t discourage you from doing something that’s going to earn you so much money, but this is Gavin Brawley. He’s violent.”

I sighed and let my backpack drop to the floor at my feet. “Dad—”

“Don’t you make that face at me, boy. Have you forgotten why he’s under house arrest?”

“No. He got in a fight with some guy at a club.”

“Have you seen the video?”

“Dad, please—”

He had his phone in my face before I could protest. A spike of irritation swelled inside of me, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk out when his brow was set in such a serious frown. Dad, the sports enthusiast, was genuinely concerned about me living with Gavin. It was only that thought that caused me to watch the video.

Someone who’d clearly been parked, or who’d been sitting in traffic, had captured the video from the point when Gavin’s Range Rover had nearly run the Nissan off the road. That alone made my stomach churn, but what happened next left me on edge. Gavin jumped out of the vehicle, and what I could see of his face was transformed by anger. Maybe it was because I’d never watched any of his games, but for all that I’d become accustomed to his intensity . . . what I saw daily had nothing on this. He looked like another person. Someone frightening.