The Endgame (Atlanta Lightning 1)

“What do you want for breakfast?” West went to the fridge.

“Lots of protein.” He opened his mouth, but I continued first. “Don’t say it!”

“You’re no fun.” He pretended to pout, and it was another reminder of how well I knew him. I’d anticipated the spunk joke before he’d had the chance to get it out.

“I have bacon and sausage.”

“Yes.”

He turned and cocked a brow at me. “Both?”

“I’m a growing boy!” Who shouldn’t eat that badly, but I refused to let myself stress about anything at all for the next twenty-four hours. “You’re a bad influence on me. I usually have a protein shake.” Unless it was a game day.

“No offense, but your breakfast usually sucks. We’ll make up for it today. You can afford one day of eating this way with me.” West took out both meats and eggs, then went to a basket to grab some potatoes. “Wash the potatoes, please, Bashful.”

God, it fucking killed me to hear him call me that. Made my damn legs feel weak, like I’d just spent hours training. “Bossy motherfucker.”

“I said please! Should I beg?” He waggled his eyebrows, and the thought was way too tempting.

“I’ll make you beg later.” I winked, and he playfully clutched his chest.

“I expect you to keep that promise.”

For twenty-four hours, I reminded myself. That was all we had.

I took the potatoes to the sink and began to wash them as West screwed around on his phone. A second later, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Californication” began playing softly. “Shut the fuck up. I love them.”

“No shit? They’re my favorite. When I was young, I used to jerk off to a poster of Anthony Kiedis. It was my goal to grow up and bone him.”

I chuckled while I finished my job. I hadn’t wanted to have sex with Anthony Kiedis, but both of us liking the band so much was another thing we had in common. It would be…fuck, it would be so easy for us in so many ways. If I were out, if I didn’t play football, if he wasn’t a senator who screwed every man he could…

“Anson,” he said, and my eyes found him. “Turn that damn brain of yours off, or next time I’ll suck you so good, it’ll turn to mush and you won’t be able to think.”

That didn’t sound like a threat to me. “Eh, I doubt you’re that good.”

He stepped up behind me, rubbed his cock against my ass, and licked the back of my neck. “Oh, gorgeous, you haven’t seen anything yet. When you walk out of here tomorrow, your world will never be the same.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

When I was done with the potatoes, we chopped them together and chatted. One RHCP song led to another and another, loud enough to hear but not to interrupt our conversation.

At one point, he walked away, and I felt something hit me. I turned around to see he’d thrown a chunk of potato at my head. I threw a piece of bell pepper at him in retaliation, but the bastard opened his mouth, moved his head, and caught it. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Not that I’ve found yet.”

“You’re the worst.” But he wasn’t at all. I liked West too much.

We cooked together like a strange sort of unit. It wasn’t something I’d ever experienced with someone I was sleeping with. I didn’t do the stay-overnight thing because I usually felt like shit after I fucked someone. I wondered how many men he’d had at his house, how many men he’d done this with. It seemed so natural for him.

We made potatoes O’Brien with peppers and onions, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs.

My plate was piled higher than his as we made our way to the table. “Do you have a treadmill?” I’d need to work the food off, and it wasn’t as if we could go for a jog together.

“Yeah, but really? That’s how you want to spend your time here?”

I shrugged. “I like working out. It’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Even before the NFL, I trained. It clears my head.”

He nodded. “Then you can have free rein on my treadmill, but I still think you’re weird.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” I countered, and he barked out a laugh. We were good at laughing together.

We ate breakfast and chatted. We talked about both his law degree and his degree in political science. While West was carefree and almost came off as irresponsible in some ways, he was also smart and worked hard. He apparently had an inheritance he’d gotten at eighteen and had hated the idea of using, but, “I don’t know… I wanted to prove my father wrong about me. That it didn’t matter if I was queer, if I was different from him in every way you can be—I could make something of myself and succeed. That money made it easier, and maybe this makes me a dick, but I figured he owed it to me. If he didn’t love me, I should at least get something from him.”