Illegal Contact (The Barons 1)

“You know I think Joe is a slimy son of a bitch, but he has a point. I know you, bruh. Even in college, you’d shut down once things got hectic. Or you’d let your stress build up until you flipped on the first person to look at you sideways. You got a lot going on with court check-ins, therapy, interviews, trainers . . .”

“Yeah, it’s a bit much for a dude who won’t even buy chairs for his dining room table.” Marcus peered at me over the top of his glass. “C’mon man. If you’re making your own life more difficult just to spite Joe, you’re being a fucking brat.”

My head was pounding from all the teeth grinding, but it was the only way I could keep myself from arguing. “I’ll think about it. But this guy?” I held up Noah’s picture. “He hates football.”

“Whaaat?” Marcus waved his hand. “Pssh, fuck all that.”

Simeon was still grinning. “You could put his mouth to better use. You’re hot enough to swerve a straight man’s sexuality, G. I remember all them boys in college. You done it before.”

Except, Noah probably wasn’t straight. Not if he only wanted to work at an LGBT center. His potential queerness had come up after the interview when Joe had made it clear he didn’t approve of a sexy gay man shacking up with me for six months. And just because Joe had tried to shut it down, I’d found myself launching into a pointless counterargument. Because despite all the condescending asshole talk about sports, the kid had had a point.

It was a better idea to hire someone like him instead of a starry-eyed fanboy.

Not that it mattered. Noah clearly hadn’t been serious about getting the job. Unless he always got that feisty when suits like Joe practically cringed at his sexuality.

I frowned and glanced at his picture again. Joe had been more asshole-ish than usual. In fact, I was starting to think he’d done it on purpose to dissuade the attractive gay dude from wanting the job. His behavior with the other boring-as-dry-toast candidates hadn’t been nearly as shitty. He’d mostly just looked at them with utter boredom and dropped a few condescending remarks about their eagerness to work with an athlete.

“We’d kill each other. He talks too much shit.”

“With a sweet, sweet mouth and the prettiest eyes in New York,” Simeon said.

They’d looked even prettier when angrily blazing at me. In fact, everything from his glare to the way Noah had thrown his shoulders back in defiance had been hot as hell. There had been a moment, as we’d stood facing each other, when I’d wondered how long it would take to fuck the insolence out of him. Nothing turned me on more than a person who wasn’t afraid to stand up to me. Even if the “just some sport” trash talk had slid under my skin like a million splinters.

“This conversation is dead to me. Find another way to entertain yourselves.”

Simeon frowned. The conversation was definitely not dead to him. Marcus, on the other hand, was already over it.

“I might have invited a few people over for a house arrest party.”

“Do I even want to know what that means?”

Marcus grinned. “I left it open to interpretation.”

Sounded awful even though getting laid would probably do wonders for my mood. As long as none of my former hookups showed up. I’d tried to do the regular fuck buddy thing a few times in the past, because vetting the trustworthiness of new people was too hard, and each attempt had crashed and burned. Everyone thought a few tumbles in bed would lead to an amazing romance and pictures of us cuddling on Instagram. Whether they wanted fame by association or were truly deluded enough to think they could tame me and get access to my bank account, I had no idea. But with football out of the equation, sex might have to become my new stress release.

“What time is this party starting?”

“They’ll be here in a couple of hours,” Marcus said. “Which means we need to stock this bad boy up with booze and snacks.”

I pointed to my ankle bracelet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No worries, boo.” Simeon bounded to his feet. “We got you covered.”

Several hours later, it became apparent that they did. Despite the mansion being cavernous and mostly unfurnished, the party was lit. Everyone from other athletes to singers to socialites came through. About half of them had interpreted a house-arrest party as a BDSM theme. There were enough fake handcuffs, straps, and buckles to stock a fetish store.

Simeon and Marcus didn’t drink much since they were about to go to training camp, but with no football in my immediate future, I let myself fall balls-deep into cup after cup of booze. And the drunker I got, the hornier I got. When a fitness model with a bubble butt and an inviting mouth tugged me into one of the many empty rooms, I didn’t resist. I just made sure to take the dude’s phone first.