In reality, what I should have said was, Because the idea of him touching you makes me want to crack his skull open, but that sounded legit psychotic. And jealous.

Christ.

“Just tell me, Simeon.”

“Fine.” He lifted his chin. “I didn’t fuck him. But we did kiss.”

The half second of relief that had filled me drained away in the gutters that we were all hoping would keep the Center from flooding. They hadn’t had sex, but somehow this pinged me harder. It was worse.

I looked away, jaw clenching.

Simeon touched my chin, trying to make me face him, but I jerked out of his grip.

“Adrián,” he said softly. “All that shit that happened the other day . . . you know that was just fucking around, right?”

Wow. He was really going for it.

“You get that, right?” Simeon touched my face again, forcing me to look at him. His eyes narrowed. “It was just a game.”

My own words thrown back at me lodged in my chest and scraped at my typically impenetrable heart.

It made no sense.

I was the one who’d shoved him away first. The one who’d bounced after I’d had an orgasm so powerful I’d felt it in my balls for the entire drive home. He’d looked both decadent and completely wrecked, stretched out in front of me like an offering, and I’d turned away.

But him saying it to me sucked the air out of my lungs and the warmth from the rest of my body. It felt like a punishment. I couldn’t stop wondering if it’d hit him the same way, or if he hadn’t felt this chest-clenching sense of rejection at all.

“Yeah,” I said roughly. “I know.”

“Good.” Simeon clapped me on the shoulder. “Now fix your face so we can go talk to those reporters.”

Simeon

There were enough cameras outside of Grand Street Center for it to look like a movie set.

They weren’t anything new to me, nor were the reporters and hopeful autograph seekers lingering nearby, but them being set up outside the Center rubbed me the wrong way. It really did make this all look like a photo op when, in reality, I just cared about helping the staff. It hadn’t taken much to realize the place was understaffed and underfunded. The gratitude in Yaritza’s face had been enough of a reason for me to offer we help them prepare for the coming storm. But Mel, and then Casey, had jumped on the chance to add this narrative to the story of Bradreaux—our hybrid name assigned by the media—giving back.

“You’ve been here for four weeks now,” Stacey Conroe, my favorite MSNBC anchor, said while beaming up at us. “Are you starting to feel like part of the community?”

“It’d be hard not to,” I said with a smile. “The staff here are some of the most dedicated and hardworking people I’ve met since moving to New York. They took us in as if we were two of their own, gave us a quick rundown of what we could do, and expected a hundred and twenty percent just like they give every day. It’s been a real ride.”

“Ahh.” She turned to Adrián. “So no special treatment?”

There was an awkward pause as lights flashed blindingly around us. Adrián had his attitude tattooed on his face, and it showed no sign of being temporary. His lips were pursed and pushed out, big dark eyes focused on some distant point beyond the mess of people around us, and his hands were shoved in the pockets of his Predators hoodie.

Only when one of the paps called out to heckle him did Adrián’s gaze snap back to us. I had trouble controlling my body’s reactions to his anger, and I would never be sure what it meant about me that his fire-and-brimstone stare turned me on so much.

“No,” he said flatly. “They didn’t show us special treatment.”

Stacey smiled, undeterred, but she cocked her head in confusion. Usually he was entertaining in an interview, even if he was trash-talking. This new thing was reminiscent of Gavin Brawley.

“What made you decide to go above and beyond your coaching duties here?”

Adrián was already staring off into the distance again, so I picked up the slack.

“Unfortunately, Grand Street Center had their funding cut this year and they’re understaffed. With so much else to do, it was taking a long time to prepare and board up.. It was actually Bravo who started helping out first,” I said. “Just on his own, without asking, he stuck around last night to store the equipment. I jumped in, and despite the staff telling us they had it under control, it was the least we could do. After all, they took us in.” I couldn’t help a wry smile as I waved at the cameras. “Took all of this in.”

Stacey laughed. “Too right. But I’m sure they appreciate the efforts, especially given you both have experience preparing for a hurricane.”

Tags: Santino Hassell The Barons Romance
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