Page 31 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

CHAPTER

THIRTY

Micah

Now

I hate celebrities.

Never mind the fact my best friend, his boyfriend, and my standing friends with benefits are all professional athletes. No, it seems my issue stands solely upon stunningly attractive non-binary actors who clearly have a thing for aforementioned FWB. Actors who are all heart eyes and eclectic jewelry and gorgeous, even in flowy shorts and a stylishly cropped Pink Floyd tee. All v-line and pierced navel.

Should I get my navel pierced?

There’s nothing like showing up to what you thought was going to be a laid-back volunteer day at the local animal shelter to support your FWB, his best friend, and your best friend, only to realize it’s actually a PR event for the pro athletes—namely one in particular, the FWB, whose agent also invited the famous actor who has the hots for him. Nothing like showing up in cinched camo cargo pants—to hide any stains the animals may make—and an oversized, dreadfully dull army green—to match the pants—button-up.

I’m debating turning around and biking back to my apartment to change into a cute plaid skirt and spaghetti tank when Tahegin pops up from the grass, an overactive puppy clutched to his chest as he waves like a maniac at me with a huge smile on his face.

“Micah,” he calls entirely too loudly. “You made it!” Of course, our happy-go-lucky friend is undeterred by the early morning, looking bright and spiffy in his Rubies T-shirt and sweats. Somehow, Hendrix—also on the ground, though with his legs crossed, shoulders hunched, and chin sleepily resting on his fist—manages to make the exact outfit seem as if he just rolled out of bed rather than put it on to rep the team at a PR event. The wrinkled fabric and messy mop of dirty-blond hair might have something to do with that.

Tahegin’s shout gets Zeke’s and Gael Knox’s attention, and they both look over from where they’re huddled on the side of the building together.

Shit. They’ve seen me. Too late to go home and change.

Coasting my bike to a nearby rack, I quickly secure it before attempting to tuck the hem of my shirt into the waistband of my cargo pants in the hopes of giving myself some type of figure to rival Gael’s.

Because for some fucking reason, seeing Gael’s otherworldly beauty so clearly flirting with Zeke is making me jealous.

What the fuck. I don’t do jealous. Zeke literally kisses a thousand people a year, and it never bothers me. Why is Gael’s harmless flirting bothering me so much?

I can’t help but compare myself to the movie star. Their exposed body is lean and in good shape from diet and exercise, smooth, flawless skin naturally sun-kissed, whereas my tan comes from artificial means. Their brown hair is cute like mine, shaggy, and at the perfect length of long for a man and short for a woman. And their face . . . free of makeup, they let their natural godliness shine through sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and a pointed chin. Oh, and blue eyes, of course. The exact opposite of my boring brown ones.

Narrowing my eyes in what probably comes across as a scowl, I scrutinize everything . Are their perfectly arched eyebrows threaded and stained? Are their dark lashes extensions and fillers? Have their full lips been injected to make them plushier? Are those real freckles or tattooed on?

Jesus, Micah. Get a grip.

I clear my throat, drag my glare from Gael, and give Tahegin my best smile. I know it’s a good one—I’ve paid a lot of money for invisible aligners and whiteners since I began selling my looks. “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m a little late. I thought we were meeting at eight.”

“We were supposed to,” Hendrix grumbles without opening his eyes or lifting his cheek from his hand. “But no, everyone wanted to get here early.” As he speaks, my feet automatically angle toward my best friend, completely bypassing Zeke, whose mouth opens and closes when I don’t acknowledge him directly.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask as I plop on the ground and offer both Hendrix and Tahegin hugs and air-kisses. The puppy in Gin’s arms wiggles to join in, so I carefully scoop it into a big embrace. “Oh, you are so cute . My goodness, thank you for the kisses! You’re a sweet boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are!”

Tahegin chuckles in tune with me as the puppy attacks my cheeks and neck with puppy-breath kisses and licks. It’s so contagious, even Hendrix peeks an eye open, his lips twitching upward on one side. “That’s Peanut Butter.”

“Please tell me there is a Jelly around here somewhere.”

“Yes, but this is not an adoption event,” Tahegin declares with finality, blue eyes steely as he pries the yellow Lab puppy from my grasp. Unconcerned by the change of hands, Peanut Butter sets about licking Gin’s bronze cheeks and nipping at the dark curls atop his head. “Everyone needs to be clear on this—” He addresses the four of us now. Hendrix blinks and straightens up to listen to his boyfriend, despite most likely already having heard Tahegin’s spiel as much as Zeke and I have. Gael drifts forward with a grace I immediately envy, Zeke trailing behind them. “There will be no adoptions today. We are simply encouraging the community to volunteer their time to help clean the shelter, bathe the animals, and spend time socializing them. Don’t push for it, but we are also accepting donations. Several local rescues are bringing some of their animals as well, and many have learned tricks during their time being fostered at these rescues, so they will be showing off their hard work. Hopefully, that will encourage donations—one hundred percent of which will go directly to keeping these rescues and the shelter on their feet. If anyone asks, Kiss, Rix, and I have all agreed to donate an equivalent amount to the shelter and rescues from what they earn here today.”

“I will do the same,” Gael adds with a genuine smile, stepping forward in the small circle we’ve formed—Rix, Gin, and I on the grass and Gael and Zeke standing—so that they’re basically center stage. The worst part is they don’t even seem to consciously notice. It’s as if they’re simply so used to the spotlight they automatically put themself in it.

I shouldn’t fault them for that, but damnit, I do. I hate how gorgeous they are, how close they already seem to be with Zeke, and how, with their addition to that circle-donate, I’m the only one not contributing.

Yeah, no. Fuck that. Momma didn’t raise no coward.

“Me too,” I blurt.

My words capture Gael’s attention, and they turn their head to face me. Between the flawless face and oddly detached inquisitive stare, it feels as if I’m being scrutinized by a celestial being. One that views someone as inconsequential as me, like an ant under their shoe. “Forgive me,” they somehow rasp in a honeyed voice. God, is everything about Gael just perfect? “I don’t believe I recognize you. Do you play football as well?”

“Do I look like I play football?” I retort without really considering how rude it sounds. Oh well.

Of course, like a knight in shining armor, Zeke jumps in to soften the blow to Gael’s lack of perception. “Micah is a graphic artist. He works at a local design office that is contracted with the NFL. Any of the drawn depictions of players you see during our games on TV were most likely done by him.”

Gael makes an “Oh” sound. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be unimpressed or uninterested, but it comes off as both.

“He’s super talented,” Zeke continues as if he can convince Gael of that fact right here and now. “Actually, he was chosen to represent his company at the NFL behind-the-scenes awards banquet. The one our agents are trying to set us up to attend.”

That’s news to me, and for the first time this morning, I lock eyes with Zeke. “You’re going to the banquet?”

“Do you make a lot of money as a graphic artist?”

“ Excuse me ?” My shocked gaze whips once more to the ridiculously attractive actor. Did they really just ask me that? Rude much?

Gael seems genuinely nonplussed by my response. “Hopefully, the donations will be in high numbers. I wasn’t aware a graphic artist makes enough to contribute an equivalent amount.”

With that statement, Zeke also seems to ponder my offer. Both he and Tahegin are looking at me with furrowed brows and confused expressions. Great. Now Gael has my friends questioning my means as well. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t know what I was in for. I’m not poor, not by a long shot, and just as I open my mouth to tell all three of them off for assuming —God, didn’t Zeke and I just have this conversation?—Hendrix jumps in.

Hendrix, who clearly hasn’t spilled my secret to his boyfriend, if Gin’s concern is any proof, and who usually doesn’t casually interject himself into conversation, leans forward to slap my back between my shoulder blades. Hard enough I get his silent message that I’m lucky he’s helping me out when he’d rather be at home asleep in a warm bed. “Trust fund babies, am I right?”

At that, Gael makes an “Mm” sound as if the idea of a generous trust fund is something they’re used to and familiar with. No other questions to be asked.

Tahegin eyes Hendrix as if it’s his fault he wasn’t aware I have a trust fund, and Zeke actually voices that aloud. “I didn’t know that.”

Probably because I’ve never mentioned it , I think to myself, because it’s small compared to his salary, and I had decided to save it for my future retirement. I most definitely will not be using it to pay these donations. Over the past few years, I’ve made more money at Mischief than I know what to do with, and I’m fantastic at budgeting, even giving myself enough to splurge comfortably while still putting plenty of money back. Not to mention, I have two full-time jobs. I am not hard-pressed for cash.

Resisting the urge to say something stupid like “there’s a lot you don’t know about me” in response to Zeke’s surprise, I stand and dust off my pants with an air of indifference. “It’s never come up, but if I’m going to do something with my money, it might as well go to those who need it.”

“That’s very admirable,” Gael chimes in. It doesn’t sound condescending in the least, and that makes me hate them even more. Zeke and Gael would be perfect for each other, probably. They certainly make a stunning picture standing side by side. And what had Zeke said? They’re going to the awards banquet together?

Zeke is still gazing at me as if I’ve kept a million secrets from him—little does he know I’m harboring an even bigger surprise than the comfortable trust fund sitting untouched in my name—when one of the shelter workers approaches us. It’s Rosa, a no-nonsense type of woman who demands we get started before it gets any later in the morning.

The plan is for Zeke to make a post featuring the shelter and the two other NFL players accompanying him today. I guess that includes Gael for publicity reasons now, too. It seems like Zeke’s agent is seriously considering portraying the two of them as an item to boost Zeke’s image.

As per Zeke’s usual, he takes a picture with everyone in attendance—kissing a grumpy Hendrix on the cheek, a smiling Tahegin on the corner of his mouth, Rosa elegantly on the back of her hand, the golden Lab puppy on the nose, and Gael right on the lips. I’ve been Zeke’s unofficial photographer for countless kisses, and never once have I felt jealous about anyone he’s locked lips with. Until today. Seeing him and Gael smooch, even as briefly as they do, has my stomach twisting in the worst kind of way. I’m ashamed to admit that I intentionally skew their picture. It’s still obviously Gael and Zeke, and any attempt to get a bad angle on Gael is impossible, but I still feel a little guilty as I return the phone to Zeke.

Taking it, Zeke turns right around and extends the device toward Gael. “Do you mind?”

“Oh. Sure.”

A large palm slides along my side, captures my waist, and spins me so that the front sign of the animal shelter is in view beside us. Then Zeke’s hands are on me, strong and confident and familiar, holding my waist, tugging my hips up and against him so that my back has to arch for our mouth to meet. His fingers are dangerously close to my ass, just barely grazing the top of my underwear through my pants, and his lips feel slippery as if Gael left some residue behind from their kiss. Frustrated by that, I bury my hands in Zeke’s hair, kissing him relentlessly until all I can taste is my strawberry gloss being shared between us.

It’s not the type of kiss he gives anyone else.

It’s the type of kiss that leaves us breathless after, lips tingling and swollen from use. The kind that has us staring at one another with our eyes saying everything we aren’t— hello , good morning , where have you been , I missed you , never kiss anyone the way you kiss me , please . The kind that has Zeke’s dark hair standing on end and mine falling out of the small bun at the back of my head, wisps of forest green fluttering in the corners of my vision.

Zeke captures a strand between his fingers. “The green is nice,” he compliments as he always does. I dye my hair so often that no one else even bothers to acknowledge it. Not Zeke. He mentions it every time, always with positive feedback. Though, he does have a tendency to ask— “But when are you going back to the light purple?”

“Lavender,” I correct for the hundredth time, seeing as how he asks all the time. I have no idea why he’s so obsessed with the color, but for some reason, he loves when I wear it that way. A few times, I’ve even let the lavender stay an extra week or so just because he likes it so much. “And it will have to wait until I lighten my hair again. I’ve told you, pink will come first.”

“Cotton candy pink,” he recalls. “I like that one, too.”

“Thank you.” My words are whispered as it seems like his mouth is moving closer to mine again. One hand still cups my waist while the other rests, hair forgotten, against my cheek. I still have my arms thrown over his neck, something I don’t usually do in public. At his place when we’re hooking up, sure, but not in the real world. Not when the kisses he gives me are supposed to be the same as he gives everyone else. Not when we aren’t in a relationship, we don’t do romance, and I don’t have any kind of claim on him.

Even if the hickey peeking out near his collarbone says otherwise.

Gael—of fucking course—chooses now to interrupt us. “I hope I got a good one,” they say from right beside us, a phone appearing in the tiny gap between our faces. “You two were kind of . . . smooshed.”

“It’s perfect,” Zeke responds immediately without even looking at the picture. I’d assume he is only saying that because Gael took the picture and he wants to make them feel good about their picture-taking skills—if his eyes weren’t still locked unwaveringly on mine. He’s staring at me , telling me that our kiss was perfect even if the shot was ruined. Not Gael. I take that victory to heart.

The rest of the day finds the celebrities swarmed by people who show up to meet them and offer support to the shelter. Some only offer monetary donations. Others stay to play with the dogs and cats or clean kennels. A few ask about adoption but are quickly told to return in a week if they still want a family pet. That’s something Tahegin was adamant about when Zeke’s agent suggested using the animal shelter as a press opportunity. Several years ago, the Rubies had an adoption event hosted at the shelter that led to nearly all the animals finding homes, but when Tahegin returned sometime after, he found that many of the pets had been returned due to the families not truly being prepared to take care of them. It seems they’d come to meet NFL players and had been pressured to adopt by their kids, loved ones, or guilt. After a few days or weeks, it became clear to them that they couldn’t handle the responsibility, and the poor animals had been returned to the shelter, homeless once again. Since then, Tahegin has volunteered behind the scenes, donating and cleaning and dedicating time to bettering the shelter without putting the animals at risk again. It took a lot of promises from everyone for Tahegin to agree to allow us to host this today.

Sometime later, while the more popular NFL players and movie stars find themselves surrounded by fans, Hendrix sidles up beside me sitting in my lonesome in the kitten nursery with a look of exasperation. This is my favorite room in the entire shelter. The times I come to volunteer with Zeke, this is where I spend most of my visit. There have been a lot of memories made in this room, though they’re mostly bittersweet now.

“I’m not planning to keep them, I swear,” I blurt.

My best friend raises his eyebrows in question before his gaze slips from my face to my chest, where several small kittens have been stuffed between my button-up and the black tank beneath it.

“They were cold!” I defend.

His resounding “Hmph” says he clearly doesn’t believe me.

Raising my chin and looking down my nose at him is hard, considering I’m sitting on the floor and he’s standing beside me, but I try my best. “I can’t adopt them anyway, remember? Tahegin’s rule was probably a good idea.” I pout down at the five kittens in my shirt, knowing I can’t possibly care for them. Between a full-time day job and full-time night job, and the fact I’ve never owned a pet before, adopting five kittens hasn’t been in the cards for me since before my first ever visit.

But look at their wittle faces!

“What are you doing in here?” I question when it doesn’t seem as if Hendrix has anything in particular to say.

“Lots of people,” he grumbles, and that’s that.

Hendrix isn’t the most social person, and he doesn’t like large crowds, so being surrounded by people wanting autographs and pictures is not his idea of a good time. Why he decided to become a professional athlete and fall in love with one of the NFL’s most popular players is beyond me. It definitely doesn’t help his situation, that’s for sure.

I know he’s here because he cares about the things Tahegin cares about, which is gaggingly adorable, so I imagine Gin won’t be upset if he disappears for a while to relax before braving the fans again. After all, Tahegin understands Rix’s peculiarities better than anyone, sometimes even myself.

Resting my chin on a sleeping tabby kitten’s head, I mumble to Hendrix as he sinks to the ground beside me, “So, Gael is . . . nice.”

“Mhm.” Man of few words, right here.

“And gorgeous.”

“Mm.”

“And Zeke seems to like them.”

“. . . Hm.”

“Should I get my belly button pierced?”

Mirth swims in Hendrix’s grey eyes as he begins to put the pieces together. “Huh.” He cocks his head, studying me like a new route in a playbook—or whatever football lingo they would use. “I see.”

“See what?” I snap more angrily than intended, and a few of the kittens yawn awake. They paw at me, so I reluctantly free them of my shirt to let them wander around the room once more.

“You’re jealous.”

“Don’t be absurd, Rix.”

“I take it you haven’t told him?”

I glare at him. “I assume you mean to ask if I’ve confessed to our friend and my hookup buddy that I sell my looks at night, baring my ass and spinning around a pole and air grinding on drunk guys for fun? That’s what you’re asking? And you think, what, he’d still be friends with me once I told him? That I’d be here at his publicity event to try and make him appear to be the responsible and supportive man we all know he is beneath the kisses? Right. Yeah. I told him, and he asked a stripper to join the party. Even said I might get some extra donations if I shake my ass for fans.”

“Hey,” Hendrix barks with more emotion than usual. Fingers grip my downturned chin and turn me to face his fierce expression. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” I spit venomously, trying to jerk out of his hold. He only latches on tighter.

“When you and Frankie talk about dancing at Mischief, you light up. You love it there—way more than in that stifling office with your asshole boss who doesn’t appreciate just how amazing your designs are because he can’t see past your ass. Every time you talk about dancing, you’re excited and happy. You have more self-confidence working there than you do when working for David, where you can’t even wear cute tops without him drooling on you. You feel comfortable at Mischief, not Neverending Designs. So what if you get paid to dance? You’re a damn good dancer, and you know it. That isn’t even a problem. You’re proud to work there. Proud that you’re one of the best dancers, making your own schedule, dancing on your own terms. And you know you look damn fine doing it.

“But when you add Kiss into the equation, you somehow make dancing at Mischief seem like a bad thing. You become this self-deprecating pile of broodiness that makes even me want to put a smile back on your face—and I’m the king of brooding. I’m your best friend, and I support your dancing. Do you seriously think Kiss—the man who is literally in love with you—would care? You’ve got it in your head that if he finds out you work at Mischief, he’ll suddenly be repulsed by you. Which is ridiculous, honestly. You don’t have a problem with him kissing everyone under the sun—well, unless it’s Gael, apparently—so why would he care that you do what you love?”

Damn. This is the most I’ve heard him speak at once in months, maybe years. “I?—”

“I’m not finished,” he continues. “For someone who says they love someone, you sure haven’t given him the benefit of the doubt, you know? Do you think you could fall in love with a man who could judge you for anything you do? You told me, even though you were scared and you thought I wouldn’t understand. You still told me. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. Don’t you think Kiss, who is in love with you, would accept or at least understand that you’re doing what makes you happy?

“I haven’t even told Tahegin. I’m not trying to guilt-trip you here, but keeping secrets from him isn’t something I particularly want or like to do. He would understand—I know he would—but I haven’t told him out of respect for you. It’s stupid, though. We would literally all support you if you would just let us.

“Anyway, I guess I just want to make sure you understand that you’re being a hypocrite. You preach about being unashamed of dancing, but you’re cowering in fear of telling the people who care most about you. Think about that, will you? Think about that next time I have to cover for you when someone questions where you get all your money, and my boyfriend is hurt because I’m lying to his face.”

My lower lip trembles at that. I don’t want to hurt anyone or their relationship, and it isn’t fair of me to ask Hendrix to keep something from his boyfriend. “I really do have a trust fund,” I blubber in a voice too high as the tears finally spill over. Hearing my usually reserved and man-of-few-words best friend basically tell me off for keeping secrets and acting like a total hypocrite sends me spiraling into sobs.

“I know you do,” Hendrix mutters as he sweeps me into a hug—something we never used to do before Tahegin came along. Somehow, Gin turned my grumpy, grumbly friend into a guy who, though still grumps and grumbles, hugs those close to him when they need it.

Then, Hendrix’s big hands begin scooping kittens and depositing them into my arms like some kind of magical gifts to end my crying. Not going to lie, I cry a little harder at the sweet gesture before slowly sobering.

“I’m scared, Rix,” I sniffle into his chest. “I don’t want to lose him.”

He rests his chin on my head. “I know, Mike. I know. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you will.”