“Seriously, Fal? You can’t mean that. You know I value you as a friend as well as a personal assistant. I just think that with me taking on this new job, everything you were hired to do—and have been doing for all these years—isn’t applicable anymore. I don’t receive the level of fan mail I once did, and my calendar is pretty minimal since Brody and I have stepped back during the off-season. We’re all about relaxing, spending time with his mom, working at the Kings’ summer camp, and hanging out in our cabin upstate.”
As much as I wanted to argue with Dev and point out he was wrong, I couldn’t. My entire day during the off-season had been spent figuring out how to manage where Dev would be at any given moment, sorting his hundreds of fan emails and letters per week, and taking his phone calls and arranging publicity. Now, all that had dwindled to a minimum. Not because Dev wasn’t still beloved and popular, but he and Brody had decided to prioritize each other. Unsurprising, as they’d had to hide theirrelationship and pretend to be apart for so many years. They deserved their time together, open and free. Yet still…I argued my point.
“But maybe one day you’ll be in the spotlight again. You’re doing television appearances, and maybe you’ll want a book deal…”
Dev’s brows drew together. “Even if that’s true, it would all be years in the making. Nothing I’d expect you to wait for. C’mere.” He put an arm around my shoulders and steered me to a quieter corner. “What’s going on? I know you’ve had headhunters knocking at your door trying to hire you—multiple offers, in fact. I’ll give you the best reference. But talk to me. Is everything okay?” Big brother Dev had entered the chat, and my throat closed up. I could try and bullshit, but Dev was no fool.
“I guess I don’t like change.” My smile was weak. “And I’d hate to lose our friendship. Once I don’t see you, I figured we’d lose touch and…you know…” Cheeks flaming, I shrugged, unused to sharing emotions.
“So you’re gonna dump me?” Dev teased, but seeing I didn’t join him, his humorous expression faded and his brows knitted. “Wait, you’re serious? Fal, what the hell? We’ve known each other forever. You’re the kid brother I never had…” His face drooped, and his eyes grew shiny. “When Rory died, I tried to take his place, though I knew I could never—”
“Don’t. It’s…okay.” Looking him straight in the eye, I put a hand on his shoulder. “You were there for me. That’s what mattered. Still does.” I gave him a squeeze. “And it always will.” Big, tough, and a ferocious competitor on the field, the real Devlin Summers was a sweet, softhearted man.
“I’ve gotta go do the opening now, but we’ll talk later. I wouldn’t let you go to just anyone. You’re the best—more than someone who’s worked for me. You’re family. We’re alwaysgonna be in each other’s lives. And I might be on to someone for you. Someone who’ll need your expertise dealing with the messy life of a football player.”
I walked with him to the seating area, where his cohosts were getting ready. “A player? Who? From the Kings?”
“Dev? You ready?” JJ McClain, Hall of Fame running back, gave me a friendly but business-quick smile. “Hey, Fallon.”
“Hi. I’ll get out of your way.”
Dev took his chair and put on his mic. “Yes to all that. We’ll talk later.”
I moved out of camera range and stood to the rear of the media booth as the intros were made.
Shane Treadway, winner of three Super Bowls, Pro-Bowl MVP, and holder of numerous rushing records, began the show. It was my cue to leave. Much as I loved Dev and Brody, I wasn’t that into football. If I watched, it was to see the players in their tight uniforms.
“The Kings haven’t lost a game so far this season, Dev. How do you like their chances for the playoffs? Can they go all the way?”
“I believe so, Shane. It’s definitely a rebuilding year, but I was just informed this morning that the Kings have finalized a trade for superstar quarterback Patrick Sloane.”
At Dev’s words, I froze.What the fuck?
Instead of exiting the booth, I flattened against the wall, hoping no one would kick me out before I heard more of this monumental news.
“Whoa. That’s huge. Trick Sloane coming to the Kings? How’d they manage to hide that?”
I’d have liked to know that myself. Dev hadn’t mentioned anything, although to be fair, I didn’t pay much attention to the football news side of the job.
Dev chuckled. “You know that’s top secret. The Kings have perfected the art of pulling off stellar trades like this under the radar. Sloane will add some much-needed depth to the offensive line. Harte McKinney as backup is good, but he’s been injured and might be thinking of retirement soon.”
As they delved more into the Kings players, I slipped out of the booth and found a seat. Still processing the news, I rested my head in my hands, inhaling and exhaling, attempting to settle my racing heart.
Patrick “Trick” Sloane. Winner of multiple college records. Rose Bowl and national champion. Two-time MVP of the Pro-Bowl. One Super Bowl appearance. Model good looks.
My first lover.
“No,” I muttered. “Not my lover.” Could you call someone your lover when he’d never seen your face and didn’t know your name? I rubbed my hands together. Ten years later, and I could still feel his mouth on mine, his hands on my body, rough and demanding. I shivered from the memory of those blazing nights of passion.
During the car ride home, I tried to work, checking Dev’s email and messages, but aside from the usual rude, homophobic comments about his marriage to Brody and assorted dick pics, there was nothing requiring his time. After announcing their retirement and coming out, he and Brody had done the whirlwind magazine and television tours, but that had died down with the start of the season. Both of them were focused on this new career path, and after so many years spent with them, I could see how happy they were now that they were out and living as they were meant to be.
I made reminder notes to schedule Dev’s upcoming appointments and book his hotel room, cross-checking with Lizzie, Brody’s part-time PA.
Stuck in traffic and with nothing else to do, I googled Patrick Sloane. His face peered up at me, ten years older and more rugged, which only enhanced his good looks. I read his bio and winced. Married twice, no children, and the tabloids loved him—and he seemed to love them back, giving them ample material. His ex-wives were both underwear models. Both blond and extremely…healthy.
“You sure have a type, Trick,” I murmured. “Still love the blonds. Maybe that’s why you were so into me.” As I grew older, my platinum hair had darkened to more of a golden blond, and once I’d left the heat of California, I’d grown it out to slightly above my shoulders.
The traffic jam unsnarled, and we’d begun to move again. The Kings’ stadium was situated at the end of Brooklyn, near the Marine Parkway Bridge, and it was always a haul to the city. Forty-five minutes later and finally in my apartment, I could do more of a deep dive into Patrick, and the news was hopping with the trade. A gossip site had caught him in the airport the previous evening, and I replayed the tape of them following him. Fingers entwined with his latest girlfriend—another long-haired blond—Trick’s generous lips kicked up in a sexy, lazy smile.
