Trout snorted.“Players trying to decide on the lines.In my day, that’d make you a healthy scratch.”
Ah yes, the three and a half years Trout had spent in the NHL as a bruiser for the Minnesota Fury.Ben had looked him up again before this informal meeting.His penalty minutes had easily tripled his scoring record.
“Well, we’ll see how they do on this trip,” Ben said.
“Hm.”Trout took another long sip of his whiskey.“So.Trouble with your bookie, eh?”
Thankfully, on the plane, Ben had invested five minutes thinking about his cover story while pretending to nap.“Mm,” he said.“Had a run of bad bets.NFL, of course, not—” He lowered his voice.“—our guys.”
“Of course,” Trout said with a wink.
“I just need a lucky break.One good bet, and I’m out of the red.Always comes around at some point.”
Trout nodded seriously.“What if I told you I could help you find a good bet?”
Ben sipped at his own drink.“I’d be all ears.”
“Good man.I can’t cut you in right away.Gotta talk to my guys first, but I’ll set something up when we’re back in the Bay Area.”
“Appreciate it.”
Trout surveyed him, looking slightly less bad-tempered than usual.A drop of whiskey clung to his mustache.“You know, I wasn’t sure about you when you started here.Thought you might be more Edward’s type, all wishy-washy.Glad you’re not.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Ben said.
The wine sat sour in his belly afterward.Investigative journalism sounded like a romantic, dangerous job, but on the whole, he’d found it to mostly involve a lot of interviews, a lot of patience, tight deadlines, and no stability.
There’d been only a handful of times when Ben needed to pretend to be someone he wasn’t.
Sure, one of those times had been a twenty-five-year stint as a devout, heterosexual Mormon, but he didn’t consider it as part of his skill set.
Progress was progress though.And the closer Ben got to finishing this job the better.Charlie had sent him a picture of his room, decked out with lights, new furniture, books, school supplies, and a goddamn desktop computer, accompanied by the caption,Phil took me shopping.
And Phil had sexted him.
Sort of.
Did it count as sexting if the sexter sent one question and a picture?
Ben knew he’d totally overdone it, overplayed his hand and revealed way too much about how badly he wanted Phil.Phil had to know it after the thing with the leg press and how Ben had kissed him, no holds barred and desperate, on three separate occasions now.But Phil had sent the first picture, a mouthwatering glimpse of his practically naked legs and the barest hint of a swell under the fabric of his shorts.Ben hadno ideawhat Phil was angling for.
What if Phil thought he could fuck his way into a contract renewal?
Ben discarded the thought as soon as he’d had it.Phil wasn’t mercenary, nor was he stupid.
Then Ben had to laugh at the idea that anyone would try to seduce him for personal gain.Especially Phil, who would only complicate his own life by pursuing this.Still, Ben needed to address the issue head-on, preferably by moving out as soon as possible.He could only resist temptation for so long.
Anyway, CPS had announced a mandated visit to establish whether Ben would be a suitable guardian next week.Ben highly doubted they would look kindly upon a prospective guardian in temporary living and working situations.
The thought made him ache.
He liked Phil’s big, empty house, and he liked the smile on Charlie’s face in the picture he’d sent of his newly personalized room.
In a black mood, Ben pressed the elevator button for the hotel floor occupied by the players.He’d timed it just right for the team’s eleven-thirty curfew, having parted ways with Trout half an hour ago.Trout had suggested a surprise early curfew to fuck with the team.He’d even offered to enforce it himself.Ben had turned him down on the grounds that he owed Trout a favor, but the truth was, he thought curfews for grown men were ridiculous.
Knocking on doors made Ben feel like a middle school teacher on a class trip.He had a list of rooms and a list of players, and the whole thing felt silly.What was he supposed to do if someone wasn’t in their room?Call their parents?
The standard punishment for a truant player would be a healthy scratch from the next game, a suitably middle-school punishment for a middle-school crime.Barred from PE for tardiness.He could not be asked to care.The elevator came to a stop on the right floor, and Ben walked out onto the plush red carpet with a sigh.
