“Excuse me?” he asked, then paused, clearly waiting for me to contextualize. “Tell me you’re not serious. What were you thinking?” he hissed.
“I wasthinkingI wanted to get off with a pretty lady, then I wanted to choke her daddy for being a pretentious ass,” I snapped back.
“Texas,” Spencer warned. “You’re asking him for a favor. Cool it.”
I exhaled and pressed my lips into a tight smile. “Sorry, I’m—”
“Lashing out. It’s okay. We all do it, especially when we’re stressed,” Hector said. He let me get away with far too much.
“I made a mistake—”
“Wemade a mistake,” Spencer corrected me. “And now Brayden needs to find a new team quick smart. The owner terminated his agreement. I warned him about legal repercussions when he accused us of raping his daughter, then said we’d see him in court, but fucked if I know whether we even have a leg to stand on.”
“Woah, what? He accused you of sexual assault? Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”
We did, and he listened, then sighed heavily. “Okay, I’ll get some legal advice. But you’re right, the priority needs to be finding you a new team. Except, Brayden…” He sighed again. I already knew what he was going to say. He only ever called meBrayden when he was delivering bad news. “The chances of that happening now, with the season almost upon us, are slim.”
“He’ll go anywhere,” Spencer said.
“What? No, I won’t. It needs to be somewhere we can be together. I’m not leaving you here or back in New York and moving to bum-fuck-ville.”
“That could be fun, though,” Spencer teased, his voice a deep rasp.
“Leave it with me for a few days, and I’ll put out some feelers. There are only a couple of teams who are far enough below the salary cap to be able to afford you and even fewer who need a strong wing. I can’t guarantee we’re going to find anyone, but I’ll do my best.”
That was all I could ask for. I’d put myself into this position, now I needed to wear the consequences. Hopefully he could work a miracle. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“We both do,” Spencer added.
***
One day turned into two, and I was going out of my mind. I was kicking myself for how self-destructive I’d been. Why the fuck hadn’t I grown up and not stuck my dick inside Mila? If I’d exercised one single iota of self-restraint, none of this would have happened. Spencer had warned me that it was a bad idea, but I’d insisted it would be fine. I was eating my words now.
My life was now following Spencer around like a puppy. I was looking at the positives. I got to go to the video shoot for his song, “Midnight Hour.” If I was in training, that wouldn’t have happened.
Spencer’s song was surging up the Billboard Top 100, and his record label wanted to keep the momentum going. They’d spentall night and part of today shooting the video in the Boston Public Library, the dimly lit corridors and long staircases perfect for a song about longing and running toward love.
The video was set to launch as soon as edits on it were complete. The label’s turnaround time was insane, but they were making bank on the song, and everyone wanted it to continue. Spencer’s career was taking off like a rocket at warp speed, and I couldn’t have been happier for him.
He’d put everything into making this his breakout success. I hadn’t had any doubts. I’d known the moment I’d heard him sing that first time. He was a crooner with a vocal range to make most men weep—and the bad boy vibe he had going on only helped his sex appeal.
I rarely saw him in anything other than jeans and boots—shirtless was his norm—and he preferred his jeans low cut. I never complained when I could see his deep V and, usually, the obvious lack of underwear.
During Boston winters, his beanie, scarf, gloves, and sweaters were all black. He wore his dark hair longer at the front, and the way it flopped in front of his face gave him a mussed-up, just-fell-out-of-bed vibe.
That sexed-up look contrasted with the perpetual scowl he wore, and he had men and women alike panting for a piece of him. I’d watched them go wild. Reporters were saying he had that classic bad-boy-rocker look, and they were right, except that my husband pulled off that sexy swagger even better than anyone I’d ever seen before.
The whole package was such a turn-on, but it’d been those abs that had attracted me to him in the first place. I’d offered to lick them. He told me to suck his dick. I had, then I’d ridden him all night, and we’d been inseparable ever since.
I may have uttered that line to Klein, but “Suck my dick” was Spencer’s signature answer to any question that was out ofline. When he spoke in his Australian accent and that smoky voice of his that was made for sex, his fans frothed. I’d done a deep dive down Reddit one day to prove to him just how much. There was more than one thread where men who thought of themselves as straight expressed both a desire and curiosity to get down on their knees and suck my husband off just because of the way he uttered that one short command. Needless to say, I’d encouraged them to try out their newfound curiosity in my own charming way, and a few had reported back with boyfriend updates.
Thoughts of Spencer were the only things keeping me sane for the moment. I was close to giving up on my prospects, but Spencer wouldn’t let me give up hope that Hector would come through. He did say it would take a few days, but I was getting antsy. I wanted to play. I needed it.
I jumped for my cell every time it vibrated. Random emails, social media tags, and calendar reminders to head to practice were the bane of my existence.
Staring at it and willing it to ring didn’t work either. I’d already done plenty of that too.
I stood in front of the refrigerator, looking for something to eat—there wasn’t anything different from five minutes ago—and sighed. I was bored.
