Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
It wasn’t uncommon for players, especially the young ones, to be uncomfortable at any kind of event. Chester half expected Garrett Stevens to be the same. To need his hand held and for Chester to keep the conversation going.
But Garrett wasn’t like that at all, and in the media snippets Chester had watched, Garrett was the same as he was now. He could catch a football and hold a conversation.
Not only that, but he also talked about more than football. That was the real revelation.
While Chester sat on one side of him, so he could step in as required, there were six other people at the table. Three other tables were full, all waiting to take a bite of Garrett.
If anyone noticed Garrett wasn’t actually drinking, no one said anything. The soda water had a slice of lime as if it was vodka, lime, and soda. That had been the only special request Garrett had made.
And one Chester was happy to fulfill, but he had questions, because every other time he hosted one of these dinners, the guys took advantage of the open bar. Even those that didn’t usually drink gin had a couple.
“Honestly, when I first started college over here, I had no idea what a freshman or sophomore, or any of that was. In Australia, it’s university, not college,” Garrett said as part of the ongoing conversation and the differences between Australia and America. It had begun with football but quickly moved onto other things.
“You don’t use feet and inches,” the businessman, who’d paid top dollar to be seated on Garrett’s other side, said.
Garrett shook his head and took a sip of his drink.
“How do you work out how far to kick?”
“A yard is a bit less than a meter. As for the actual distance, that’s just math and practice. You have to know where you want to go, know where you’re standing, calculate the distance, figure out how strong the wind is and which direction it’s coming from, and how much the opposition wants to flatten you.”
“And you do all of that in a few seconds?”
Again, Garrett shook his head. “No, I’m aware of the conditions the moment we step onto the field. Then, as I’m walking on, I’m paying attention to the wind, to the rain, if there is any. I’ve already done the math. What I am doing is visualizing where the ball is gonna land. I’m thinking about the catch and the kick. Of getting it away fast before it can be blocked.”
“And then you walk off in under two minutes. I hope all your plays aren’t over so fast,” Chester said with a grin, unable to resist making the comment.
Garrett blushed and once again he flicked Chester that look.
That look was the reason Chester had been bold enough to make the joke. Garrett had arrived fifteen minutes before the event was going to start. Dressed immaculately in a charcoal suit with the team white and gold tie, Garrett looked more like a businessman than a football player. However,Chester had seen the muscles the suit hid, and nothing could hide the extra six inches in height. Being around football players was the only time Chester felt short.
Chester had offered him a glass of gin before the event started and that was when they discussed the drink situation. He hadn’t pressed, but was also sure it wasn’t because it was mid-season. He made sure his staff knew what they were to make for Garrett, no matter the order unless it came from him.
Garrett had given him that smile with the dimples, and his gaze lingered a bit too long, as if he liked what he saw, which had encouraged Chester to hold his gaze a little longer than needed.
It was only then that Garrett’s smile had become a touch forced, the dimples had faded, and he’d looked away as if plotting an escape route.
It wasn’t as though Chester wanted to make Garrett uncomfortable, but he wanted that smile, and those dimples, directed at him instead of at a businessman who didn’t give a fuck. Tomorrow they’d mention how they had dinner with a rising star NFL player or something and write off the ten-thousand-dollar dinner as a tax deduction. For them, this was nothing but an ego stroke.
And while it was also a tax deduction for him, and a chance to network, it was also a charity that meant something to him. He’d been donating before he’d started these dinners. No kid should miss out because their parents didn’t have the money for the field trip, or the sports shoes, or for any activity that would enrich their life.
Garrett considered him for a heartbeat, and Chester swore there was a flicker of something in his blue eyes. His tongue flicked over his lower lip. “Well, don’t you know that’s why I can’t keep a girlfriend?”
The other men at the table laughed.
Chester lifted one eyebrow, as well as his glass, in acknowledgment of the quick retort. Well played, though I doubt that’s the reason you don’t have a girlfriend. The reason is the way you’re looking at me.
There were so many reasons why Chester shouldn’t be lighting these matches. Perhaps, he wanted to smell the smoke and the scent of the strike. He wanted to feel his fingers burn just a little.
He did not, however, want to burn down his restaurant, bar, and distillery, or Garrett’s football career—though one more mistake, and Garrett would do that all by himself.
The woman on the other side of the table leaned forward, flashing a touch too much cleavage. Margot enjoyed flirting with the players, but Chester doubted any of them had followed through. “What was your degree?”
“You’re all going to find it boring, and I’m sure it’s been written about.”
She smiled and gave her shoulders a wiggle.
It was pretty obvious Garrett wasn’t even looking at the cleavage. That was a mistake if he was trying to hide his sexuality.
Garrett leaned forward as if he was about to share a secret with her. It was only then his eyes dropped for a split second. “Accounting and management.”
Margot stared at him. “You really do like math.”
“I do.” Garrett sat back. “Plus, I wanted to keep an eye on where my money is going. I can’t play football forever.”
“So coming to the US to play football was a financial decision?” Chester should shut his mouth and let the business people run the conversation. He was only there to rescue and divert if needed. He was jumping in because he couldn’t resist. He wanted to bump his knee against Garrett’s to see what he’d do, or maybe not-so-accidentally brush the edge of his thigh.
The need to touch him and be sure burned through him. What was he thinking? He didn’t need matches. The fire was already lit.
“Yes and no. I love football.” Garrett's gaze flicked to Chester. He always looked at the person who he was talking to as he answered. He was good at this. “I’ve been playing since I could walk, and I thought I’d missed my chance. Then I heard about some other Aussies who’d come over, and I thought I’d give it a try. And here I am.”
And here he was, indeed.
A second chance to play football.
A second chance on a new team.
Which meant he was either really lucky or really reckless to screw up his first chance. Guys like Garrett, like these business people, they were the ones that got the second chances, and the third chances, and so on.
Men like him had to fight for the first chance, and they sure as hell weren’t going to fuck it up because there might never be a second chance.
The conversation drifted with Garrett answering questions about Australia and traveling and places he’d like to visit, before circling back to who the top teams were and who was going to make it to the Super Bowl.
Garrett danced with words, giving no proper answer as to who he thought would win the season.
“So, who has a better chance of reaching the play-offs: the Copperheads or the Troopers?” the man next to Margot asked. From his expression, he knew it was a loaded question.
“That’s a good question…” Garrett paused as if giving it thought. “Both teams have a lot of good players. I think the fight to the play-offs is going to be a hard one for anyone not already in the top eight, but then it always is because everyone wants their chance for a ring.” Garrett lifted his glass and drained what was left.
Honestly, when Chester reported back to Caitlin, he was going to give Garrett an A+ grade for the way he gave answers without giving anything away. He was the kind of player the Troopers needed to stick in front of a camera, or mic him up for a game. Friendly, cute, and he didn’t seem to ever stumble.
Chester wanted to see him trip… hopefully onto his lap.
Instead of pursuing a career in accounting, when his football career finished, Garrett should be in front of a camera. He should be interviewing or commentating or something.
The man opened his mouth as if to follow up.
Garrett turned to Chester. “So, you’ve got the restaurant, the bar and distillery all on the one premises?”
There was no codeword for ‘save me, I am so over this’. But that question might as well have been it.
“I started with a bar down the street before opening the distillery, and eventually added the restaurant.” He’d known what he wanted and had made a plan to get there before he turned thirty. Some of the men and women in attendance had been initial investors in the distillery and still received bottles of gin each month.
Some of them had been starting out in their own business, others were well established. His father had taught him several useful things, the first being everything about liquor. The second was the importance of connections and community, but his father did not approve of the way Chester made use of those lessons. By buying a bar and running a legal distillery, Chester had become ‘the man’ his father had railed about his entire life.
Like Garrett, he gave the answers people wanted to hear. How he had a burning ambition to leave his mark. No one cared about the why. They all assumed he was like them, and that he wanted to be rich, with the trophy wife and a yacht. He didn’t give a fuck about either of them.
Both were expensive and did nothing for him.
When they found out he was gay, they thought he wanted a winter home where he could walk out the door and go skiing. He didn’t want that either, but it was something they understood.
“I’ll give you a tour after if you’d like.” He meant it, if only to spend a few more minutes with Garrett, to assess him. To find out what was going on… or if anything could go on.
Garrett’s gaze flicked over him. He gave a small nod, but there was a wariness in his blue eyes as if he was aware he’d been made. And truthfully, if Chester hadn’t known the rumors about the head coach of the Copperheads, he wouldn’t have noticed the tells. Garrett played a tight game.
“Careful, he’ll sign you up for the gin club,” Margot said in a faux whisper, batting her eyelashes at him.
Chester smiled. “Stop it, Margot, or I’m going to have to give him a few more drinks before he’ll sign up.”
The table laughed, and Chester steered the conversation back to safer topics. “What is the skiing like in Australia? Do you even get snow?”
Then the conversation rolled on to people’s favorite places to ski and where they like to go on vacation. Chester barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes when they dropped the locations of their cottages in the south of France or Italy.
People do love talking about themselves.
They liked the attention as they preened. And Garrett gave it to them. He asked about the best resorts and where to stay and made it seem as if they were the special guest and he had paid to see them.
That was not the behavior of a media-trained football player.
That was the behavior of a man who was used to propping up someone else’s ego, so he wasn’t caught in the backlash. Which parent was the one Garrett spent his life placating?
But asking that question would mean revealing that he was far too interested, so Chester kept his mouth closed.