Chapter 15 #2
“Two countries. But I’m not interested either.
” Not at all. But I shouldn’t make things too serious.
I tried to lighten the mood. “I’d much rather save it for you than be on Grindr in some city, trying to decide if a stranger is lying about his abs or will sell me to the press.
This here is safe, convenient, and fun for both of us, right? ”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” He tilted his head. “Speaking of fun, you’re wearing a lot of clothes.”
“So are you.”
“There’s a fix for that.” He grabbed his sweatshirt and hauled it over his head, then shoved his pants down, leaving him in socks and bright-blue boxer-briefs that hugged his thighs. With two quick tugs, he pulled off the socks and tossed them on a chair.
I was probably drooling. But seriously, why would I even think about Grindr when I had Zeke Evans on tap.
“Your turn.” He waved at me. “Move it. There’s still lots of vacuuming to do before Jos gets home.”
“Hah. When I’m done with you, you won’t even remember what a vacuum is.”
By the time I’d blown his dick and his mind, and he’d returned the favour with strong, lube-slicked hands, we ended up sprawled on the bed, both sweaty and breathing hard.
I rolled to face him and kissed his shoulder.
“Hell, yeah. I should go away more often if you’re this hot for me when I get back. ”
“I do like having you around.”
That reminded me about the rent question.
I couldn’t exactly ask him with my dick hanging out, like some rent boy wondering what the charge would be.
Or whatever. That wasn’t quite right, but it did feel squicky to talk money in bed.
So I waited till we were cleaned up and dressed to ask, “Hey, I’ve been here almost two weeks.
I don’t want you to think I’m a freeloader. Can I pay you some kind of rent?”
“I thought you were paying your grandfather?”
“Well, I was. I am. But I’m eating your food and sleeping in your bed.” I paused. “I mean, not your bed. A bed you own.”
Zeke shrugged. “I inherited the house. It doesn’t cost me much more if there are two people in it or three. But if you want to chip in for utilities and food, I won’t say no.”
“Yeah. Okay. That would be good.”
“I don’t want to take away money your grandfather needs, though. And really, if you weren’t here, I’d be paying Isabelle. At ten bucks an hour, that’s over a hundred each shift. Wouldn’t take long to add up to rent.”
“Who’s Isabelle?”
“Oh, crap, yeah. You haven’t met her. A college kid Olivia knows. She covered that shift while you were flying to Pasadena. Nice girl. I think Jos has a bit of a crush.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t tease him,” Zeke said quickly.
“I wouldn’t.” I was hurt that Zeke thought I might. “That kid has very few good things going in his life right now. I’m not going to crap on a harmless crush.”
He reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good man.”
Hearing him say it fed some empty place inside me, but I just shrugged. “Tell that to my coach. He reamed me up and down for that penalty in Pasadena.”
“The one where you tripped the Python left wing? They didn’t score on the power play.”
I pointed at him. “You see? That’s what I told Coach, but he got all growly about it.” Then I realized, “Hey, you watched my game?”
“Not live, but I might’ve streamed it, yeah. Congrats on the win.”
“Thank you.” My stomach growled loud enough to wake the dead.
Zeke laughed. “That sounds like a hockey player who didn’t have lunch.”
“Well, I just had a high-protein snack.” I smirked at him. “But yeah, I could eat.”
“Come on. Let’s find some food.”
“I brought sandwiches. I think I dropped them in the living room when you tabled me.”
“You mean, when you snuck up on me and sucker-kissed me.”
“Yeah, that.” I led the way down the stairs.
We were sitting around the remnants of our lunch, talking about stupid stuff like whether cats were smarter than dogs, when we heard the door open as Jos came in. There were a couple of thumps, probably shoes and backpack, and then he wandered into the kitchen.
“Hey, got any food?”
I tossed him an extra bag of chips from our lunch. I’d bought several, but they weren’t really in my nutrition plan. “Have these.”
He ripped open the bag. “Thanks. You’re back.”
“I’m back with something fun. Remember how today is the opener for Spinning the World? Well, I got tickets.”
Jos choked on a mouthful of chips. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Interested?”
“Yeah! The guys’ll be jealous. Hey, can I bring a friend?”
“Sorry, I only have three tickets.”
“Three?” He looked back and forth between us. “You guys are coming with me?”
Zeke’s lips twitched. “More like you’re coming with us.”
“Uh, like, can I have my own ticket. In case anyone’s there?”
“You too cool to be seen with us?”
Jos shrugged a shoulder. “No one says cool anymore.”
“You still want to come, though?”
“Bet. But can I hold my ticket?”
I said, “Sure, I suppose. Are you going to walk ten feet in front of us and pretend we don’t exist?
” When he threw me a look, I said, “Hey, I was raised by my grandfather. I loved him, even at my worst, but he wore sweater-vests and these high-waisted pants from the eighties. Between age eleven and fourteen, I thought I’d die if my friends saw me out in public with him. ”
“I’m not going to die,” Jos said with heavy sarcasm.
I laughed, pulled out my wallet, and handed him one ticket. I debated saying “Don’t lose it,” just to make him fume. But we had kind of a truce, so I didn’t. “We need to head out in…” I glanced at the microwave. “Holy shit, twenty minutes.” Time had flown by, sitting there with Zeke.
“I’ll clear the table,” Zeke said. “You two go get ready. Callum, you’ll want to fix your hair.”
I grinned at him and beat Jos up the stairs to the bathroom.
The movie went great. Decent acting, excellent special effects, way-too-pricey popcorn that Zeke sprang for, and Jos liked the story enough to actually hang back with us afterwards and talk about the plot as we left the theatre.
Zeke’s truck had gotten parked in tight, but he had me and Jos watch his bumpers, and he rocked it out of the cramped spot way more efficiently than I could’ve.
I was starting to think I had a competence kink, because that got me hot. Or maybe just a Zeke kink.
When we got home, Jos muttered something that might’ve been thanks, and bounded up the stairs to his room. Before I could ask Zeke what he wanted to do now, my phone rang.
Unknown number. I let it go to voicemail.
Then it rang again. Same number. And then a third time. What if it’s a hospital? What if something happened to Grandpa? He was supposed to be at the store, but if he’d worked a solo shift, there might not be anyone who knew to call me.
I answered, “Yeah? Who’s this?”
“If you hang up, you’ll regret it,” a male voice said. “This is Mr. Smith. You will speak with me privately.”
“What the hell?” I pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at it.
“Problem?” Zeke asked.
I shook my head, not actually sure. “Give me a second.” I glanced around, then jogged down to the basement. Standing in the dimness in front of the washer and dryer, I snarled into the phone, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Money, Fitzpatrick. Mine and yours.”
“And my uncle’s?”
“Your uncle does as he’s told. And so will you.”
“I don’t listen to threats.”
“Oh, excuse me then. You won’t care if you get tossed off your team and blacklisted, eh?”
“Why would they?” I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Taking bribes. Throwing games.”
“Fuck you! I never.”
“Uh-huh. Then explain the two-thousand-dollar deposit in your account, after you let in a couple of easy goals and lost the game for your team last week.”
“The what?” Sweat broke out on my forehead. “I never deposited anything.”
“And yet, there it is. Sitting in your account. What do you think your team will do if a little bird happens to mention that fact?”
“They’ll believe me. I’m the best goalie they’ve had in ten years.” But would they? What if that extra two thousand in my account wasn’t Grandpa holding my cheque. My stomach clenched and acid bit the back of my throat. “I win games all the time. I have the second-best goals-against in the league.”
“And yet, sometimes you lose. One soft goal here or there, and the whole team goes down.” Mr. Smith chuckled. “Now imagine if a man knew in advance when that was going to happen. A man like that, who knew how to take bets on a team, might make some real money. And be appropriately grateful.”
“Are you asking me to throw games? For money?” I wished I could record this, have evidence, but I had no idea how to do that. I could put it on speaker and run up to Zeke, but he was a cop. What if he insisted on reporting this? Even a whiff of cheating could be the death knell to my career.
“Of course, for money. Not even very many games. I’m not a greedy man, and I do want you to move up to the NAPH. The betting’s much richer up there.”
“Do people even bet on the PHL?” I was still scrambling, my brain racing.
“Of course they do, son, or I wouldn’t be talking to you.”
“I am not your son!” I swiped the empty laundry basked off the dryer and it hit the floor. I wished I could hit Smith’s smarmy face. “No, not a chance, no way. I’m not letting in one extra goal. Not for all the money in the world.”
“And not for your grandfather?”
“What?”
“Callum, think.” I hated my name in this guy’s mouth almost as much as son. “Your uncle owes me money. He offered me a deal, access to you, and the tools to make you cooperate. If the money in your account isn’t enough incentive—”
“I’ll give it back!” I insisted. The money must be real, the way he was talking, but surely, you could reject a deposit into your own account. Even find out where the money came from, right? “Just fuck off and leave me alone.”