Chapter 11
Eleven
Crush
Spencer
I’m a liar.
A lying liar who lies.
I glare at the gym bag sitting in the chair across from my desk like it’s somehow responsible for my behavior.
Six months.
That’s right. Six entire months I’ve been gym buddies with Ryan fucking Buterbaugh.
The man is so relentless it borders on obstinate. He showed up exactly as promised two days after our first workout. And yes, my stupid gym bag had been sitting right here in that exact chair, ready to go.
He kept showing up.
And I kept going.
I sigh and rub a hand over my chest, feeling the firm line of muscle under my dress shirt. Okay, fine—working out with a professional athlete has its perks. Sue me.
My lower body has always been naturally strong. Pair that with years of gymnast discipline, it became my best physical feature. But Ryan’s routines have made it thicker. Denser. My quads strain against most of my slacks now.
But the real noticeable difference is in my upper body. I never focused on it before. Never needed to. Ryan has opinions about that. Lots of them.
My shoulders are broader. My chest fuller.
My arms… well. I glance down at my sleeve and flex unconsciously, watching the fabric tighten around my bicep. I’m going to have to buy new shirts soon.
Not mad about that either.
I swivel in my chair and stare out the wall of windows overlooking downtown Phoenix. Still, I broke my rule. I’m hanging out with a straight guy I’m undeniably attracted to.
Nothing’s happened. Nothing will happen. I won’t let it.
That doesn’t seem to dissuade him, though. The little fucker flirts relentlessly. He’s gotten way too comfortable touching me every chance he gets.
Squeezing my biceps. Slapping my ass after a heavy set on the bench press. Clapping a hand on the back of my neck while leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath when he says something outrageously inappropriate.
Every other sentence out of his mouth is a sexual innuendo.
I have never met anyone who can turn any topic dirty.
Mergers. Protein shakes. Ride shares. Doesn’t matter.
Ryan can make it sound obscene. Once, I was telling him about a paralegal that could never manage to get to the point in a time manner.
Ryan’s response? “So, he’s a real clocksucker? ”
It’s killing me. But it’s all surface, I’m sure. He doesn’t press harder. Doesn’t make a move. And I sure as fuck will not make one. Rules. Hard lines. He’d make that sound dirty too, the little shit.
I sigh and spin back toward my desk. I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy his company. He makes me laugh on occasion—and that is not easily accomplished. I just need to keep him at arm’s length.
I still don’t know what the deal is with his sexuality, and I’m not asking. That would be opening the door. I haven’t asked. He hasn’t offered. Not like there’s been opportunity for it to come up anyway. We don’t hang out outside the gym. He keeps asking and I keep shutting him down.
Do I enjoy spending time with him? Sure. Do I want to see him naked? Absofuckinglutely yes. Would I love sinking balls deep into that fine ass? Obviously.
Look, I might have a tiny sexual crush on Ryan. Most red-blooded gay men would. I’m not immune to how painfully hot he is, but this is just a physical crush. Let’s not make too much of this, people. It’s not like I sit here pining.
None of that matters anyway.
I’m not going to let it get physical.
My thoughts derail when my office door suddenly flies open. I expect to see a tall, broad-shouldered quarterback leaning casually against the frame with those stupid dimples.
Instead, Jen storms in with her usual chaos, practically slamming the door behind her. “Got a minute?” she says, pointedly. “We need to talk about something.”
I knit my brows together, a little concerned.
Jen drags out the chair beside the one holding my gym bag and plops down. “It’s nothing bad,” she says quickly, waving her hand in the air. Then she notices the bag, and her grin turns positively devious. “Got a playdate tonight?”
I sigh. “Shut it, Clark.” Her grin widens. “What did you need to talk about?” I ask.
She leans forward, elbows on my desk. “We’re quitting our jobs.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, okay.”
Jen furrows her brow. “I’m serious, Spence.”
Deciding to indulge her momentary psychotic break, I gesture toward her. “Well. Go on then.”
She leans back in the chair, crosses her legs, and pulls out her phone. “In a minute.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just waiting for—”
There’s a knock on my door and it flies open again. Dita stands there, perfectly composed as always. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Before I can ask who, Jen turns toward the door and says casually, “Send him in.”
I blink. “What are you up to?” But Dita has already stepped aside. And the identity of the man who walks into my office clarifies absolutely nothing about this situation.
Chance Sullivan. Anthony’s stupidly hot boyfriend.
Tall. Thick, jet-black hair brushed back from a strikingly handsome face. Broad shoulders under a tight black tee that shows off his full sleeve tattoos.
I hung out with him, Anthony and Jen once since he got back into town—and into Anthony’s pants. It’s not hard to see why Anthony caved. Aside from his looks, Chance has the kind of effortless presence that fills a room the moment he walks into it. The question is: Why did he walk into this room?
“Chance!” Jen launches out of her chair and throws her arms around him.
He laughs warmly and hugs her back. “Hey, Jen.”
I stand, still trying to catch up with what exactly is going on here.
Chance nods at me with an easy smile. “Spence.”
“Hey Chance.” I step around my desk and shake his hand. “Good to see you.”
Behind him, Dita is still standing in the doorway, eyes wide. She mouths WOW and bites her lip before quietly pulling the door closed.
Through the glass wall of my office, I see Parker—my perpetually lollipop-wielding intern—hovering beside Dita’s desk.
Now both of them are staring through the glass like they’re watching wildlife in its natural habitat.
I grumble under my breath, walk back around to my side of the desk and open the top drawer, pulling out a small black remote.
I make my way back to where Jen and Chance are standing and—
Click.
The automatic blinds begin sliding down over the glass walls. Outside, Dita and Parker both lean sideways, their heads tilting in sync with the closing blinds before their line of sight is blocked completely.
I huff a laugh because I can’t really blame them. When the blinds finish lowering, I look back at the two people standing in front of my desk. Jen is practically vibrating. Chance looks amused. And I have absolutely no idea what is happening.
“So,” I say slowly. My eyes bounce from Jen to Chance and back again. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m about to be dragged into something against my will?”
Jen beams. “Oh, you definitely are.”
“Clark…” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
She plants one hand on my desk. “Remember when I said we’re quitting our jobs?”
“Yes,” I say dryly. “That was only two minutes ago.”
She gestures dramatically at Chance. “Well,” she grins, “Anthony and Chance are starting an agency.”
I look to Chance and he nods affirmatively. “Okay,” I say carefully. “What does that have to do with me? Do you need representation?”
“No. Well, yes.” Jen waves her hand between us. “But we’re going with them.”
I stare at her. “What? No. What are you—”
“Unclench, Spencer,” Jen snips, rolling her eyes. “Hear us out first.”
“Fine,” I grumble, leaning the back of my thighs against my desk and folding my arms. Then I check my watch, because in about fifteen minutes Ryan will almost certainly be barreling into this office looking for me. Which means whatever insane pitch Jen is about to make needs to happen fast.
“Alright,” I say, gaze shifting between them. “Take a seat. You have five minutes.” Chance settles into the chair across from my desk and Jen sits beside him looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Once I’m seated, Chance folds his hands loosely and says, “Thank you for meeting with me, Spence.”
“Didn’t really have a choice,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at Jen. She rolls her eyes dismissively.
Chance chuckles softly. “Well, I appreciate you taking the time anyway.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him, leaning back in my chair. “What’s this all about?”
Chance leans forward slightly, his expression shifting from friendly to serious. “This is strictly confidential.”
I raise a brow, but nod. “Alright.”
He glances briefly at Jen before continuing. “My exhibit opening is coming up.”
I tilt my head. “Exhibit?”
“Yeah. My paintings are getting a show. The gallery I work for put it all together.”
That’s actually impressive. I knew he worked at Muse gallery. I didn’t know about the paintings, though. Why would I? I don’t get close enough to people to learn the intimate details of their life.
Chance continues before I can comment. “The show itself isn’t really the point,” he says. “I’m using the night to reveal something I’ve been working on for the past couple months.”
He rests his forearms on his knees. “I’ve been working with Anthony’s current boss and several professional athletes to help make his dream of opening his own sports talent management agency a reality.”
“Well,” I say slowly, “that’s… wow. That’s quite the gesture.” My gaze flicks to Jen. “I’m still confused what the ask is here.”
“Well,” he says, smile widening, “there’s more.” He leans back in the chair now, relaxing slightly. “We’re simultaneously launching a non-profit organization to support at-risk queer youth.”
Now he has my attention.
Chance continues.
“The plan is to build a youth center physically—and financially—attached to the agency. The agency will funnel a percentage of all athlete contracts directly into the organization.”
Chance smiles slyly knowing he has my interest now. “The athletes themselves will dedicate time and resources throughout the year for fundraising, mentorship programs, and community work.”
I lean forward without realizing it, elbows landing on my desk. “That’s… honestly an incredible concept.” My mind is already racing through logistics. Funding. Structure. Legal protections. I tilt my head slightly. “Tell me what you need.”
Chance smiles brightly. “In short, the agency will need lead counsel for athlete contracts and business protections.”
“That’s me.” Jen says with a duh tone.
“The youth center will need an attorney on hand as well,” he continues. “But it will also need a Director.”
He gestures lightly between Jen and me. “This is Anthony’s passion. But his time will be limited running the agency. After speaking with Jen, I understand you also have strong feelings about the lack of resources for queer youth.”
My pulse kicks and Jen smiles warmly at me.
“Both operations are fully funded for the first two years,” Chance continues. “We can match your current annual income. The agency will also provide additional revenue streams through contract work and overflow.”
He pauses and hits me with a sincere gaze. “We’d really like you to join us, Spence. We need you to run the non-profit.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It’s like something I didn’t know I wanted to do just landed in my lap. And something inside me is screaming Yes! Do it!
I was only bouncing around on these streets for six months before getting into ASU and securing enough in student loans for on campus housing. But I quickly learned how limited resources are. I met a lot of queer youth far worse off than I was.
Now that I have the means, I donate generously to the resources that do exist. I make sure Tyler is taken care of. But sitting here now, I realize it’s not enough. These young people need a leg up. I’d rather help them than to spend my time and talent making the super-rich even richer.
Realizing they’re both staring at me, waiting for me to say something, I clasp my hands in front of my chin, and finally respond. “I trust you, Jen. I know you wouldn’t bring this to me if you hadn’t already vetted it.”
Jen smirks. “I am very trustworthy.”
“Also,” I continue, “you know how I feel about the lack of resources for queer youth.” My chest squeezes slightly as old memories continue to flicker at the edges of my mind.
“I probably would’ve considered this with a pay cut,” I admit. “So, getting to make a difference while earning the same money I currently do to keep wealthy people wealthy…”
I shrug.
“…it’s not something I can shoot down immediately.”
Jen lets out a tiny squeak of excitement.
“But” I hold up my hand, “I will, of course, need to review the agreement, company structure, funding, liability—well, you know the drill, I’m sure.”
Chance smiles warmly. “Jen can forward everything to you.” Then he reaches forward, and taps two knuckles lightly against my desk. “Thank you, Spence,” he says as he stands. “Ant speaks highly of you. I know he’d be proud to have you leading that project. I hope you decide to join us.”
Something in my chest warms at that.
Then Chance adds, “Just remember—this is top secret until the night of the exhibit.”
I nod. “Understood.”
Jen springs to her feet beside him, looking like she might vibrate out of her own skin. I move around my desk to extend my hand toward Chance, but before he can shake it, my office door opens. Ryan Buterbaugh walks in.
Fucking hell.
My brain scrambles and my dick twitches.
He’s wearing white compression tights showing off his sizable bulge, a mint green skin-tight performance shirt he knows damn well brings out his eyes, and a fucking backward baseball cap.
The overgrown menace does this shit on purpose. Three of his five dimples are on full display, and his gym bag is slung over one shoulder. Ryan stops mid-step when he sees the room. His eyes flick from me, to Jen, to Chance.
Chance turns and his face lights up. “Oh,” he says easily. “Here’s the first athlete to sign with the agency…” Ryan grins as Chance gestures toward him. “…and the primary donor for the youth center.”
I freeze as Ryan’s grin grows and I stand there completely speechless.
Fuck me sideways.
What did I just do?