Chapter 7
Amir
Bastard. That goddamn bastard.
I couldn’t believe I’d been putting so much blame on myself, trying to find a way to absolve him. No, he didn’t force me to sleep with him. He didn’t out me to the press or anything of the sort. But he was playing into it, and that was unforgivable.
Clara fucking Kessler. She was the epitome of dirty journalism.
She’d spent a godawful amount of time hunting for dirt on McKinney when he first joined the big leagues.
Since he’d always been out and proud, and he had an online following, there’d been attention on him from the start.
She, like the worm that she was, wanted to knock him off of his pedestal.
After the World Series, she’d been investigating Trav again, to steal the limelight from him and find a way to cover him in mud.
I thought it was a way to get back at him for not being a piece of shit and giving her no good articles when she was after him the first time.
Too bad for her, the guy was as pure as the sun.
Trav’s theory was that she’d been watching us while he was in New Haven.
No doubt she wanted to find a way to spin a story about us sneaking around together.
Considering his public relationship with Roman and the good press he’d gotten, she’d be more than interested in taking it away.
Instead, she stumbled upon me at my weakest point. And she’d exploited it.
According to my PR guy, Renshu, Clara was on the move. And where was she headed? He’d made me guess. I’d wanted to give Remi the benefit of the doubt, but clearly, that was a mistake.
But of course he’d capitalize on it. I didn’t know much about him, but he’d told me some things. The idea of making offers from the heart had been laughable to him. If I were to hazard a guess, he did what was best for him. Nothing less, nothing more.
Get it under control, Shawn had said. We don’t need this kind of heat on us right now.
It was my job to do something about it. Renshu told me not to be rash, so I was going to start with words.
That was always the best place, and if it didn’t work, well, back to the drawing board.
I would’ve preferred to ignore it until it went away, but there was too much risk now that Remi was going to talk to that witch. God only knew what he’d say.
I’d called ahead, but he wouldn’t answer the phone. He might be more agreeable face-to-face anyway.
Wanting to avoid being spotted, I pulled around to the back. After I put my hood up and my glasses on, I stepped out of the car. There was an entrance next to the dumpster, and I tried to ignore the offensive smell as I pounded on the door.
“Come on,” I growled as I continued to bang my fist. I didn’t want to attract attention, but I’d run out of options.
Finally, the door cracked. Remi was dressed in a pair of black jeans that were expertly crafted to hug his thighs.
Unbidden, the memory of them under my fingers came to mind.
His black flannel had been traded for a dark grey and white checkered one, which was unbuttoned.
Underneath, there was a textured black t-shirt with a slight V-neck.
I touched his chest to push him back, but the angle made his other hand visible. Pulling back abruptly, I kept my eyes on the gun.
“Remi . . .”
“Hell,” he breathed. He looked both ways, then grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.
I shook him off as soon as we were inside. My heart raced as he walked to the opposite wall, then turned around.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he demanded. “I had no idea who you were.”
“Can you . . .” I nodded toward the gun.
With pursed lips, he marched away. I followed, although it probably would’ve been a better idea to leave.
He ducked into an office, which was incredibly organized for being in a bar.
There was a cot with the legs folded so it stood flat against the wall, and a plastic chest of drawers was tucked into the corner.
On top of it, there were a few wooden carvings and a copper bowl, but other than that, there wasn’t anything interesting about it.
Remi placed the gun in a drawer with a keyhole, but he didn’t lock it. He dropped into the desk chair and leaned his forehead against his knuckles.
This was . . . awkward.
Voices from somewhere in the main room reminded me why I was here. I’d seen the van out front, and even thinking about it made my blood boil.
“Is the interview stressing you out?” I asked.
Slowly, he lowered his hand and looked at me. There was something burning in his eyes, barely controlled. It made my gaze drift to the drawer, which was within reaching distance from him.
“Stressing me out?” he repeated in a voice so subdued that it was a contrast to his eyes. “Yeah, Amir, maybe I’m stressed out.”
“I don’t think you have a right to be stressed.”
“Let me guess. You’re the only one who’s allowed.”
“Sure.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the doorframe. “You’re capitalizing on this while I have to deal with the fallout.”
His dark eyes flashed with more of that unrestrained fire. “Such arrogance from a guy who’s scared to be gay.”
I scoffed. “I’m not scared to be gay.”
When he jumped to his feet, I started to take a step to the side, but he grabbed the door handle and slammed it closed. Flattening his palm on the wall beside me, he leaned closer and stuck his lip out in a mock pout.
“Poor little Amir and his spotless reputation. How will the world react if they hear about how you swallowed my cum?” He touched my lower lip with his thumb, digging his nail in. “Greedy, greedy Amir.”
I shoved his hand away. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s—”
“Because it’s gay?” he interrupted. “Oh no. What ever will we do?”
“It’s disrespectful,” I finished through gritted teeth.
“Boohoo. I don’t care.”
“Of course you don’t.” I pushed his chest hard enough for him to get the hint.
He stepped back but didn’t take his eyes off of me.
“Don’t play with toys in the dark if you’re afraid of them being seen in the light.
” He started to button his flannel, his long fingers moving with precision.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lovely woman to talk to.
Unless you want to join, you should head out. ”
“She’s a snake,” I warned.
“And?”
My teeth ground together as I watched him finish with his shirt. I’d still been trying to give him a bit of grace, but he knew exactly what Clara wanted from him, and he was willing to give it, to take from me in order to give to himself.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Want?” His head cocked again. “Want is the hunger that carved kingdoms into stone and the fire that salted their graves. Men have wanted love; it birthed poems and wars in the same breath. It gives some and takes more, yet it’s the only god we still believe in.”
I blinked, trying to come up with something to say. Was he drunk? He worked in a bar, so it was a possibility.
When I didn’t respond, he breathed a laugh. His tongue traced the tip of his canine, then he shrugged. “I don’t want anything, Amir. You’ve done enough.”
I shifted to block him from leaving. “Me? I’m trying to let this damn story die.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s dying. It’s kind of going viral on TikTok. The boy love crowd got ahold of it.”
“God damnit.” I hung my head and yanked my hood off. Removing my glasses, I stared down at them. “My manager’s going to be pissed.”
“Who cares? People sleep with other people.”
“You don’t understand. Franklin just got busted for driving drunk. Hughes got a married woman pregnant. Abbott got in a fight with a Yankees pitcher. But this is blowing up more than any of that. They don’t want the heat.”
“Aw, is your job at risk?”
I straightened and made a fist, holding onto my control by a thread. “Tell me what you want, Remi. Money? Publicity? I can get attention on this place without using scandal to do it.”
He ran his fingers over the top of his desk absently. “I don’t know. That pool table could make me a pretty penny.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Doubtful.”
Bringing his hands up, he dragged them apart as if he was framing the sky, with all the dramatic flourish of a salesman unveiling his next big hit.
“Imagine it. ‘Own a piece of history: the holy splatter of America’s pastime.’” When I didn’t respond, he hummed.
“‘A collector’s dream: the blessed glaze of Fenway’s finest. Reserve price negotiable. ’”
This was pointless. He didn’t know how to be serious, or he didn’t care to.
Turning around, I threw open the door.
“‘The Big-League batter’s batter?’” he called after me.
I was about to put my glasses and hood back on, but it was too late.
Clara was behind the bar, and as my recent luck would have it, she spotted me.
Her lips twisted into a grin as she started toward me.
With a swear, I backed up, running right into Remi.
I shoved him backward and slammed the office door with both of us inside.
“Excuse me,” he said, sounding offended.
“Shh.”
“You don’t know this, but I don’t do well with being trapped.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I growled, listening for footsteps outside.
Remi pushed me to the side and reached for the door.
“Please,” I whispered.
He glanced over at me. “Why should I help you?”
“Why shouldn’t you?” When he didn’t answer, I sighed. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. She saw me. That’s just another story, even if she doesn’t get to ask her questions. No doubt she’ll follow me to my car with her goddamn cameras. I’m already trapped in her web.”
“Then take control of it.”
“How?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Spin your own web. Be unashamed. There are worse people to be caught with than this shirtless drifter.”
A small laugh left my lips. “She’ll probably follow me to Florida. I won’t be able to shit without her watching me.”
“Florida?”
“Spring training.”
It was silent, so I looked over at him. He chewed on his lip, right beside his piercing. When he met my eyes, there was something there that sparked my curiosity.