Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Hunter
Getting out of bed was tough. Sleep had been in short bursts.
Shitty. And every damn time I woke up, I found myself in a sweat with erotic images of Cat in my head.
I thought of taking another cold shower but opted for coffee.
After throwing on sweats and a Red Sox baseball cap to remain as anonymous as possible, I swung by the lobby and grabbed the coffee.
If anyone recognized me, they didn’t say anything.
That was fine with me. The message last night had been from Wyatt offering a ride, but it was too late for that now.
The gray day outside matched my mood as I stood waiting for my Uber ride from some dude named Wayne.
Remembering Cat’s warning to keep a low profile, I frowned and pulled my cap lower as I got into the anonymous black Toyota Camry.
I used the Uber account of a friend from my old high school football team.
It was a deal we had a while back ever since I made the team in LA as a walk-on.
His celebration gift to me. Now I owed him, but he probably made more money than me in cybersecurity.
Pulling the door closed behind me, I met the driver’s eyes in the rearview. He squinted as if in possible recognition and I turned away.
“We should get to the stadium in two shakes.”
I nodded in the mirror and sighed. My destination was a dead giveaway. Maybe Cat had been right.
“Hey, you on the team? You look familiar.”
I shook my head. “No. I do field maintenance.” Then I kept my eyes out the window.
He blew out a whistle and grinned like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press it. In my periphery, I watched his phone suction-cupped to the dash showing a map. As long as he didn’t try and take any pictures with the damn phone, I’d be okay.
When the car finally pulled into the service entrance of the stadium, I slipped a ten from my pocket and handed it to him as I jumped from the car with my duffel.
Belatedly, I realized my duffel had the official team logo and my number on it.
I turned back once to see the guy sitting in his car with his goddamn phone aimed at me.
Resisting the urge to flip him a finger, I picked up speed to a run and made it around a corner then jogged the rest of the way around the complex to the team entrance. F—ck. This was the last thing I needed. For some random Uber driver to throw my pic on Instagram with who-knew-what for a comment.
Two days until game day and I could not wait. I needed to pound on some unlucky bastard on the other team. For once I wished I played defense, but I couldn’t wait to block some suckers on the O-line of our unfortunate opponents.
By the time I made it to the locker room, an hour early, I was all warmed up. There were a few guys there before me. Very few. Of course, Mr. Superstar QB, Gabriel Wyatt, was one of them. He sat putting on his shoes and gave me a welcoming grin whether I deserved it or not.
“If it isn’t Hunter Quintanna, early again. Impressive.”
If anyone else had said this, I’d have considered it a taunt, but not with Wyatt.
He was a lot of things, according to his reputation, arrogant being at the top as far as I was concerned, but he wasn’t mean.
I didn’t bother responding, went straight to my locker not far enough away from where he sat, dressed for a walk-through and looking like he’d sit there lounging until the coach blew the whistle.
“So how do you like Boston, Hunter?”
I turned to him as I stripped down to my boxers, not wanting to talk and not wanting to be an ass. Not much, anyway. I shrugged. “Better than LA.”
He nodded, assessing me while I put on my gear.
“That’s right. You grew up on the East Coast.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t respond.
I noticed a couple of other guys paying attention, glancing our way, but not joining the one-sided conversation.
Trying to hold down the anger, the frustration at their attitude, I didn’t manage completely as I slammed my locker door with a satisfying metallic clank.
Wyatt raised a brow, but I kept my face neutral as I stood, looking at him.
“Let’s do some early reps,” I said. It was a suggestion he could turn down, but so be it. I needed as much practice running the routes as I could get. I’d passed the test on the playbook yesterday, but that didn’t mean shit without on-field reps.
“Sure.” He rose from his seat as if he were an old man and I wondered what the hell that was about. He asked, “You find a place to live yet?”
I shook my head as we left the locker room.
“I have an extra bedroom suite. Why don’t you room with me?” He spoke casually, as if he was suggesting we have coffee. I stopped in my tracks. He stopped a few feet from me, out on the turf while I still stood inside the dark of the tunnel.
“Are you shitting me? For real? You want me for a roommate?” I didn’t bother hiding that I was incredulous. Why bother?
“Sure.” He laughed. “We’re teammates already. It’s a short leap to roommate, right? We’re both single, keep the same schedule, eat the same healthy diet—”
“Did Cat put you up to this?” I held my breath, shouldn’t have asked, but the thought struck like thunder.
“What? No, no, no.” He gave me a speculative look.
“I’ll think about it.” I wasn’t sure I was roommate material for Mr. High and Mighty in spite of his insistence that we were a perfect match. He was light and I was darkness. A ray of sunshine split over the end zone and hit him then, making my point.
“I own the townhouse. It’s in East Boston. Close by. Only three miles. I’ll throw in the utilities for free. Your share will be a grand a month.” He paused and I stared, still undecided, still leaning to no.
He shrugged. “I’d enjoy the company, to be honest. My girl moved out last month.
Besides, you’d be crazy to say no. Except you’ll need to put up with my relatives every weekend invading town for games.
But most of them stay downstairs in the guest apartment.
I’m half Italian. It’s why I love the neighborhood. ”
I nodded and considered while Gabe’s smile never faltered.
The star QB let me take my time. It was the confession about wanting the company that decided me, not that I was good company, but it made the superstar more real, vulnerable instead of his usual too-cool self.
I stepped out of the tunnel to join him on the field.
“You’re on.” I put my hand out and Gabe shook it without flinching, straight up like a business deal.
A friendly, comfortable business deal. There was a fleeting reminiscence of my father in the young QB, but I liked him, trusted him anyway.
Gabe embodied all the good things that came to mind when I thought of my father.
Friendly and straightforward to start, if a hair too confident.
My instincts about people had always been spot-on, something I got from my mother.
Even if she hadn’t been right about my old man.
He hadn’t turned out to be a loyal husband.
Understatement. Upshot was I’d take my time to get to know Gabe, make sure he had no hidden vices to get me into trouble.
I couldn’t afford a roommate with a loud profile. Cat was right about that much.