That guilt I felt earlier wedges in deeper. I hate lying to people I care about. I hate lying in general.

  But, hold on. I can actually tell my dad. At least, I can tell him something, and boy, do I ever want to.

  “I can’t, Dad. I’m seeing someone,” I say, and holy shit.

  That felt amazing to say.

  Like I just drank a glass of sunshine. I’m grinning now too as I look at him across the console.

  Dad smiles. “You really like this guy.”

  It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fatherly delight.

  “I really do,” I say, and tingles rush over my skin as I think of Beck, his musical taste, his cooking, his car purchase, and the endless questions I love answering. “But it’s complicated. Like, really complicated.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head. “No. Not yet. Right now, I just want to enjoy . . . tonight.”

  And that feels good to say too.

  After I drop off my dad, I return to my home and get ready for a late-night rendezvous with my rival.

  The man who won his game too arrives an hour later. God bless black BMWs, garages, and secret affairs.

  Sometime around midnight in my bed, Beck makes good on his Halloween party text message promise.

  I walk him and talk him through his first time, showing him how to make me moan with pleasure as he gets me ready. When I’m writhing and begging, he grabs a condom.

  His eyes are more intense than they’ve ever been. All he wants is to make it good for me.

  But I want to make it easy for him, so I get on all fours. “Fuck me like this, baby. I love this position, and you will too.”

  The sounds he makes are insane as he takes me, as he obeys my every instruction, going faster, pushing me down into the mattress.

  Then I jerk till I shout in pleasure.

  He follows me off the cliff, shuddering and saying my name.

  Then, we shower.

  I guess I’m not such a liar after all.

  31

  See-Through Man

  Beck

  Thursday morning, I set out for a run along the Golden Gate Bridge, counting the hours till my not-a-date tonight. As I reach the Sausalito side of the bridge, my phone pings with a text.

  * * *

  Mister Social: Hey! So, Nate just told me he’s going tonight too. He’s buddies with Hazel . . . ergo . . .

  * * *

  I heave a sigh of annoyance. Things will be weird if it’s the three of us. Or maybe it’ll make things easier since our not-a-date will look even less romantic. I have no idea. I don’t have a clue how dating a dude on the down-low works. But Jason’s great with social situations, and he never minds my questions.

  * * *

  Mister Anti-Social: Should I invite Carter or some of the guys? Hayden? Anyone? Will that be weirder?

  * * *

  My phone’s quiet as I pound the pavement along the Pacific Ocean. I’ve reached the edge of the bridge by Muir Woods and turned around before he replies.

  * * *

  Mister Social: Look, I want to go just with you, but at this point . . . strength in numbers?

  * * *

  I want to type: Can we just skip the signing and hang out at your house? but that would make it look like all I want from him is sex when that’s the furthest thing from the truth. I want a real date, and then another, and then still more. But tonight was never a real date, so what’s the point of getting worked up? I’m about to reply, It’s all good, when my phone buzzes again.

  * * *

  Mister Social: We’ll probably all grab a drink after. Okay? But you’re coming to my house later. You just fucking are.

  * * *

  My heart springs like Snoopy doing a dance. Why is he so easy to like?

  Because he gets me. He fits with me. And his certainty unlocks my own.

  Mister Anti-Social: I fucking am.

  The sign looms above the shop on Van Ness. An Open Book.

  It’s just a bookstore. It’s just a signing. It’s just my heart hurtling itself against my rib cage, thump after painful thump.

  No one knows you’re falling for the other quarterback. You’ll be fine.

  But even after several deep breaths, I still can’t make my feet move. I’m stuck outside the shop, staring into the window, past the sign advertising Hazel’s event.

  The crowd stretches around the chairs set up in the back of the store, visible even from here. Jason stands next to Hazel, smiling, not stealing the pre-event limelight, just flanking his friend. Carter’s with them too, laughing because, of course. Carter gets along with everyone. Carter goes with the flow.

  Just go in. Just do it.

  But how am I supposed to act like I’m not crazy for Jason? Where is the playbook on that? I need to find it because my right arm is trembling. I throw touchdowns with this stupid arm, and I hate its shaking for giving me away.

  My feet are like bricks, and my head is made of cotton, and I have to get the hell over this feeling that I’m trapped inside my body.

  I push out a breath past the fear that’s strangling me.

  “Hey, man.”

  With a flinch, I jerk my gaze to the voice. It’s Nate. How long has he been standing there? Long enough to see me freaking the fuck out over Jason. Might as well have a neon sign flashing overhead: “I’m involved with your quarterback!”

  “Hey,” I mutter.

  His brow knits. “You doing okay?”

  Yup. He can tell. I’m so screwed.

  “Yeah, sure.” I flap a hand toward the signing. “I was inside, and now I’m just, um, getting some air.”

  That excuse seems to track for him. “That place is balls hot,” Nate says, hooking his thumb at the store. “I went to a book event for Axel Huxley here a few months ago, and I swear I sweated off five pounds.”

  The familiar name is a lifeline, and I hold tight to the common interest. “The thriller writer? He’s awesome.”

  “I’m obsessed with his stories,” Nate agrees. We talk for a minute about the twist in Huxley’s last book, and the shaky feeling starts to wane.

  Then Nate tips his head toward the store. “I’m gonna head in. See you in there, Caff.”

  Once the door swings shut, the panic slams back into me like a gut punch.

  If I step foot in that store, Nate will know how I feel about Jason. Carter will know. Everyone will be able to read me. I can’t hide my feelings for my rival. They’re so big and so consuming. They’re growing roots deep inside me.

  The field is the only place where I don’t feel these nerves. Football soothes me. Football makes sense. On the gridiron, I’m aces at making my brain, heart, and body work in tandem. But conquering the pre-game nerves took years of practice. No way can I pull off a clandestine date.

  I scan the block, peering around the steady trickle of evening crowds on the San Francisco street. There’s a coffee shop still open at the corner. Feels like a safe house. Must get there.

  Gulping air, I wheel around and walk away from the bookstore, grabbing my phone from my pocket to text Jason.

  * * *

  Mister Anti-Social: I can’t go in there right now. Everyone will know. I’m going to the coffee shop. I’m sorry I ruined the night.

  * * *

  I walk up the block, knowing I’m the worst date ever. But thirty seconds later, I hear sneakers slapping the pavement behind me.

  “Cafferty.”

  The strong, confident voice should reassure me, but it doesn’t. He can’t cure me. I am the guy who couldn’t go through with a date.

  Jason points to the café door. “Let’s go inside.”

  On autopilot, I go in, nerves still thrumming. The shop is empty. Jason gestures to a quiet table in the corner, and we grab the chairs. Then he meets my eyes, and his are full of caring. “Are you freaking out?” he whispers gently.

  I exhale hard, shakily. “Yes.” No point in lying. He can see it on me.

  He reaches out and pats my knee—a bro gesture, but it settles me a bit. “Go to my house, okay? I’ll be there in an hour. Just watch TV, read a book, hang with the cat. I’m not going out with them after. I want to see you,” he says, so gentle, attentive. His voice is like a warm summer breeze.

  I swallow past the stones in my throat. “You don’t have to skip the time with your friends. I’ll go home,” I say quietly.

  “I want to, Beck.”

  My pulse slows like a spinning top winding down. “What will you tell them?”

  Jason’s grin says he’s got this. “Your landlady called. About something. Doesn’t matter what. No one’s gonna ask. You had to check on the house. You’re sorry you took off, and you asked me to have Hazel sign the book for you.”

  God, I could kiss him. I have a million things I want to explain, but not as much as I want to get far, far away from these crowds.

  “Can you do that?” he asks. “Wait for me at my home?”

  I can’t believe he truly wants to put up with me. “You sure?”

  “Positive. Now, I’m gonna text you a link for the garage door app I use. I’ll send you my login. Go. Chill with Taco. He likes you better, anyway. I’ll see you soon.”

  I watch him walk away, feeling calmer. Feeling understood.

  32

  A Hat Is More Than a Hat

  Jason

  * * *

  Handling Beck’s regrets is easy. No one thinks twice about it. Shit happens, people cancel—it is what it is.

  Only Hazel has a clue, but she gives good poker face at the signing table as I slide her a copy of Plays Well With Others. “It’s for Beck.”

  She grabs a pink pen, signs with a flourish, then shows me the inscription. You make good choices.

  I crack up, then give her a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, girl.” Tucking the book under my arm, I catch up with Carter and Nate in the thriller section.

  “You want to grab a beer?” Carter asks.

  “Nah. I need to take off.”

  Nate gives me a curious look, one brow lifted. “That so?”

  “Yeah, I have this thing known as practice tomorrow,” I say drily. “And a game this weekend I intend to win.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Nate sasses back.

  “So we’re not getting a drink?” Carter asks, bummed and giving me the chance to change my mind.

  “Sorry, guys,” I say. Then since there’s zero need to dwell on stuff I won’t get into, I change the subject with Carter. “But how’s everything with Zena?”

  Carter’s eyes light up. “Dude! Thanks again. My agent worked that deal, and we are all good. You’re the man.”

  “Excellent. Glad to hear,” I say, stealing a glance at the door, eager to go home.

  “It would have been cool to share a sponsor with you. But you’ve got Seductive too, right?” Carter asks.

  I shake my head. “They’re not one of mine. Must be thinking of some other gorgeous guy.”

  Carter waves a hand dismissively. “I thought I saw a Seductive hat at your place on Halloween.”

  My heart clenches. Our disguise hat. I’m so glad Beck isn’t here. He’d be a wreck, even though everyone leaves shit around at parties. “Nope, but maybe your mankini cut off the blood flow to your brain that night,” I say.

  “As well as his balls,” Nate weighs in.

  Laughing, we all leave together, and I’m glad I managed to keep our romance on the DL.

  I want Beck to know he can trust me to take care of situations when he’s overwhelmed. That I’ve got his back.

  Once Carter takes off for his car, I head for the side street where I parked, and Nate says, “I’m going to grab a Lyft.”

  Ah, hell. I can’t let a friend do that. “I’ll drive you home,” I offer.

  Nate doesn’t live far, and it’s the right thing to do. We hop into my wheels, and on the way to the Marina, we chat about the game this weekend. As the bay comes into view, dark and inky at night, Nate blows out a long stream of air. “So, anything you want to talk about?”

  He’s too damn perceptive. I don’t think the Seductive hat was the giveaway. My friend knows I hang with my buddies unless there’s a guy I’m into. So, of course, he’s added up the clues of my disappearance after our last game and, now, tonight.

  It’s a good thing it’s only Nate who’s sleuthed it out. I’m supposed to be a team leader, and role models don’t mess around with off-limits guys. My teammates wouldn’t like it if they knew. Coach would think I was sharing plays or some stupid shit like that. Fans would lose their minds and call me a traitor. It’s an unwritten rule—don’t mess around with your rival.

  I tighten my grip on the wheel and slap on a smile. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Jaybird,” he says, a gentle warning. “Be careful, okay?”

  My shoulders tighten as I pull over in front of his house and weigh my options—deny, lie, or evade.

  I’m tired of lying, but there’s no way I’m serving up the truth. I’ve got to protect Beck, so I choose avoidance. “Appreciate that, man.”

  Nate gives a crisp nod and goes into his home.

  Maybe I’m not such a role model after all. But for tonight, I’m more than fine with just being me—a guy who wants to take care of his guy.

  At home, I find a sexy man stretched out on my couch with a cat curled up on his chest, both of them sound asleep.

  My heart clutches. Like a happy fool, I gaze at the pair of them as I pad to the couch, sinking down on the other side. Maybe I’ll read here till he rouses. Check my messages. Play a word game.

  I set Hazel’s book on the coffee table, and Beck stirs. Rubs his eyes. Blinks them open. “Hey,” he mutters as Taco leaps off his chest like his furry ass is on fire and hightails it to another room.

  “Hey, you,” I say softly.

  “Sorry again,” he says, then sits.

  I slide over next to him, threading my hand through his hair, savoring the soft strands. “Don’t apologize. I’m where I want to be.”

  “I owe you a blow job. Or maybe fifty,” he says, guilt threading through his tone.

  “I won’t turn one down, but no, you don’t.”

  “You knew what to do.”

  I cup his cheek and turn his face to make him meet my gaze. “I care about you.”

  I know he believes me. I can see it in his eyes, all vulnerable and bright. But I know, too, this is hard for him—this secret thing between us.

  “What can I do for you, Jason?” he asks, his voice stretched thin. “I was going to cook you something amazing, but I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten dinner. And I thought maybe I could train your cat to shake paws, but then he decided to sleep on me.”

  I laugh, stroking his hair. “Baby, you already did something for me.”

  “Were you looking for an excuse to get out of the drinks? Bennies of me being anti-social, I guess,” he says, poking fun at himself.

  “No,” I say, not taking the humor bait. We can only be like this in these stolen private moments. I want us to be as authentic as possible. “What you did tonight was a big fucking deal.”

  He scoffs. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not. You told me what was going on with you. That means a lot to me. That is a big deal.” I take a beat and blow out a breath. “Thank you.”

  A sliver of a smile shifts his lips. “You mean it?”

  I kiss the corner of his mouth. “It takes a lot of guts to be honest. You were, and I’m really glad.”

  Beck kisses me back, and it’s a devastating kiss. I want to read so many things into the possessive way he holds my face and strokes my jaw. I want to read words into his touch—scary and wonderful words.

  When he breaks the kiss, he squares his shoulders. “Are you hungry?”

  I laugh. “Always.”

  “Then let me cook for you.”

  He’s determined to repay me, but he doesn’t need to. Still, I won’t turn down a good meal, especially when it will make him happy. “Let’s do it, Chef Cafferty.”

  He stands, reaches for my hand, and takes me to the kitchen. There, he makes me sautéed chicken and asparagus, along with shishito peppers—my absolute favorite food. As he whips up the meal, he tells me his favorite parts of Hazel’s latest book. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to show me he can be easygoing. Pretty sure he needs to show me, so I let him have the floor.

  “I liked her story almost as much as an Axel Huxley tale,” he adds when he sits down with me to eat the spread he made.

  “Oh! She had to do a podcast with that guy, and he drives her crazy,” I say, picking up my fork.

  “Why? Is he a jackass? Oh man, please tell me he’s not a sexist pig. I don’t want to have to stop reading him,” Beck whines.

  Shaking my head, I laugh. “Nah. He’s not like that. More like he thinks love is bullshit, and he hates romance. But, in her words, his voice is so stupidly sexy he makes it hard to focus on how much I want to hate him.”

  Beck cracks up. “Sounds like she should write a hate-to-love romance about him.”

  “I’ll pass on the tip,” I say, and once we finish eating and cleaning, we go to bed together.

  When we’re under the covers, Beck turns to me again, a wry grin on his face. “So, that was a great date for me.”

  “Me too. And it’s not even over.”

  I slide down between his legs, draw his soft cock into my mouth, and then lick and suck for a few seconds till he grows harder, filling my mouth with his arousal and my senses with his sounds of pleasure.

  “Mmm. Yes,” he moans, urging me on.