Page 14 of Stetson
I wondered if Levi and Barrett ever got lonely in that house.
I made more noise than necessary unlocking the door of apartment 105. Maverick, my roommate and childhood best friend, had a habit of getting experimental with the people he brought home. It took me longer than I cared to admit to learn that a knock wasn’t always sufficient.
To my surprise, Mav was lounged across the couch when I walked in. His dark, cropped hair was sleep-tousled, as if he hadn’t seen a mirror the entire day. He wore nothing but a pair of sweats and cracked the top on a bottle of beer—alone. Perfect. “Got another one of those?” I asked, eyeing the bottle longingly.
“Help yourself.”
I dropped my bag by the door and grabbed a drink from the fridge, joining Maverick on the couch. Up until that moment, I didn’t mind our place. It was on the smaller side, but neither of us were there much. Maverick played pro football, so his schedule could be just as rigorous as mine. All we needed was a place to eat and sleep, and the two-bedroom apartment served its purpose. Though as I sat there, listening to whatever Maverick had on the TV, I noticed things that I hadn’t before. Like the outdated carpet and the obnoxious noise that the fridge was making. The wallpaper was peeling in the corner of the living room and… was thatmoldunderneath?
My mind had to be making things up now.
I twisted the top off my beer and took a long swig of it, not realizing until I came up for air that I’d chugged almost half. I sensed that I was being watched and glanced sideways, finding Maverick staring at me. “Want to talk about it?”
Yes, I did want to talk about it, but I didn’t know where to begin. I picked at the label on my bottle, shredding it to pieces. “There’s a guy,” I blurted.
“Oh, I know.” I leveled him with a glare, which he ignored. “I picked you up the other day from a McMansion in Buckhead, sexed up and wearing the same clothes from the day before.”
“They were clean!”
“Not the point,” Mav teased. “So who was he?”
“Levi Grant.”
My friend finished off his beer and set the bottle aside. “The agent?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I thought he was with?—”
“Barrett Swindon,” I finished for him. “Catcher for the Hellbenders.”
“So, is that over?”
“Nope,” I said, popping the “p.”
“Wait.” While Mav paused the TV and situated himself for the tea to be spilled, I finished off my drink. He spun to face me, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Explain.”
So I told him everything, conveniently omitting the part where my temper almost ended my career. By the time I finished the story, my beer bottle was clean and scraps of paper littered the floor. Not that the place needed any help looking messy.
“You’re leaving something out,” Mav accused.
I sighed and tossed the empty bottle to the table, the thick glass clattering against the surface. I knew better than to attempt lying to him. We’d been friends since we were in diapers. We shared every aspect of our lives: first steps, first games. All the way to coming out and first loves. Which also meant we frequented the same circles as we got older. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and scrubbing my hands over my face. “He’s a Daddy.”
Met with silence, I peered at Maverick through my fingers. He simply watched me with scrutinizing green eyes. The refrigerator continued making that infuriating knocking noise. A low, aggravating hum sounded from somewhere else in the apartment. I pulled my hands away from my face. “Please say something.”
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what the problem is.”
“I expected a bigger reaction.”
Mav rolled his eyes. “Boy, you’re the biggest brat I know. Every time we’re at the clubs, you turn the heads of every Daddy and Dom in the place.Everyonewants a piece of you. Except for me, of course.”
I scoffed. “You think I could do it? Be someone’s boy?”
“No, I think you’ll have to be dragged into submission kicking and screaming. But you’re also the biggest thing to come out of our hometown, and your already massive ego has gotten even bigger. I think it’ll do you some good to have someone kick you into gear.”
Grimacing, I picked at my fingers. “Have I been that bad?”
“Stetson, everyone in this building knows your name because the night we moved in, you got wasted and shouted through the hallways that ‘Stetson Holloway got drafted by the Thrashers!’”
