Page 73 of The Play

Deacon, and everyone else, would still know Grant’s truth: that he was hopelessly, more than a little pathetically, in love with him.

“I’m sorry,” Deacon said softly, breaking the silence.

“About?” Grant’s voice was clipped.

Yep, he was definitely still pissed.

Deacon opened his mouth to answer, but Grant beat him to it. “Are you sorry you ghosted me? Wouldn’t answer my messages? Sorry that the whole world knows all my dirty secrets? Sorry that you punched that guy? Sorry you dragged me out of my place to deal with two men probably related to Andre the Giant, and a whole bunch of cops?”

Deacon snapped his mouth shut, then groaned a little.

Grant wasn’t happy that he was in pain, but it was surprisingly satisfying.

That made two of them, then.

“I’m sorry for all that, okay?” Deacon finally said. “And sorry everyone has to know, when you didn’t want that.”

As usual, Deacon had missed the point.

If this had turned out differently, he never would’ve shut up about his feelings. If Deacon was his, he’d have trumpeted it from the tallest building. From the very top of the Condors stadium. He’d have taken out an advertisement on the jumbotron.

“That’s not . . .” Grant sighed. “That’s not it.”

“It makes you look weak. Makes you look like I’m dragging you around by the dick,” Deacon said gruffly, before Grant could elaborate on what it was exactly.

Maybe for the better, because Grant wasn’t even sure how to begin describing it.

“You’re not . . .” Grant said in a strangled voice. “Is that why you punched those guys?”

“They wouldn’t stop insulting you. That’s gonna be a thing, isn’t it? It’s exactly why you didn’t want to do this.” Deacon’s dark brows drew together as he gestured in the space between them.

“Partly, yes,” Grant said. “So Carter . . .Carter was not wrong, then.”

“What did Carter say?”

Grant cleared his throat. It made sense to say it in his head. It was another to say it out loud, in the intimate darkness of the back of his car. The driver separation was up, and they were alone.

He hadn’t felt it until this moment. He’d been too angry.

But without even noticing it, his temper had begun to seep away, slowly, and in its place was something else.

Something dangerous.

But is it dangerous if everyone already thinks it’s happening?

If everyone already assumes you’re together?

“Carter said you attacked those guys because of me. Uh, for me, specifically.” And he’d been too full of righteous fury to think about the implications of that.

Too angry to realize just how goddamn hot it was.

Grant shifted in his seat, suddenly itchy and uncomfortable.

Horny. You’re horny.

Okay. Fair. He was. Maybe if he just accepted it, acknowledged it was true, that would give those feelings less power over him.

But then, Deacon grinned, teeth flashing white in the dark interior of the car, and leaned in, and Grant’s knees went weak. If he’d been standing, he’d have wobbled. Braced himself right against Deacon’s big, strong body.

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