But there was clearly more to the story. And it was none of my business. I was just “staff.” This conversation was out of my lane, and I wasn’t about to demand details about the closeted life of one of the nation’s most famous football players. I’d never even heard an indication that Simeon Boudreaux may be gay, so the secret was airtight.
“Okay, fine,” Simeon said, squeezing me tighter to his side. “I get it. But you assholes are acting like I be willy-nilly outing myself.”
“Only when you wanna fuck someone,” Marcus said.
“Yeah!”
“And you wanna fuck Noah,” Marcus added.
“Who wouldn’t?” Simeon was wiggling his eyebrows at Gavin. When he got a total stoneface in response, he drooped. “All right, all right. Fuck, you got zero sense of humor sometimes, Brawley.” He looked at me again. “How do you stand it?”
“Uh, most of the time we aren’t in the same room.” I tried to squirm out of Simeon’s iron grip and failed. “And he usually only speaks to me to tell me to do something before returning to the gym.”
“Damn. That’s out cold.”
Gavin sat up straighter, his scowl fierce. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. The only time you talk to me beyond giving me an instruction is to heckle me or tease me. We’re both pretty bad at saying things without it leading to sarcasm.”
“You’re a douchebag, Brawley,” Marcus said around a mouthful of ice cream. “Way to Meryl Streep it up.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. A record-breaking NFL superstar referencing The Devil Wears Prada was too much for me. Simeon joined in, and Gavin looked ready to throw us all out of his house.
It was funny mostly because I expected him to come back at us with some fire sarcasm that would set my hair ablaze and me running out of the room to start the task of creating his social media accounts, but he just stared at me. Hard. And then sat down without another word.
Marcus and Simeon went on without giving him a second glance. Maybe they were used to his moodiness, but I wasn’t. Now I was rethinking my words and my attempts to be witty in front of Marcus and Simeon. Had I just embarrassed him?
“So,” Marcus said. “We heard you hate football.”
“Hate is a strong word. More like . . . I’m ambivalent about football.”
“What’s ambivalent?” Simeon winked at me, making it clear he was goofing. “When you can write with both hands? I could use that skill for something more interesting.”
“No, dumbass,” Marcus said, snickering. “That’s ambidextrous.”
“Ahhhh. So, what’s ambivalent?”
“It means he doesn’t give a flying fuck about football,” Gavin said. “And is trying to act like he hasn’t made up his mind yet.”
“He probably just doesn’t understand it. And if he didn’t watch it, he had no investment.” Marcus pointed his spoon at me. “And now that you’ve got us to take care of, you have a team to root for.” Marcus scooped up more ice cream. He’d been eating nonstop since walking in the door, and had commented that he’d lost too much weight during the off-season. Again, I did not understand the lives of athletes. “Trust me. Watching sports makes a world of difference if you know who the players are. There ain’t no way you’re going to be able to bypass numbers 13 and 22 for the rest of the season without rooting for me and this clown,” he said, nodding at Simeon. “It’s gonna get in your blood.”
“We’ll see.”
Simeon grabbed me again, dropping both palms on my shoulders and squeezing. He was the handsiest person I’d ever met, and it made me antsy. I didn’t know him. He may be queer, but he was still a big, arrogant superstar. I shifted away, shooting a glance at Gavin, who’d resumed his cold observation.
“So, next week we have this big signing event before our first game of the season. You should come.” Simeon gave me that shit-eating grin again. “You’ll have fun. Fan day is a real good time.”
“What’s fan day?”
“Like it sounds,” Marcus said with a snort. “Fans come to training camp and watch. We sign autographs. Et cetera. I gotta be honest, I fucking hate it. And I hate that the Barons have it more than once during preseason. I’m not there to dog-and-pony for screaming fans when I’m trying to make weight and keep rookies from trying to steal my spot.”
Gavin became more alert. “Any competition?”
“There’s a new kid out of UT—Shane. Since Moe got injured and is also out for the fucking season doing groin surgery, Shane is out of third string and cooling his heels as my backup. Showing off like a peacock in every play.”
Gavin’s brow furrowed. “Well, don’t get yourself injured like Moe, and you’ll be straight.”
“Man, don’t say that,” Marcus protested. “Moe ain’t injury-prone.”