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Joq had seen pictures, obviously; they didn’t do the kid justice. He was gorgeous. Young and awkward too, but it was already evident he would grow into a striking man. His eyes were fixed on George, his smile blinding yet endearingly shy in the way of a kid meeting his idol.
Joq kept his line and approached. These situations were always tricky: George would either nod an acknowledgement and keep going or stop and say hi, indulging in the narrative of him and the security guy that’d been best friends since George’s rookie year. ‘Joq’s too,’ he’d end with, and whoever was around would laugh in that way that said: isn’t George a good guy, making friends with this regular dude.
Joq was almost on top of them by the time George looked his way.
“Joq,” he said, surprised, his smile settling to the normal one. Everyone else kept moving—assistant coaches, PR people, the CEO and management team—but George stopped and Finnegan stayed close by his side.
“George,” Joq said and suppressed his smile. He could feel the rookie looking between them, could almost feel the sunshine vibes he cast off. Joq remembered reading something about the kid coming from Byron Bay, and he swore it radiated out of him like the calm buzz of someone grown in a pot of marijuana, anti-vaccination rhetoric and home schooling.
Joq turned to him as George spoke. “This is Joaquin, Joq, runs surveillance in the stadium.”
“And you must be the great Finnegan Flynn,” he said and extended his hand.
The kid huffed. “It’s Finn,” he took Joq’s hand in a firm grip, quite the contrast to the way his eyes were flitting from George’s to Joq’s to his dress shoes.
“Your parents called you Finn Flynn?” Joq asked as he pumped his hand.
“Yeah, they’re assholes,” he replied and took his hand back. His smile didn’t dim as he tilted his head down, let the golden curls and sun-bleached strands fall in his face as he blinked big eyes up at Joq, his mouth twisted in a playful grimace.
Joq laughed.
Goddamn. Kid was cute. And definitely gay.
That was a surprise.
Joq felt his dick take interest; he imagined Finn had that effect on a lot of gay guys. Probably straight ones too. Shame he was too young.
George cleared his throat. “We better keep moving.”
Joq looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah, course,” Finn said. “Nice to meet you, Joq. See you round?”
Joq turned back to him. “You’ll find me lurking in the shadows, yeah.”
Finn giggled, an incongruous sound for a six foot kid who wouldn’t have been out of place as a Michelangelo carving. Joq couldn’t help his answering smile.
“Alright,” George said and placed a hand on the kid’s back as he got them moving. “Time to face the team. Later, Joq.”
“George,” Joq said to their backs. “See you later.”
He watched them head down the tunnel, George’s hand lingering on the kid’s suit jacket as he said something too low for Joq to make out. They made a nice picture in their perfectly tailored suits, the fabric stretching over concealed muscles. Joq always did like an athlete in a suit. They disappeared into the locker room and Joq headed for the surveillance room.
He had his own team to see and a new person starting, the niece of an old friend. She’d dropped out of uni and stated flatly in the interview: ‘I don’t give a shit about football, I just need the fucking money,’ to which Joq had replied, ‘You’re hired.’ She had the skills of course, but Joq liked that in her; she reminded him of himself.
He decided to focus on where to slot her into the roster rather than the twinge of something unsettling in that meeting. Of course George was going to be protective of the kid—that wasn’t news, Joq had watched him working himself up over it for months. Ever since they got the confirmation Finnegan Flynn, number one draft pick from two years ago, was ready to join the team after his stint in the state league following some injury that had prevented him from joining at eighteen, George had been talking about it. Combine that with starting as Head Coach and all those assholes in the media waxing poetic about how he was ‘too young, he should do his time as an assistant first’ and George was worked up. Well, as much as George got worked up—said less than usual and exercised more—but for George, that was damn near hysterical. He’d ask him about it when they got home tonight.
“Alison,” he said now as he pushed into their break room just outside the surveillance room.
She stood, her lips stretching into a line that passed as a smile. “Joaquin.”
“Call me Joq. Come on,” he went for the surveillance room door. “Let’s get on with it.”
He caught her smile widening as he opened the door. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, just. I fucking hate small talk too.”
Joq grinned. “I knew I liked you.” They went in and he introduced her to Cameron and Simo and ran through the monitors.
