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Just Chance Page 3
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These days, Frankie wasn’t sure who enjoyed it more—the nursing home residents or him. His grandma loved every minute of it, though, and seeing how happy it made her was an added bonus that Frankie hadn’t anticipated—one that easily made all the work that went into the big day more than worthwhile.
Frankie nodded in answer to Ethan’s question. “July twenty-seventh,” he confirmed. “Six weeks from now—”
“And a week after we get back from our honeymoon,” Jack interrupted, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at his fiancé with the word “honeymoon.”
“Five days after,” Ethan corrected him, grinning. “So at least we’ll have a little time to rest. I’m really looking forward to the Flower Face-Off this year, though.” He looked at Jack. “You’ve never seen so many old people talk trash. I swear little old Erma Bettinger was throwing elbows last year, but what can you do? She’s like ninety.”
Jack laughed. “I can hardly wait… but what was all of that about Beyoncé? And sports? Are you feeling okay, Frankie?”
“Oh, right!” Frankie felt his cheeks flush as he thought of Hawk again. “I can’t believe I almost forgot. No, Beyoncé isn’t in town, but a hot football guy is. And he was really nice, too, which was kind of surprising. I mean, it’s not like I’ve met any celebrities before, but he did genuinely seem pretty down-to-earth—”
“Breathe, Frankie.” Jack was grinning, but a little wide-eyed as he struggled to keep up with Frankie’s rapid-fire speech. “There’s a hot football player at the hospital? NFL?”
Frankie paused and took a deep breath, doing his best to follow Jack’s advice—and his own resolution to take the excitement down about three notches. So far, though, that hadn’t happened. Frankie was still floating on that same cloud that had carried him out of Hawk’s hospital room. But right. Get it together, Frankie. Jack had asked something about football, as if Frankie had a clue about the answer.
He shrugged, answering with a question of his own. “Are the Falcons in the NFL?”
“God, Frankie,” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Even I know that.”
“Do you?” Jack winked at his fiancé. “Did you know that before you met me?”
Frankie snorted, knowing good and well that Ethan was just as uninterested in football as he was—or at least, Ethan had been until Jack had made him sit through countless Sunday afternoon and Monday night games since they’d been living together.
“Well,” Frankie continued, “I may not know a lot about football, but Hawk Hawkins has just become my favorite tight end.”
He could feel his face flush again as he spoke, but whatever. The guy was sex on a stick, and he knew Jack and Ethan both could appreciate that point.
“Hawk Hawkins?”
The excitement in Jack’s voice was completely out of proportion to the bad pun Frankie had just made. And even though he was pretty proud of himself for remembering that a tight end was an actual football thing, he was pretty sure that wasn’t the part that had captured Jack’s attention.
“I graduated with that guy,” Jack said, smiling. “I didn’t realize he’d ended up playing for Atlanta, though. He was always the hot-shot on the team back in high school. I’m sure not much has changed.”
“You know Stella Hawkins’ son?” Ethan seemed genuinely surprised, then added with a wink, “I always forget how much older you are, but I guess you two would be around the same age.”
“First of all, I’m not that much older.” Jack gave Ethan a sideways glance, but the corners of his mouth turned up in spite of his attempts to stay serious. “But yeah, Sean and I played ball together in school. I pretty much lost touch with everyone when I enlisted right after graduation, but I figured he’d end up in the NFL. He always seemed nice enough. Talented, for sure. And ambitious.”
Frankie waved a dismissive hand. “That was all before my time. But his name did sound sort of familiar. And then I remembered all the trophies and plaques in the gym back in school. His name was all over that place.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t dedicate the whole damn gym to him,” Jack said. “He’s probably the biggest thing to come out of this town since the civil war.”
Frankie and Ethan both groaned a little. That wasn’t exactly a sexy comparison, even if it was pretty accurate. If Bridgewater had any claim to fame in this century, it would be Hawk Hawkins. But Hawk hadn’t seemed like some hot-shot ambitious celebrity when Frankie had met him—at least, not the way Frankie would’ve assumed a celebrity would act—he’d just been a normal guy.
A normal guy who was hotter than any other guy Frankie had ever seen.
A normal guy who just happened to be famous.
Of course, Frankie didn’t actually know the guy. But the short time they’d spent talking had given Frankie a good feel for Hawk’s character. He’d seemed genuinely engaged with everything Frankie had said, even when he didn’t have to be. It had been a lot more than Frankie had expected, anyway. A lot of famous people might not have given the flower delivery guy a second look, but Hawk had not only looked, he’d given Frankie his undivided attention.
It had made him feel special at the time. Even now, an hour later, the very thought of it had brought that special feeling right back.
Frankie tried to stifle the grin that had involuntarily started to spread across his lips. It was quickly becoming his default expression whenever he thought of Hawk. “Yeah, it was pretty exciting for a minute.” He tried to sound nonchalant as he walked over to look at the flowers he’d be taking to the nursing home, a change of subject just the thing to make sure his friends didn’t accuse him of being as starstruck as he really was. “Are you sure it’s okay if I take all of these? There really are a lot here…”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ethan said, helping Frankie gather the blooms into something that was starting to resemble an organized pile. “Jack was right. Your grandma will love them, and if we can’t use them here, there’s really no better place for them than with the seniors. But I wanna know more about this Hawk guy. Is he single? Gay? Was there any… you know…” he wiggled his eyebrows a little in a way that made Frankie laugh. “Chemistry?”
“He’s not gay,” Frankie said, not actually all that disappointed that Ethan hadn’t let him drop the subject of Hawk.
“Yes, he is.” Jack corrected him, then shrugged when Frankie’s head jerked up to stare at him. “He was in high school, anyway. He had the balls to come out back when it really could have cost him everything, and still managed to end up on top.”
“He is?” Frankie and Ethan’s voices rang out in unison as they both looked on in disbelief.
A warm feeling spread out from the pit of Frankie’s stomach as he let Jack’s words sink in. It wasn’t like Hawk’s sexuality really made a difference, of course. He was still a big football star, and Frankie was still… well, Frankie. Normal, unexciting, small-town Frankie. But in some little way, it did change things—changed the way Frankie thought about Hawk, anyway.
Before, he’d been straight and off-limits, just a nice guy. Now, though… well, he was still off-limits, really. But there was at least the faintest, tiniest, slightest bit of a chance that Hawk really might have been being more than just nice. He might have been… interested.
Probably not, of course. But there was still that chance, right?
“I was just sort of joking when I asked,” Ethan said. “But if he really is gay…” he turned to Frankie. “Did you guys hit it off?”
Frankie didn’t know what to think, or where to look, or what to say. He could feel his cheeks start to heat up as he remembered the way he’d felt around Hawk, remembered the way Hawk had looked at him, the crackle in the air when they’d been just a few inches apart.
“I, um.” Frankie swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, he was nice. Really nice. But…” He trailed off, trying to wrap his head around the idea that maybe Hawk had been flirting a little. It was almost too much to comprehend. To think that he’d met someone fa
mous who just happened to be gay and also might have been hitting on him? Yeah, that kind of stuff just didn’t happen.
Not to Frankie, at least.
Not in dull-as-dishwater Bridgewater.
Now that it was a possibility, though, Frankie kind of wanted to hold onto it. He kind of wanted to keep that fantasy going for just a few more minutes, at least.
“I don’t wanna read too much into it,” Frankie said, lying through his teeth. He was definitely going to be reading way too much into it for days—maybe weeks—to come. “But he was maybe a little flirty. Or maybe he was just nice. I don’t really know.” This time, he couldn’t hold back the big smile that was spreading across his face. “But it was pretty awesome. All of it. Meeting him, talking to him, just being around him.” He nodded once for emphasis. “Awesome.”
Ethan clasped his hands together and his eyes darted from Frankie to Jack. “We should figure out a way to get you back in there to see him!” He waited for a moment, and then rolled his eyes when nobody else jumped on the bandwagon. “Jack, come on. You know this guy. What can Frankie do to get in good with him?”
Jack laughed. “That was like ten years ago, and I didn’t even know him that well back then. I kept to myself in high school. But it sounds like Frankie is already in good, if everything is so awesome.”
Frankie knew his friend was mocking him a little, but he didn’t care… and even if he had cared, he probably wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling.
“I’m not going back,” Frankie said. “That would be weird. What reason would I possibly have?” He thought for a moment, wondering if there was a possible, plausible excuse he could use to go back… but no. There wasn’t one. And it wasn’t going to do him any good to pretend like meeting Hawk had been anything more than a fun, flirty few minutes out of his day. A few minutes that he wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon, if ever.
Ethan sighed as he absently plucked at one of the petals in front of him. “You guys are no fun. But I guess you’re probably right. It would be kind of weird to have Frankie just show up again at the hospital without a good reason.”
Jack nodded. “I think they call it stalking.”
“Whatever.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “I’d call it romantic. But I guess it’s not meant to be.”
Frankie could feel his smile finally start to fade, right along with the “Hawk is gay” butterflies. Ethan was right, and Frankie had to face the facts. Anything happening between a small-town boy like him and a celebrity like Hawk—no matter how nice Hawk had been—really wasn’t meant to be, no matter how much fun it might have been to pretend otherwise.
“It’s okay,” Frankie said, because this was reality, not some kind of fairytale romance. “It was cool to meet him, and now I’ve at least got a team to cheer for if I ever have to watch football.”
“Not a bad silver lining,” Jack agreed.
It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. And it would be a waste of time to think of all the ways it could’ve potentially been better.
Well, maybe not a total waste.
It may never happen… but a boy could dream, right?
Chapter 3
Hawk
Hawk cracked an eye open and immediately closed it again, turning his head to try and escape the morning sunlight that was filtering through the semi-open curtains. He briefly considered trying to detach himself from the dozen or so machines that they were using to monitor him, or at least attempt to stretch the tubes and wires across the room so he could find a way to block out the offending light, but… yeah, no.
Not gonna happen.
Even if his ribs didn’t hurt like hell—and now that the medication they’d been giving him had worn off, the pain was definitely an eight or a nine—he doubted he’d be able to get across the room and back without setting off all of the bells and whistles and who-knows-what-else they had strapped to his body.
He sighed and opened his eyes again, gingerly raising his arm to scrub a hand down his face. How long had he been sleeping? The last thing he remembered was trying to eat some bland, bullshit, soupy macaroni and cheese with some kind of processed meat that had been deceptively labeled as sliced turkey breast.
God, being in the hospital sucked, but at least they’d agreed that he could finally leave later that day. And even though he still couldn’t really do much, the change of scenery from the four walls of his hospital room to the wide expanse of his parents’ ranch would be nice. Really nice. The food would be a hell of a lot better, too, so that was a bonus.
Another bonus: Corbin would approve of Hawk staying out in the middle of nowhere, out of sight, out of mind, and out of the papers.
Despite the fact that he was eager to be leaving the hospital, Hawk couldn’t help but frown a little as he realized he’d just be trading one kind of confinement for another. Was he really supposed to stay in Bridgewater for six weeks?
Seriously?
That was sort of asking a lot.
His family’s ranch was nice, but damn. He’d been looking forward to spending the last few weeks before the season started doing things, not just watching the clock while everyone else was busy around him.
What was he even going to do out there on the ranch, if he couldn’t spend the time outdoors? If he had to stay invisible so the team owners didn’t get wind of his injury, there was nothing fun left. No football, no horseback riding, nothing physical.
Hawk shook his head. There was really no point in letting self-pity ruin his day. He still had a lot to be thankful for, after all. His injury wasn’t that serious, and there was a good chance that the whole thing would blow over if he buckled down and did what Corbin told him.
And maybe his luck would start to turn around. Maybe the doctors really were wrong, and he’d be up and moving before the six weeks was up. Maybe someone else on the team would make headlines for a change, and take a little bit of the heat off Hawk.
His phone buzzed on the table next to him, and even without looking, Hawk knew who it would be. The same person who’d been blowing up his phone ever since Hawk had so abruptly ended their call the previous afternoon, saved by Frankie the flower guy bursting into his room, full of sunshine and smiles.
This time, though, there was no cute delivery guy to distract him from the conversation that needed to be finished. And even though he’d managed to avoid talking to Corbin for the few hours he’d actually been awake the night before, Hawk knew he couldn’t dodge his agent forever.
With any luck, Corbin was calling to tell Hawk that he’d come up with a plan to keep the injury under wraps. If it meant that Hawk would have to deal with some yelling and swearing for the way he’d ended their conversation the day before, so be it. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. As long as his agent continued to get the results Hawk was paying him for, he’d continue to put up with Corbin’s unorthodox methods.
He reached for the phone and took a final, deep breath before swiping to answer with a “Good morning,” despite feeling anything but good.
“Well, I’m glad you finally decided to answer the phone.” Corbin wasn’t yelling, but his tone was far from pleasant. The guy was practically a celebrity in his own right in the world of sports management. He could pick and choose the athletes he worked with. A phone call from Corbin Tucker could make or break a career, and he never let anyone forget it. “Reading the tabloids to find out what you’re doing was getting tedious.”
Hawk took a moment before responding, not wanting to take Corbin’s bait and start the conversation off on the wrong foot. “They shouldn’t have anything to report. I’ve been here in my room alone. I haven’t even answered the phone—as I’m sure you know.”
“I believe that you’ve been there in the hospital… but you haven’t exactly been alone, have you?”
Hawk’s brow furrowed. What was Corbin getting at? Of course he’d been alone. His mom and dad had been there on the first day and would be coming back later to pick him up and take him to the ranch, b
ut other than that, the nurses, and the flowers… yeah, nobody.
Hell, he hadn’t even told his old buddies he was in town.
It was only supposed to be a few days at the ranch, then back to Atlanta, back to the parties and the clubs and a few last weekends of fun with his best friend and teammate, Juan Mendoza, before they both had to report to practice in July.
“Yeah. Alone. Just like I said,” Hawk answered Corbin, aware of the irritation creeping into his voice. He couldn’t help it, though. If Corbin had something to say, he was just going to have to say it. Hawk really wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games.
“Then how do you explain the pictures of your little boyfriend that are splashed all over the gossip sites this morning?” Corbin shot back. “They show him entering the hospital with an armful of flowers and leaving with a big-ass smile an hour later. When I said to lay low, I didn’t mean in bed with some fresh-faced farm boy.”
“Wait, what?” Hawk blinked. What in the hell was Corbin talking about? “My… what?”
It was rare for Corbin to mention anything at all about Hawk’s personal life. He’d been the first one to tell Hawk not to buy into all the crazy stories that had cropped up in the tabloids when the Falcons had first signed him. Back then, they’d made it seem like a Big Deal that Hawk just happened to be gay, but his performance on the field had quickly shut up most of the assholes.
And besides, Corbin could spin anything. Hawk had followed his advice to the letter, and the way Corbin had advised him to handle any and all conversation about his sexuality in the media had turned it into a non-issue—possibly even an asset, considering the conversations about tolerance in the league that had taken place in the years since Hawk had been drafted.