3. Lucas

CHAPTER 3

LUCAS

"Don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed. I'm just not mad at you. " I paused, turning the words over for a moment in a haze of heat and the babiest of buzzes from my second beer on an empty stomach. "Not as mad."

Cooper Howard, golden boy and fan favorite—at least among certain groups of fans—smirked over the edge of his glass of sweet tea. "Could've fooled me. Since Saturday, I've been pretty sure you were gonna show up at my place while I was asleep to smother me with my own pillow."

"Please," I scoffed, doing my very best not to imagine Cooper in bed and failing spectacularly. "If I was going to take you out, I wouldn't be sneaky."

He hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip of his tea. We'd been at Cherry Bo Berry's for an hour or so, me nursing a Hand Wing sour ale and him drinking tea like it was going out of style. The roiling anger and frustration simmered under my skin, but I'd been unable to keep the fire burning over Cooper's involvement. Down in my bones, I knew he hadn't sought out Byrne, or credit for my accomplishments, but... I glanced up at him. His dark, warm eyes fixed on my fingers, fiddling with the bottle's label. When he noticed I'd caught him staring, he ducked his chin, clearing his throat before trying to hide his blush behind his tea glass.

"Look, the thing is, I have had horrible luck with football players," I blurted. "It's not you, specifically. Just every player—scratch that, every team —I've ever been even peripherally involved with in any way has screwed me over, and I've been expected to smile and take it because I'm a cheerleader and rah-rah team and all that crap."

The deep swig of the ale was probably not my smoothest move. I choked on it, forcing myself to swallow around the cough tickling my throat, waving off Cooper's offer of a swift pat on the back. He scooted closer, moving around the small two-top to awkwardly, almost carefully, rub my back between my shoulder blades.

I dabbed my mouth and chin. "That was fucking classy," I muttered when I was able to speak again. "I was going for dramatic and tired."

"Well, dying at my feet in the middle of the day in a crowded bar would be pretty dramatic."

I looked around. Other than us, there was only the bartender, a bar back not long out of high school, and two old queens at the far end of the bar arguing over a dart game. "It's not crowded."

"It will be when I tell the story." Cooper smiled and ugh. Something inside me melted. Or maybe I just had heartburn or something because I felt hot and shivery all over. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled, how he caught his lower lip with his teeth like he was trying to keep from smiling too big...

"I survived so I guess you'll just have to disappoint your fans. I'm sure Byrne will be sad he missed out on a way to make my death about you."

Cooper's smile fell. For a flicker of a second, I felt like an ass. Then my better sense kicked in, and I reminded myself that we were here to talk. I sighed, pushing my beer to one side and leaning in closer, ostensibly to keep my voice low. I couldn't fool myself—he smelled really good. I'd noticed a faint hint of it when we were in Caitlin's office, but when he scooted over, it was a definite waft, and I wanted a better whiff.

Ugh. I sounded like one of those telenovela dickheads Abuelita liked so much. "Look, I'm not thrilled about how this is going down, okay? I would not mind one single bit if you were volunteering to help because you wanted to, or if you had some awesome ideas about how to help Queering Sports. That's not the issue. I'm pissed because, suddenly, all of the hard work the ladies and I put into the event is being brushed aside for one of the golden boys off the team. I'm angry because I'm being treated like a commodity by people I thought I could trust and I thought respected me."

"We are commodities, though," Cooper said, brow wrinkling as he gave me a considering and worried look. "We make money for organizations. We're products. What we do, what we represent, it's all money to them. Even doing PR events. I get told where to go, what time to be there, and where to stand so the camera gets my best angle. I'm done, and then it's Yowie or Matty or hell, one of a million other players. "He shrugged. "The way I figure things right now, for some reason, my involvement in the event on Saturday got more eyes on it, right?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. "Donations have never been so high."

"Then maybe we should consider things."

I gave in and took another sip of my beer. The sour blueberry and yeast flavor flooded my mouth, then burned down my throat, leaving an acid-malt aftertaste verging on unpleasant. Just like my mood, "I guess you missed the part of the meeting where this is already a forgone conclusion—us working together. Liesel has been dying to take Queering Sports national and get it the recognition it deserves. I'm not even remotely mad about that. What's grating my cheese, though, is being relegated to the role of hired help. I busted my ass, put literal blood into this project, and I gotta admit, it's my pride and fucking joy. Don't tell my cat I said that."

Cooper's eyes widened, and his lips quirked, entirely too sinful for him to do in public. "You've got a kitty?"

I nodded, barely able to suppress my smile. "Desmond. He's a flame point Siamese I adopted from someone who knew someone who was friends with my great grandma."

Cooper's eyes lit with a childlike excitement, his entire posture perking up like the golden retriever he was often compared to. "I love cats. I want to adopt one, but I travel too much, and, when I'm not on the road, I'm training, I'm doing promo, I'm trying to be a good brother and kid..." He sighed. "Well. That's my trauma dumping. I'm sorry I did that and made you listen."

Cooper very seriously stirred his straw around in his tea, watching the slurry of sugar at the bottom of the glass. "Caitlin and Liesel were very certain their plan would work," I finally said. "It pissed me off because they were reducing everything I'd done over the past many months to some early 90's sitcom bullshit."

His expression, usually warm and open, shuttered. Rolling his tea glass back and forth slowly between his palms, Cooper shrugged. "It's not a terrible idea. I can see the appeal. Even if it meant you'd have to be nice to me for longer than passing one another in the stadium corridor."

The bubbles in my ale were nearly gone. I should be wrapping things up now— We had a drink; it's time to go. No hard feelings, have a great one. Instead, though, I gingerly reached out one foot and poked his shin. My annoyance and frustration still simmered below the surface, and a perverse part of me wanted to nurse that feeling. Cooper was a football player. His ego had enough boosting on the daily from not just the team but fans as well. He might not be the most famous guy on the team, but he was definitely well known.

He'd seemed pretty oblivious to it, too. The glances that weren't very covert, a few hollers about good game or critiques of his playing last season shouted from passer-by and, in one case, an Uber. But he'd just shrugged it off with good humor, like these were folks he knew in passing and not people who watched him every week, some probably paying ridiculous sums of money for the opportunity in person. Even the fans bold enough to approach him for one-on-one conversation hadn't triggered some preening, cocky star attitude like I'd come to expect from players. Coop been genial with some teenaged fans who'd stopped us as we walked into Cherry Bo Berry. He'd smiled, signed, asked some questions about what they were up to, then deftly extricated us and waved the kids off while they did their best not to squeal aloud. And the entire time, he'd looped me into the interaction.

It'd been weird. Nice. But weird. The cheerleaders had fans, sure, but most of them were either aspiring cheerleaders themselves or people with absolutely zero boundaries who thought porn was an accurate depiction. Being introduced to randoms like I was somebody important had been... Well. Nice. Really freaking nice. Cooper Howard doing it had also been nice. More than. And I hated myself for being excited.

He was making it too easy to let this slide, to fold into the PR plans for all the work I'd done. There, there's the anger. Nice to have you back again.

"Look, I get that this would be great for Queering Sports, but I'm going to be up front with you here... I've been working myself to the bone with this group for two years now. I know you understand why they're so important, yeah?" He nodded, and I kept going, not giving him a chance to interject. "And I won't begrudge them the boost in donations, the huge spike in media attention, the requests from all these famous athletes about supporting them... It's wonderful."

He watched as I took a more careful sip of my ale, waiting until I was done to say, "You sure as hell don't sound like you think it's wonderful."

"The part that's not wonderful is the thing y'all seem to be missing in gushing over the proposal. All of these events coming up this year, every single one of them, I made happen. Between me and Liesel, we organized six whole fundraisers between now and December. The women on the squad have really pitched in to help when their day jobs and school allow, but?—"

"But," Cooper interrupted softly, "you feel like your work's being swept under the rug."

My nod was short, jerky.

I rolled my bottle back and forth between my hands again, watching the label flake with moisture. A few more people wandered in, eyeballing Cooper hard. At least one of the kids he'd spoken with must have made a social media post or maybe told a friend who told a brother or dad because they were doing that thing, trying to act casual but obviously staring. I snorted softly, taking one more sip of my drink to finish it off. "The important thing is the organization is getting notice, yeah? They're getting funding."

"And you're getting lost," he murmured, leaning just a little closer. "Listen, this is important to me, too—it was before I heard all of the awesome things they do, but after Liesel gave us the full rundown of the organization?" He shook his head, leaning back and taking that soft, spicy scent with him. Damn it. "I honestly had no idea how deep their roots are, Lucas. I don't think anyone does unless they're working with them, you know?"

I sank down in my seat. Another guy joined the two looky-loos at the bar, all three pretending not to stare at Cooper. Great. An audience was forming.

I could do audiences. I knew how to perform and look happy and at ease even if my day was shittastic. "I'm not always going to be a cheerleader. There's a time limit on how long this will last for me. You know how it goes. Our bodies are only going to perform at peak for so long. Eventually, injuries and age catch up to us. Hell, every year when it's time for our annual audition, I stress about making the cut. There's gonna be a year when I don't. I planned to transition from cheering and teaching to teaching and hopefully working with a nonprofit." I shrugged, staring at the bottle again. "Maybe go back and get my master's in social work or something so I can help more."

"I don't see how this is stopping you," he said, frowning. "Was this some sort of a test for you? And now you're not going to get the job working with Queering Sports?" A tiny divot formed between his brows as he gave me a considering, confused look. Damn it, why did he have to be so freaking cute? I wanted to hate him, and it'd be way easier if he was one of those no-neck, high-and-tight having, dude bros who talked to me like I wasn't able to parse big words and had cotton for brains.

"No," I groaned, pressing my face into my hands to muffle a growl of frustration. "It's more than that. Or maybe not more than, but... ugh. This fundraiser, and all of the ones I've helped line up for the rest of the year? Those were supposed to be proof I could do this, you know? Proof I'm more than the perky little twink who can toss Tori into the air and never miss a beat. I'm trying to build a portfolio so when I have to stop cheering, I have something to pivot towards."

Cooper sipped the last of his tea, his gaze thoughtful. A few more guys came in, one wearing a Howard jersey with his number on it, trying to act casual. They were circling, though, getting braver as they realized Cooper wasn't going to wave them off. "Don't you need some training or something to work for nonprofits? Like a college degree?"

I scowled. "What makes you think I didn't go to college? I have a bachelor's in business administration with a certificate in nonprofit management, and a bachelor's in performance with a specialization in dance education."

Eyes gone wide, Cooper let out a low whistle. I felt a tingle of pride under his appreciative, impressed gaze but did my best not to let him see how his reaction gave me the warm fuzzies. "Two degrees? Jesus. When'd you start college? When you were twelve?"

"How old do you think I am?" I laughed. "And I did a bunch of dual credits in high school, then double majored. Worked my ass off with summer classes and accelerated programs so I could graduate by twenty-three."

"So, you're twenty-three," he said, nodding. "I'm twenty-four."

"I'm twenty-five," I corrected, wishing I hadn't finished my beer. I needed something to do other than pick at the soggy label. I needed to go was what I needed to do. Just leave and call this done. Show up for the photo op next week like Caitlin proposed, smile and nod and just go with the flow like Cass gently suggested. Use Cooper as our big draw. Bring him along to the events. Put him front and center.

Push him as the main attraction, not actually supporting an awesome, desperately needed organization working to make it easier for queer kids to be involved in sports.

Jesus.

"Oooooh, an older man," he chuckled. "I'm in trouble."

He leaned back in his chair and ran his thumb over his lower lip, wiping away a stray drop of tea.

Teasing me.

Heat flared in my belly. I'm sure it wasn't intentional, but it did things to my blood flow and sent my thoughts careening back on that earlier track. Imagining him in bed for just a minute.

Lucky for me—maybe—one of the circling sharks finally got close enough to fake surprise at seeing Cooper. "Holy shit, Cooper Howard! Hey, I'm a huge fan!"

Cooper's expression flickered from relaxed and amused to irritated. Before the guy could even notice, Cooper plastered a big, game-winning grin on his face and stood up to shake hands with him. The rest of the guys swarmed over, shaking hands and talking about his performance last season, asking about pre-season whatevers, inserting themselves between Cooper and the table.

With all the chickenhearted gumption I could muster, I saw my chance and took it. Slipping to my feet, I dropped some bills on the table for a tip and headed out of the bar. I could feel Cooper's eyes on the back of my neck as I left, but I didn't look back.

Caitlin was still in her office when I arrived. Cass had lingered, too. "Lucas," Caitlin said with a slight edge to her voice. "I do have a phone, you know. And email. You didn't have to march yourself back in here."

"I know," I muttered. I hadn't remembered until I was halfway back, when my buzz started wearing off, but I pressed on. "I thought this would be better in person."

"You left pretty quick, before we hammered out details. Cass here's been going over your squad's schedule with me, but we need your input on your personal schedule as well."

Cass smiled, a touch cool but mostly kind. She'd known what my endgame was, and she'd known how the sudden pivot hurt me. Or at least I thought she had. "Lucas, hon, I know this isn't what you'd dreamed of, but you need to focus on the charity. It's for them , not you ."

Neck prickling with shame, my face heated, but I jerked my chin up and stared back at them both, daring them to call me anything but committed. "I'm not upset because I wanted all the credit or because I was jealous that Cooper's suddenly getting a ton of media attention when I wanted it or some crap. I am nothing but thrilled for the sudden spike in attention for the organization. What I'm not is excited for turning this into a non-sustainable dog-and-pony show to capitalize on a flash in the pan interest by Troopers fans."

"I think you're letting your past experiences color your perception of the fans," Cass remarked drily.

I flinched—she knew about my past experiences with pro players. She knew better than anyone. She'd been there to help me pick up the pieces.

"And you're doing a real disservice to Cooper and the other guys on the team who've recently expressed interest in taking part with Queering Sports." Caitlin added, her tone far sterner and more displeased.

"Am I, though? Remember when Danny Trent in Tacoma got papped wearing a sticker from that animal shelter fundraiser the Sailor's cheer squad did, and all of a sudden, fans just inundated the shelter? It was the best thing ever for them, but a few months later, they were back at zero because the fans moved on to the next thing Danny was into. The shelter's donations were a roller coaster," I pointed out.

"Er. No?" Cass murmured. "I remember the team having some dogs on the field once at halftime."

I nodded. "Because of Trent. It was a joke to them—the guys brought their dogs out to tease Danny, give him shit for being known as the puppy guy or something. But the shelter went from barely scraping by to literally a million dollars in just a few months. Then Trent started doing ad campaigns for that travel company, the fans moved on, and the shelter returned to almost nothing. The squad does literal backflips to help them raise money, but the general attitude seems to be that since Danny's not part of it, what's the point?"

"Danny Trent never officially attached his name to that fundraiser," Caitlin pointed out. "I should know—I work closely with other PR firms who deal with league teams, and the Sailors have never paired with animal-related charities."

"That's not my point," I sighed, head throbbing. Maybe that beer on an empty stomach had been a bad idea, but here I was, and backing down wasn't an option. "Trent's involvement implied support from the team, which wasn't an issue in any legal sense since there were no claims made by the shelter when the funds stopped, no attempt at any sort of recourse because no explicit or implicit promises were made. The problem is that leaping on Trent's interest and apparent involvement created an unsustainable situation, where the influx of support was contingent upon apparent approval by a celebrity. When that approval waned or disappeared entirely, so did the support." I sniffed, shooting Caitlin a glare. " I should know. I wrote my entire senior thesis on the mess."

Caitlin and Cass exchanged a look over my head, one I didn't like. "What?" I demanded.

"Hear me out," Cass said slowly, some unspoken conversation passing between her and Caitlin. "What if—and this is going to be entirely dependent on the organization's receptivity to the idea—instead of putting Cooper out there as the face of this event series you helped plan... What if we pivot a bit?"

"Huh?"

Caitlin nodded slowly. "I'll need to talk with Queering Sports' legal team, and with Cooper's agent..."

"What the hell is going on here?" I demanded. "Cass?"

"Our initial idea was too small," Cass said, a small smile blooming.

Caitlin shook her head. "Lucas, I'm afraid I was misjudging you. I thought you were passionate about helping the organization because of your ties to the queer sports community. I didn't understand. It's bigger, isn't it?"

"Er, yes?" I glanced at Cass, typing something furiously on her phone. "Y'all?"

"Let me make some calls," Cass said. "Caitlin, we'll be in touch."

Caitlin nodded, not even looking up as Cass shepherded me out of the office and to the bank of elevators.

"You want this to be sustainable, right? That's your buzzword for this?"

My turn to nod. "Yeah, but smiling and nodding and letting Cooper be a talking head isn't going to help in the long run. Look, what I said about Tate and Tacoma is true. I can give you the sources on it. Shit, I should probably talk to Liesel about it first. She's the one in charge and, frankly, the one who needs to worry about the outcome. If it goes to hell, the squad and the team won't really be affected."

We stepped onto the elevator, and Cass jabbed the button for the ground floor. "How would you manage this for Queering Sports so this blip in interest becomes sustainable?"

"Uh..."

"Don't play confused, kid," she ordered, glancing at the scrolling numbers as we went from fourteen to one. "You must have an idea."

The doors opened onto a busy lobby. Numbly, I followed Cass, my mental gears grinding as I tried to keep up with her words. "I... I'd need to sit down and look at the numbers. Talk to Liesel. Get more information on where they want to go long-term. Like real long-term, not just one or two years." I grabbed my phone from my hip pocket and opened the note-taking app.

Cass pulled me to a stop near the doors. "And don't forget to talk to Cooper Howard. He's still part of this, remember. His name's attached now, his face. So figure out how to make that work or how to fix it before it becomes a bigger problem."

"Sure," I smiled thinly. "Totally doable."

Fuck.