Soccer ~★ bxb romance novel ★~

Chapter 6 ~ Benched

James

As if his face didn't lurk in my mind enough, Milten's sharp jawline and dark green eyes kept staring me down and ripping me apart in my dreams.

At training, Max and I were neck and neck constantly. His body moved so smoothly and he hugged the ball so close, and yet he was so damn confident as he passed to his teammates. His body writhed against mine as I tried to steal the ball from him over and over again, he was always winning. Frustration bubbled in the pit of my stomach when I was around him.

I would admit it.

Milten was better than me. He was a team player, he communicated well with his mates and he gave a new meaning to being fit. His well-rounded playing style, hand-in-hand with his respectful and genuine character made him a good catch for scouts.

Working with him was bruising my ego but it also propelled me to improve, to challenge myself and analyse his skills...and his weaknesses. That's what made me a good soccer player. I knew exactly how to manipulate the competition's weaknesses to my advantage.

Just like right now, as I flirted with Milten's best friend across the field, sending a seductive look and charmingly stroking my hand through my hair. He was distracted, and my offender kicked straight into their goal.

The downfalls in my shady athleticism and attention-seeking personality would definitely cost me at some point in my career, but I didn't know when.

Nevertheless, I was learning from Max, and he was learning from me. I could see it in the way he pulled out sharp moves unexpectedly and confused my eyes and it fucked with my coordination and composure in our one-on-one matches and on the field. I'm sure he could tell that I picked up his fluidity and grace as I glided around our field with long strides and whipped the ball out of his control in one swift movement.

This morning, I had another ungodly dream, about Max. My emotions were thrown off balance and I was not in the right headspace to be on the field right now, but I was trying to keep it together. My play was jerky and uncalculated and I could feel Coach Andrews' disappointed glare on my back. Here we were again, chasing each other around the centre when the coaches both whistled at us. Max and I stopped, glaring at each other and puffing.

"Get off the field you two! I expect better from the team captains, you've barely involved your teams today. While being assholes isn't against any rules, that's not how we taught you to play! Nic and Sammy, you guys are centre now." Coach Andrews yelled.

I had never been benched before.

My shoulders slumped as I walked slowly off the field to sit down, Max following closely behind.

I sat down and rolled my eyes at myself.

"What's wrong with you today? I was beginning to think you'd actually improved for a bit, you've definitely picked up some of my style," Max said.

"Don't flatter yourself. It's a shame you haven't picked up my reflexes, you're slow as fuck to respond to every single move I make." I challenged him, raising my eyebrow.

Max took a long swig of his drink bottle and didn't make eye contact.

"So you've been analysing me then?" Max asked in a disinterested tone.

That one almost caught me off guard.

"And you haven't?"

"Haven't what?" I was an expert at reading people and he was obviously feigning confusion. For what reason, however, I wasn't sure.

"Been analysing my play." I clarified for him, even though I would have much preferred to roll my eyes and smack him and shove my tongue down his glorious throat right instead.

I turned to give my full attention to Milten, and noticed how he awkwardly scratched his leg and pulled up his socks as I watched him. It hit me then, how pure and modest and humble he was. He wasn't like me, he wasn't desperate for people to praise and admire him. He just loved soccer. Although he squirmed under the attention of others, Max Milten was collected and self-aware, a balanced person. I really liked him. I almost wanted to be him.

"I've analysed you enough to know why you win. You observe your opponent and use their weaknesses against them, hit them where they already hurt. We all know it's not right but no one ever said it was wrong. You're fast and fit, you don't miss anything and you make decisions without hesitation. But you hog the ball and you don't trust anyone, not even your best friends, on the field. But you already knew that about yourself, didn't you?"

Wow. His psycho-analysis had me speechless for a moment. That was something I missed about him, something I couldn't tell from how he played or behaved; he was smart too.

"You've been watching me very closely, haven't you?" I taunted him.

"And I have no doubt you have loved every second of it, James." He answered.

I looked away and blushed, out of anger or embarrassment- I wasn't sure. I could sense Max staring at my side profile. I regained composure after a short silence and turned back to meet his eyes.

"You're not the only one who can psycho-analyse, Milten." I replicated his condescending tone, "I know you're jealous of me," I spoke with absolute conviction. I knew that even if it wasn't true, I would still have him exactly where I wanted him as my enemy, questioning himself and emotionally weakened.

"Yeah, people might think I'm an asshole but at least I can handle the limelight. As soon as the focus is on you, you freeze up and squirm like there's a monster under your bed. And that's why I win. Because you crack under pressure and I don't ."

"You're right. You are a fucking asshole." Max replied.

I would have been offended, but something about being seen right through and so truthfully burned by Max Milten and his demanding voice was thrilling.

And really hot.

I dug my teeth into my lip and looked over at him, Max watched me for a split-second and then looked back over to the field, his irritation showing in between his eyebrows. I kept watching him for a longer time than I cared to admit, unconcerned with whether Golden Boy noticed or not.

He was gorgeous. Inside and out and I wasn't good enough for him. I don't think anybody could be, with a body sculpted like a Greek god: broad shouldered, lean yet muscular, long tanned legs and his loose brunette curls.... And a mind that saw and spoke only of the honest truth. He was genuine and warm and everything that I wasn't.

And he saw me. Not many people saw me.

It was no surprise that I liked him so much. I didn't even know if he liked guys. But regardless of his sexuality, it was so depressingly unlikely that anything would ever happen, because we were enemies, and we had to be- if either of us ever wanted to get anywhere in soccer, and in life.