S T E P H E N
"You were fire out that, Crawford!" Brandon slaps a sweaty hand on my back as soon as I step into the changing room, being greeted by a cacophony of exhilarated footsteps running about.
"Thanks," I grumble out, a little irritated when he rummages my hair without my permission.
His hands are so greasy and he stinks. I stink too which is why I hate it when people violate my space without a warning beforehand.
When he finally leaves me alone to join his group of loud friends in the showers, I find myself near my locker, my shoulders weighed down with the events of the day.
I am elated, or at least I like to think I am. I not only made it into the team but took the spot of the captain. More like snatched it from him. Coach Jackson liked my game so much that he nearly squeezed me to death in his happiness.
With the new position comes new responsibilities and Coach Jackson made it clear that being the first black and openly gay captain in a team where nearly half the members were white, I had a bigger responsibility on my shoulders to prove myself. He had high hopes for me and I wanted to stand by that.
I open my locker, taking out my phone which is placed neatly over my folded clothes inside. I swipe it open to find a text from Amaya.
Amaya:
You played good, rock star!
Her text warms my heart. Amaya Sommers is so fucking beautiful. It is sad that Carter got to her heart first. I had wanted her, still want her. But I was late.
I leave her on seen for now, making up my mind to meet with her later. It is time to let go of my useless hopes for her. She would never be mine. I will meet with her later and apologize for ignoring her all these days, and admit that my jealousy got the best of me.
Jealousy and him
Kyle Dickson is not a dick. He is nowhere close to one. When I entered the team, he gave me a warm welcome and made me feel a part of it. He encouraged me saying that he was proud of me for playing that way on the field and hoped that we would finally be able to defeat our rival team, The Howlers, this season. Then I had gone ahead and stole the Coach's attention, stealing the position of the captain from him.
Happiness and guilt — my heart is full of both as I take my clothes out, strip off my jersey, and head for the shower.
Naked guys loiter around the smoky bathroom, some of them eyeing me when I enter. In this place, their gazes aren't filled with admiration for my game but for something else. I am the only non-straight guy on the team and they all know that. I can see their minds working, inspecting me closely to see if their dicks would grab my attention.
Idiots don't know anything about being gay. Dicks arouse me and so do pussies but even more than that, I am attracted to personalities. Sex is just an added bonus.
I lock my jaw, pressing my lips into a firm line when I reach an empty stall.
I enter and pull the curtain, hanging my towel over a hook. I turn on the shower, the first sprinkle of lukewarm water making me groan with relief. I rake my fingers through my hair, letting the stress of the day wash away from my body. I am aching in the aftermath of the game, my muscles clenched tightly in knots.
I close my eyes and the vision that flashes across my lids tightens my chest.
Dark brown hair, amber eyes staring at me with unfiltered pain, slumped shoulders that hang low.
Gorgeous. Strong. Talented. Broken.
I am his betrayer. A traitor that stabbed him in the back. He will hate me forever.
The chattering around the bathroom has died down, signaling that most of the guys have left. I am still standing like a marble statue under the shower, unable to process what happened today.
The sound of the shower curtain being dragged open tickles my back, lodging the first instinct of fear in my brain. I turn around, blinking to clear my vision as a foggy cloud occupies the small stall. A large body enters my personal space, pulling the curtain back behind him.
"What the fuck!?" I yell, reaching with a hand for my towel.
I wrap it around my waist with watery eyes after turning the shower back off. I look up just to end up catching my breath.
Kyle is in my stall with me, our bodies barely inches away. His eyes are dark, framed by blankness as he crosses his burly arms over his toned chest. That isn't what makes me freeze though.
He is naked — stark naked without even a towel on him.
His firm legs are shoulder-width apart as he towers over me. I am tall myself but he seems taller or maybe it's just my head playing tricks on me.
"What are you doing here? Get out!" I shout, my voice sounding groggy due to his closeness near me.
"How did you do that?" he asks, each word sharpened by an irritation that laces his tone.
"Do what?"
"The spin move," he exhales pensively. "I have been trying to master it for years. You're a natural."
I am left a little startled by his question. I had expected more animosity from him after what happened today but he looks calm. I take a step back as he closes in more. His cock, which I can't stop myself from getting a peek at, stands hard between us. Thick and rigid.
It puzzles me. Why is he this hard? Is it just the cold or is it something between us?
"My Dad taught me that," I tell him as if it is a normal thing to discuss basketball moves naked in a shower stall.
Straight guys never usually do it for me but something about him reminds me of all the things that I love about fucking a man or sucking a cock. If given the chance, I would surely like to go down on my knees for him.
Crap. I'm so much shit.
He swallows a gulp, the movement of his throat flicking my attention to his Adam's Apple.
"Teach me," he utters in a tone so harsh that it sounds like he himself can't believe what he is asking me for.
"Teach you?" I end up scoffing because truthfully, Kyle Dickson asking me to teach him something reminds me of a very particular dream I once had about him after seeing him for the first time.
"Yeah. I want to learn that move. Teach me how to play like you."
"Are you making fun of me?" I gulp, not at all taking him seriously. "You know you play far better than me, right?"
"And yet you won!"
He abruptly steps between my legs, his hands coming to rest on the wall behind me on both sides of my head, trapping me in between. I back away, only to find myself cornered as my back presses behind the wet shower wall. He is close enough that I can count the few freckles he has scattered over his face. The stall is still smoky and our bodies are just a hairsbreadth away.
His cock presses over my inner thigh, the head slightly grazing my own covered by my towel. I know I am sporting an erection without having to look and I pray he doesn't notice that.
He leans close, anger flashing across his dark pupils. I feel his hot breath right over my mouth, our compromising position keeping my eyes locked with his under a smoky cloud of breaths.
"Kyle..." Saying his name earns me a glare from him because it leaves my mouth like a moan.
I am trembling, every part of my body being vividly aware of his presence so near. If I move an inch, I can feel his lips on my own.
"Teach me your moves," he breathes.
If he had any idea of what moves I currently have in my mind, he would retract his request. I can already count in my head how many moves I can teach him.
Moves that could make him see stars behind his lids. Moves that could make him moan for me.
"What do I get...get...in...return?" I stutter out the question, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
"What do you want?"
Your lips around my—
Nope, can't go there.
"What can you give?" I counter.
He scoffs, moving his gaze from me to the wall above my head. "I ain't gay, Crawford. I can't give you a blowie if you want one."
Hot rage climbs up my throat at the way he says that. The audacity of this guy...
"You shouldn't be so sure of that. I can feel your dick just fine."
He brings those dark eyes back on me, amusement flickering in them.
"I got a blowie from Lucy after the game. Couldn't come in her mouth because the Coach interrupted us," he says.
Liar. I can practically feel his lie as his voice brushes my skin tantalizingly.
I have had eyes on him all along just to see if he would be enraged with him so that I could be prepared. Lucy was nowhere close to him.
"Lucy wouldn't do that. She broke up with you." I lean back against the wall, my hands flat on both sides of me. "Amaya told me."
"Doesn't mean she stopped giving me the occasional head." His gaze slides down to my lips for a split second, adding to the fire churning inside my belly. "So what, Crawford? You want a blowie from me?"
I don't know how we went from talking about basketball moves to blow jobs but my dick surely likes his offer. Sad I can't take it.
"Shut the fuck off, Dickson."
I push him back with my hands on his chest, regretting the move instantly when the feel of his chest lingers on my palms. His skin is scorching hot.
"I could do it," he offers with a sly smirk that boils my blood. "Never sucked a dick before but I'm good with sucking nipples. Would that do?"
Bastard
"I don't want your mouth anywhere near the vicinity of my cock," I tell him in a flat voice. "I might be the only gay on the team but I'm not desperate enough to be your sexual awakening."
His jaw tightens at my jab.
"Your wish," he says. "I offered due to the kindness of my heart. What else would you want?"
I ponder over the seriousness with which he asks me the question. He has his gaze fixed on me like he wouldn't leave without convincing me. I have no qualms teaching my moves to him. He would be playing for my team after all. I am supposed to be a captain my teammates can look up to for help.
"Deets," I answer after a long moment of doubts clouding my mind.
He raises a brow. "What?"
"I'll teach you my moves, and you'll teach me how to be a good captain," I explain. "I want to know everything about the team, about every member, and who has what weaknesses and strengths."
He lifts a hand to scratch at his stubbled chin, tilting his head to give me a scrutinizing stare.
"That's fair," he says, dropping his hand from his chin to extend it toward me. "We have a deal then, Crawford."
I stare at his outstretched hand, not finding the guts to touch his skin again. He is bad for my hormones. He sighs when I don't offer his handshake like he finds me intolerable in some manner.
"4 AM tomorrow. School grounds. Show up on time."
"It's too early," I retort.
A dark, raspy chuckle escapes him in the enclosed shower space. "Need your beauty sleep, Bello?"
I narrow my eyes at the nickname. Bold of him to risk calling me handsome after telling me he was completely straight.
"6 AM and you're picking me up. I'll email you the address."
"Text me. I don't do emails."
"I don't have your number."
"Ask Amaya."
Yeah. Not happening.
He turns without another word, his hand moving to withdraw the curtain.
"Never talk to me without your clothes on again," I say before he can step out.
Another raspy laugh from him settles down to my bones. "I don't make promises I can't keep, Crawford."
I purse my lips as he steps out of the stall, leaving me with jittery nerves in a smoke of unrequited attention.