Eastshore Tigers 01 - Strong Side (11 page)

"Sure. I’ll bring a pizza or something. We’ll work it out."

He claps me on the shoulder, and even that touch—the same touch I get from teammates every day—is enough to send my heart racing and set my body on fire.

So much for giving him time to figure things out.

I get to his dorm room around seven o'clock with a large pizza tucked under my arm. It isn’t the first time I've been here, but this time, it feels different. Something crackles in the air, just waiting to ignite, and I'm equal parts giddy and terrified.

In the few hours since practice ended, I’ve come up with a plan. I need to know where we stand. Even if he tells me it was a one-time thing—some crazy, spur of the moment reaction—I need to know. It's driving me crazy to wonder.

I hear Hawk's voice when I knock, and he opens the door soon after. He's dressed in a Tigers t-shirt with athletic shorts, and I get a pretty generous view of his muscular arms and legs. I'm reminded of just how ripped he is for a quarterback, and already my thoughts scurry to a place they shouldn't.

Unlike me, Hawk doesn't actually share a dorm room with anybody else. He had a roommate at the beginning of the year, apparently, but they transferred and he's managed to fly under the radar ever since. Now, a month into the semester, I'm not sure anybody's going to join him. Fine by me, because I don't like the idea of having this conversation knowing somebody could walk in on us.

"Hey. Thanks for coming over."

"No problem," I say, setting the pizza down on a little storage unit since he's got his laptop set up on the desk.

I open up the box, and the smell of greasy cheese, pepperoni, and sausage hits my nose. Coach Garvey gets onto us about eating fast food, but we put in enough work during the day that a few slices of pizza aren’t going to kill us.

We both eat and talk about the upcoming game. We’re four games into the season, and I still haven't been called on to start yet. I'm trying not to freak out about it, but it's honestly starting to get to a point where I know I'm going to have to consider financial aid.

"What are you going to do if you can't get a scholarship at the end of this year?" He asks after taking another bite of pizza.

Talking with him like this makes me realize how much I missed having my best friend around.

"March my ass down to the financial aid office, I guess."

"Nothing to be ashamed of. Most of the people who attend this college aren't doing it out of pocket."

I nod, but it doesn't really make me feel any better. My parents tapped out their savings paying for my medical bills, so I can’t ask them for help. But they also lectured me about getting buried underneath a mountain of student debt.

It's not like I have a wealth of options right now, though.

"Do you qualify for any academic scholarships? You still have a 3.9 GPA, right?"

"Yeah, me and at least 70% of the student body. Most of the scholarships are for high school seniors, anyway."

"Guess I’m part of the 30%, then," he says.

I start to feel like an asshole for even saying it, but when I meet his gaze, I can see a small grin tugging at his lips. I smile in return, and feel a little bit of my tension ease.

That is until we lapse into silence while we eat, and my mind spins with what I actually want to talk to him about.

Drawing in a deep breath, I try to salvage what's left of my courage and man the fuck up. "We have to talk about what happened."

He doesn't respond for the longest time, and just silently chews the bite he's taken before washing it down with a Coke. His posture is insanely rigid, and I'm not even sure how he can manage the movement to reach for another slice of pizza.

"Don't want to," he finally says.

I'd say neither do I, but that'd be a lie. "Didn't take you for somebody who runs from his problems."

He sighs, tossing the slice of pizza back into the box. "I don't know what you want me to say, Derek."

His tone is defensive, and my hackles immediately raise. Great. This is how it always ends with straight guys.

Instead of talking about it and admitting he might be feeling something he doesn't want to feel, he's just going to bury it and act like it never happened. Wonderful.

Wiping my hand on my jeans, I stand up and start toward the door. "You can just email me the paper. I got shit to do that doesn't involve feeling like an asshole for something you did."

Before I can even reach the door, his hand is on my arm. His grip is desperate, and I can't help but look at him. He’s fixing me with the same pleading blue eyes that got me here in the first place.

"Wait." I stop moving, and take my hand away from the door, letting out an agitated sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm just… Confused."

"Join the club," I mutter.

He takes his hand off of me, and I immediately feel the absence of warmth. So fucking pathetic. I can’t even make a stand for myself without pining for him.

"How did you figure out you were gay?"

The question isn't completely unexpected, but I have to bite back the first smartass answer that comes to mind. He’s trying, at least.

I draw one arm loosely about myself, as if it's going to protect me from getting hurt here. "It's just something I always sort of knew. Ever since I was a kid, really. I just liked being around boys more than girls, and eventually that turned into something else." With a sigh, I give in, sinking back into the chair. Hawk moves to sit on the bed. "In junior high, I went on my first date with a girl. She kissed me, and I didn't feel anything. I dated girls through my sophomore year of high school, and it was the same thing every time. The first time I kissed a guy, I felt… Amazing. Like I was finally doing what I was supposed to do."

He looks out the window, and I join him. A couple of skinny guys are tossing around a football. When I look back at Hawk, he’s got both hands behind his neck, and he’s hanging his head down like he’s this close to puking. Jesus. And I thought it was hard for me to come to terms with my sexuality.

But that’s putting the cart before the horse. I’m bracing myself for him to tell me he didn’t really feel anything; that he was just horny as hell and I served the same purpose any warm body would.

“I’ve never felt anything for another guy. Never even thought about it until I met Nathan. I guess I started to wonder my senior year of high school. What it would be like if we fooled around, you know? He was my best friend, and I figured my life would be pretty fucking perfect if I was gay, because we already got along.”

I give him a small smile. I can empathize. “I get it.”

An ache burrows its way into my chest. For years, I’ve done everything in my power to keep from thinking about Danny. Somehow, now that I’m desperately trying to avoid wanting another teammate, it keeps coming up. Go figure.

“Never had the balls to talk to him about it, and after a few months away from him at college, I didn’t feel that way anymore. Didn’t wonder about any of the other guys. Until you.”

He lifts his gaze and captures mine. There’s such a vulnerability in his eyes that I’m struck speechless. Once I realize I’m waiting for him to say something, though, I force some air back into my lungs and get over it quick.

“Straight up, no bullshit: Did you like kissing me?”

My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for his answer. I can practically hear the blood whooshing in my ears, drowning out everything else.

“Come on, man. I’m pretty sure you felt the answer to that.”

I laugh, and a little of the tension eases out of me before coiling right back up like a spring. “I know your dick liked it. Did
you
like it?”

He takes a minute to answer, looking everywhere but straight at me. I forget how to breathe, and my chest starts to burn. This is going to kill me. I’m going to be wheeled out of his dorm on a gurney, brought in DOA to the nearest hospital. Cause of death: Wanting a straight guy.

“I don’t know, Derek. I think so.”

I let out a breath and try to tamp down my excitement. ‘I think so’ isn’t really an enthusiastic ‘yeah, man, let’s totally fuck.’ But it’s better than flat-out denial.

“But how’s that even possible? I haven’t been faking it with girls.”

Nothing against Hawk’s old girlfriends, but I so don’t want to hear this.

“It’s called being bi, dude. Playing for both teams.”

I’m not surprised he thinks it’s all or nothing. Most gay guys I know think that, so I figure it’s the same for straight guys, too.

“Shit.” He leans back in his chair, and I watch as he stretches his arms over his head. His muscles flex, and I feel a familiar warmth in the pit of my stomach. “So… What now?”

Now you get rid of your clothes and let me lick every single inch of that body
, I think, and my dick twitches in agreement.

I almost wish I had the balls to say it.

“That’s up to you. If you want somebody to… practice on. You know, just to make sure you really feel that way. I could probably help.”

Jesus. Because that’s so much better? I can’t believe I just said that.

He leans forward on the edge of the bed, clasps his hands together, fidgets a little. Then he seems to realize what I said, because he looks up at me and a slow grin spreads across his lips. “Probably?”

I couldn’t bite back the smile even if I tried. “Yeah. I guess I could work something out. Have to check my schedule.”

He laughs, shaking his head, and the sound is like music to my ears. “You’re a dick.”

“Yep.”

As I listen to him, I can feel the tension flow out of the room. I feel like I’m sitting with my friend again, instead of someone I can’t figure out. But when he looks at me, those blue eyes practically twinkling with amusement, a whole different kind of tension passes between us.

Swallowing hard, I stand up from my chair and cross the short distance between us. I stand in front of him, and my stomach is already doing flips, my nerves wrecked as I think about what’s coming next. One kiss is no big deal. We could probably get past that and write it off as a fluke. But kissing in his room? On his bed?

Things are going to change between us, and maybe not for the better. But I still can’t keep myself from sitting beside him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

- Jason -

When I feel Griff’s weight push down into the bed, I know things are about to change. It’s like staring up at the sky right before a storm comes through.

“Looks like my schedule’s pretty clear now,” he says, and his voice has a roughness to it that blazes a trail of anticipation straight through me.

I see Griff’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and feel a weird burst of nerves flutter through me. It’s like I’m a teenager again. Sitting alone with someone in my room. Wanting to kiss them, knowing they want it, too, but scared to fuck it up. Everything in my life has always had to be perfect, and I feel like my previous experience isn’t really going to count for much here.

My gaze moves down to his lips, and I see his tongue flick across them. I remember what it felt like in my mouth, against my own tongue, and for the first time I let myself wonder what it would feel like somewhere else. Against my nipples, maybe. They’ve always been sensitive. Or my cock, which is already starting to firm up in my jeans just at the thought of getting some action from Griff.

I moisten my own lips, and realize he’s waiting for me to make the first move. So I screw up my courage, lift my hand to rest on the side of his neck, and meet his lips with mine.

He expects it this time, so there’s no awkward moment of him being stiff. He meets me halfway, and his eagerness stokes the fire that’s quickly growing in me. When his tongue swipes across my lip, I open for him and let him take the lead, enjoying the feeling as he strokes mine with a slow, exploratory touch.

The longer we kiss, the more vocal he gets. It starts off as soft, barely audible sounds that are more vibrations against my mouth than anything else. As my tongue tangles with his and my hands begin to explore the hard planes of his body, the sounds get louder and longer. Low, masculine moans that send liquid heat straight to my groin. Fuck, that’s sexy as hell.

I touch him over his clothes, tracing over his shoulder muscles, his arms, then inward over his collarbone, his pecs, and down to his abdomen. I can't really touch too much more than that, and I let out a soft groan of frustration against his mouth.

"We can always get more comfortable, if you want," he says, and demonstrates by lying back on the bed.

I look down at him, splayed out before me. His shirt’s come up a little bit, revealing a stretch of his tight abdomen. I can see the light patch of brown hair that dips just beneath the waistband of his jeans, and my dick seems to appreciate the sight.

With him laid out before me, his arms behind his head, it's an invitation to touch wherever and however I want. I draw my tongue over my lips, my mouth suddenly feeling dry as a desert.

"Scoot all the way onto the bed," I say softly, my voice a little deeper than it usually is.

He obeys, moving until almost all of him is draped over my bed. He doesn't completely fit, and he has to draw up his knees a little bit, but all of him is laid out before me now, begging to be touched.