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Every time I look at him, it’s like a jolt to the senses. He must have known what he was doing when he put on a shirt that color. He shouldn’t be allowed to wear green. Green on Nate is a felony offense.
Nate looks right at me as his lips curl upward into a pretty, and somehow sensual, smile. “Thank you,” he all but purrs.
As we leave the ballpark, Nate walks close enough to me that I can smell him. I don’t even know what the smell is, except it makes me think of leather and man. I want to lean closer but don’t.
I feel a pang of loss for my friend of two years ago, who would request a stop at multiple restaurants because he wouldn’t be able to choose just one.
I can see the smile that’s aimed in my direction after this statement, a flash of white teeth. My fingers clench around the steering wheel as I resist the urge to look over at him. Jesus, but I want to smile back. What’s the matter with me?
I’ve turned into someone who can’t have fun. Someone who is constantly assessing risk and possible dangers, and trying to protect the people around me. It’s stifling—I know it is—but I can’t make myself stop.
Nate on a ranch. Nate riding a horse. I’d wondered if there was any way the man could be sexier, and now, apparently, the universe is laughing at me.
“I need to know about baseball. Hit me with the dirty details.” He curls his fingers at me above the table, as though trying to get me to hand him something. I glance over at Max, who doesn’t duck his head fast enough to hide his grin. Nate watches me with wide, candid green eyes.
I watch him as he strolls up to the front door and fumbles with his key, waiting for Max to slide into the now vacated passenger seat. Once he’s belted in and Nate is safely inside, I back out of the driveway. Immediately, Max turns to me. The car is dim enough that I can’t really see his expression, but I know him well enough that it doesn’t matter. “So,” he starts, and then pauses to see if I’ll fill in any of those blanks. “So.” “How do you know Nate?” “Same way you know Luke. We just met.”
“Really?” He sounds surprised. “You obviously made a hell of an impression. He couldn’t wait to see you after the game.” I fidget at that, remembering the eager, hungry expression on Nate’s face when I walked out of the locker room. I didn’t know how to find you, he’d said, as though he’d been looking all week.
“You’re terrible at making friends,” Max says around a laugh, smiling at me when I scowl at him. “Come on, you know it’s true. You have one friend, Marcos, and that’s me.” “I only need one friend,” I grumble. “Well, I like Nate,” he says, making the words sound more meaningful than they are. Like he’s trying to tell me something important.
There’s only one reason someone might text at midnight, and I don’t know whether I should indulge in that or not. Tapping my fingers idly, I think about dinner tonight, and the way Nate listened as I talked. The way he got Max to smile, and the way he pressed his leg against mine beneath the table. Mostly, I think about those impossible, grass-green eyes.
But do I want to talk to Nate? Yes, I realize with surprise. The answer to that is unequivocally yes.
“Creo que tu interés en mí es demasiado bueno para ser verdad y estoy esperando que te des cuenta de que no soy lo suficientemente bueno,”
“If I ask you to go out on a date with me, are you going to say no?” It’s my turn to laugh, turning my face into the pillow to muffle the noise. “Probably. Why do you even want to? Don’t you have, like, a dozen better options?” He scoffs. “Maybe you’re my better option.” I’m nobody’s better option, but it feels maudlin to say so out loud.
“How would you help?” “You tell me, Marcos.” I slam my eyes shut at the way my name just sounded in that smooth, sinful voice. “Can I touch you, tonight?” “No,” I whisper, wondering if that’s going to be the end of this game. But Nate merely hums again, deep in his throat like he finds that answer arousing. “You’ll have to take off your own clothes, but I don’t mind. I like to watch.”
“I’m not, yet, but there’s no rush. I’d like to look at you—just look. You’re lovely, aren’t you?” His voice is hypnotic, never changing tone or volume. He could convince me to do anything in the world, as long as he asked for it like this. “Look at you, spread out and beautiful.”
I didn’t get to see or touch any part of him last week, but my imagination has no trouble filling in those blanks. Nate’s body is as beautiful as his face.
Good boy.”
Biting my lip at the erotic way those two words sounded when breathed directly in my ear,
“I’ve thought about you this week. About the way you sound when you’re trying to make no noise at all;
“I thought about how hard you tried to hold yourself back. The way your thighs shook; the way you tasted when you finally let go. I thought about doing it again and again and again.”
Nate is quiet, his continued presence on the other end of the phone evident only by the soft, panting breaths as he comes down from his orgasm. I drop the phone only long enough to slide into bed and roll back into the fetal position. I’m pleasantly tired all of a sudden, and feeling more than a little fond of Nate. Also, a little ashamed of my phone-sex game. “Nate?” He breathes in at the sound of his name. “Yeah?” “Sorry I’m bad at phone sex.” He laughs, the sound explosive and far louder than anything else we’ve done tonight. I almost smile to hear it. “What the hell are you talking about?
...more
“I was just talking. It wasn’t hard. Pretty much just told you all the things I’ve been fantasizing about all week.”
“Tired, now,” he mumbles, shifting around in his sheets. The thought of him curled up in bed has heat of a different kind coiling warm in my stomach. “Me too,” I agree, and I really am. I feel relaxed enough to sleep until morning, a phenomenon so rare these days it makes my throat feel tight.
Nate, definitely. He hardly knows me, and it’s not fair for me to be leading him on. I’m not the kind of person who gets to be with someone like him. I’m antisocial, uncommunicative, and I don’t like being touched. I let someone hurt the one person in the world I truly love. No. Nate deserves far better than what he’ll find with me, and I need to make sure he knows it.
People don’t get what they want by playing games or not saying things they want to say, and I want Marcos.
I’m eager to check my phone. It’s been a pretty long time since I’ve felt this level of excitement about a crush, and I’m enjoying riding the wave of heightened emotions while simultaneously ignoring the little niggle of fear about the fact that he’s a he. I don’t want to think about it right now, I just want to…feel.
Nate Is that why you’re saying you aren’t in a good place to be in a relationship? Because 1) I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend, I’m just asking you to drink coffee with me, and 2) I’m not a fucking asshole! If you don’t want me to touch you, I’ll just stare longingly at you over the table, instead. Marcos *insert much heavier sigh* Nate *insert puppy dog eyes and slow blinks* Marcos Stop it, I’m trying to have a serious conversation.
I don’t want to lose this; don’t want to lose something that already feels so good. If he can’t do a relationship, that’s fine. I can work with what we’ve already got going.
“Hey, Marcos. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not here to make your life harder, so if you want me to leave you alone, I will. But if you want to get together and fool around, I’d like that. If you just need someone to listen while you talk, I can do that, too. Maybe we were just a fling, but we can be friends moving forward—that’s fine if that’s what you want. I’m not trying to push you into anything, and honestly, I’m not even sure what I want, so… Anyway, text me, or call me back, okay? Bye.”
I’ve never before experienced such a sudden and strong desire for someone—a lightning strike of attraction. I have no idea what those feelings mean or what the hell I’m supposed to do with them.
I’m going to take a shower. Thinking is always easier in the shower.
Cute, my brain screams at me, which makes me flush.
“My little baby goalie is all grown up.” I pretend to wipe a tear from my eye. “Please remember me when you’re giving soundbites and signing autographs.” The blush is immediate and intense, and Micky looks like he wishes he could throw himself out the bus window. I smile at him. He’s so damn predictable—give the man a compliment and he’ll wish he never heard it.
“I wish I was more like you.” I frown. “Cut that out. I hate it when you do that. I like your big, awkward ass just the way it is.”
I’m so bad at making friends.” “Max seems a little shy, too. You guys can just sit on your beds silently, and go to sleep early,” I joke, which earns me a shove hard enough to have me sprawling half into the aisle between the seats. Grinning, I sit back up and bump his shoulder with mine.
I bite my lip as I look at him, realizing that my buddy is kind of hot. “Vas, you’re kind of a babe,” I tell him, rolling onto my side and propping myself up on an elbow to look at him. He shoots me an exasperated look as he climbs onto his bed and scoots back to the headboard.
Snorting, I lean back far enough for Coach to see me and smile at him. “I’m here, Coach. Kicking ass at Go Fish, but mostly because I’ve been cheating.” “Nate!” The look of shock on Vas’ face is funny enough to have even Coach Mackenzie smiling. “I’m kidding!” I assure him, waving a hand.
“Micky is stressed-the-fuck-out because Max told him he can call him Max. I have been charged with asking you whether you prefer to go by Henri, Vasel, Vas, or something else hitherto unknown.” He’s quiet for a moment, apparently thinking. “I am unsure what hitherto is meaning, but I would be happy for you to call me whatever you please. Vas is nice, because a nickname is how people let you know they are fond of you.”
Marcos would look good on a horse. The thought is as abrupt and startling as a slap to the face. This level of lust is madness.
Luke lifts a hand and points down to his lap. Walking over, I look down at Max, stretched lengthwise on the cushions with his head pillowed in Luke’s lap. Luke’s left hand is gently brushing his hair back from his face, the movement so measured it’s clear he’s been doing it for a while. There’s a sharp pain in my chest that has nothing to do with being winded as I look down at him.
Max is doing so much better—finally on the uphill climb after so many days at rock bottom—and a lot of that is because of Luke. I owe him a thousand apologies, not just one, whispered quietly enough that my best friend can sleep through it.
“What are we going to do?” Luke asks, voice wary and nowhere near as happy as his usual. I stiffen, because I don’t think there’s anything we can do. The only thing that can be done now is to try and move on; forget about everything that happened, or find a way to learn and live with it.
Luke rubs his hand idly on Max’s chest, the other still gently combing through his hair. It’s disgusting how envious I feel in this moment, knowing I will never have something like this. Never be able to sleep while someone touches me like that.
Luke might drive me insane, but he makes Max happy. At the end of the day, that’s what truly matters to me.
Luke shakes his head, eyes dropping down to Max’s face. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen my friend look so relaxed, and something releases in my chest at the sight.
The more I think about the possibility of it being Nate, the more excited I become. The sudden need to talk to him thrums through me, making my movements clumsy as I climb from the shower and towel off. Snatching up my phone, I fight against the way my mouth tries to pull into a smile at the sight of Nate’s name on the lock screen.
the mere fact that it means he was thinking about me fills me with warmth. I wish I could see his beautiful face, or hear that smooth, sexy voice.
Fuck, but I want to see him so bad.
