The Jock (The Team, #1)

by Tal Bauer

He was meant to love the white swan. Wes could see it. He could feel it, even.

“There’s so much to the story,” Justin finally said, babbling as they made their way down the block. “The black swan and the psychology she represents. The prince has to confront the evil that cursed his love, but before he can, he succumbs to the black swan and his own fears. He loses everything because he can’t face the truth or stand up to the darkness.”

“No boyfriend?” Wes asked. He rubbed his thumb over Justin’s knuckles. Justin laughed. “Well, wouldn’t it be shitty if I did? If I did, and he had half a brain, I’d be an ex-boyfriend right now.” “I don’t need to fight for your hand?” “No one fights for my hand. I pick my own Prince Charming, thank you very much.” Justin sipped his champagne, eyeing Wes. “But I guess you might be at the top of my list of prince choices. I mean, after tonight.” He shrugged exaggeratedly. “I try,” Wes drawled. “I’m glad it pleased you, m’lord.”

“Mmm, keep that up, I might decide to please you later tonight.”

The teasing light in Justin’s eyes faded. “What happens next week?” Next week. Wes racked his brain. They had their French finals, which neither of them was concerned about. They’d planned a big date for Wednesday night, because it was going to be their last night— Oh.

“And when we’re at school? Does this”—Justin waved his champagne glass in a circle between them—“continue? Or is it a summertime-in-Paris kind of thing?” Wes gnawed on the corner of his lip. Swans mate for life. “I want it to continue,” he said. His voice was like thunder, rumbling his own chest. Shaking his own bones. “I don’t want to stop. But do you want—” “I do,” Justin said quickly. “I really, really do. But you’re not out, and you’re on the football team…”

That’s what people see when they look at me: big, scary, dumb hick in a cowboy hat.”

“I meant it,” Justin said. He spoke to Wes’s neck, his words tickling the sweat that lingered on Wes’s stubble. “About how I’d rather you only fuck me.” Wes pulled back enough to peer down at Justin. Gold glittered in Justin’s gaze, Paris’s eternal reflection. “I know maybe I’m reading into things, and maybe this isn’t more than what it is. Maybe this is just Paris, just a summer fling. And if that’s all it is, I get it. I mean, I’ll accept it. I’m not going to chase you at school. But—” “Justin.” Justin’s mouth closed. Wes brushed his lips over Justin’s. “There’s no one else. I don’t want there to be anyone else.” He kissed Justin again and again.

“Same,” Justin breathed. “That’s what I was trying to say. I only want you.”

He slid back inside Justin with a sigh, resting his forehead, his cheek against Justin’s. “You feel like coming home.”

He’d kissed Justin before he confessed how far he’d fallen, but he couldn’t stop the roar of his orgasm, the blaze—the sudden, searing rush—that followed his realization. Love, desire, craving, the run he’d been making his entire life. Eyes on the ball, eyes on the ball, until suddenly there was Justin, and he couldn’t look away from the shape of his smile or the sound of his voice. Couldn’t look away as he sprinted as hard as he could to catch up with his heart. I love you.

“Watson.” Wes smiled. “You googled me.” “Figured I should know a little bit about football if my boyfriend is, like, playing.” Justin shrugged, pretending to look annoyed. “Turns out my boyfriend is kind of a big deal. He’s made a few touchdowns or baskets or goals or whatever.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” “Well, if you insist.” Justin bit his lip. Smiled. “I could be persuaded.”

The boarding announcement for his flight shattered the moment. He clung to Wes, irrationally afraid to let go. What if this was it? What if, when he turned his back, everything they’d shared evaporated? What if he never saw Wes again? Ridiculous. Of course he’d see Wes again. All he had to do was turn on the TV. He could see him every Saturday, and on SportsCenter every week, and on a million YouTube clips. He’d see Wes for the rest of his life, whether he wanted to or not.

enough. He wanted everything with this man, everything he’d spent the past three weeks savoring, and now it was about to end. “Text me when you land?” Wes whispered.

“Fuck,” he hissed. Tears bubbled up again, and he squeezed Wes’s hands. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Wes stared at Justin, his lips thin, eyes wide and shining, as if he, too, was trying to fight back tears.

He pressed a quick kiss to Wes’s cheek, then grabbed his carry-on and turned toward his gate. The gate agent noticed him heading her way, and she waved him on, a plastic smile on her features as she told him to hurry. Then she froze, eyes wide, and stared beyond him. “Justin.” Hands grabbed him and spun him around, and he was face to face with Wes, Wes’s body pressed as tightly to Justin’s as they’d ever been—closer, even, than when they were making love. Wes’s hands slid around his waist, rose to the center of his back. “Justin,” Wes rumbled. His eyes darted from Justin’s eyes to his lips. He kissed Justin then, deeper, harder, than he ever had. Nothing, not even their first kiss, was as hungry, as desperate, as the kiss Wes laid on him there, in the middle of the concourse, no longer hidden in a corner and out of sight. There

he was, Wes Van de Hoek, one of the top college football players in the US, laying one on Justin like he was trying to give Justin part of his soul, break off a piece of himself and slide it inside Justin for him to keep. Justin dropped his carry-on and threw his arms around Wes.

That kiss felt like forever. Like a promise. Like a vow. Like everything he’d wished for, all in one moment. He brushed his nose against Wes’s. Smiled, and felt Wes smile against his lips in return.

He closed his eyes as the plane lifted off. He felt his heart fall free, sink back to earth, stay behind. He’d lost his heart to Wes, and he wouldn’t get it back until they were together again. God, I love you, you big cowboy. I’ll see you again. Soon.

But he also loved Justin. He still wasn’t sure how the rest of his life fit in with the truth of that.

In Paris, loving Justin had been effortless. Simple. As easy as breathing, like it was something he was born to do. But he’d also been born to carry a football, to carry a team. That was why he had such a strong back, his mama had said. He was born to carry his brothers. He couldn’t let them down. Not ever.

Starting tight end. First string. He’d done it. He’d actually done it. A smile broke over Wes’s face, and he sipped Coach’s Johnnie Walker, beaming through the burn. “Coach, thank you—”

Team captain… any idea how much your life is going to change… dig into your life. Turn everything upside down. The whole team is relying on you. You can bring all these boys with you, all the way to glory. Remember why you play this game. Remember why you continue to play.

You can have everything you ever dreamed of. Justin. His stomach heaved again, and he spewed bile into the trash can. Spat and wiped the back of his hand over his burning lips. Justin.

How many hours had it been since he’d said goodbye? Since he’d kissed him, smack in the middle of the airport, and held him like he was going to make love to him that moment? Like he was going to pick Justin up and carry him down to the church, marry him in front of God and country and declare himself Justin’s for all of his life.

but that he wanted Justin? He wanted to be on his knees, Justin’s cock in his mouth, Justin’s hands gripping his skull? To be balls deep in Justin, kissing him until his toes curled, until Justin’s ankles crossed behind his back and Wes ran his palm down Justin’s smooth thigh, gripped his ass as he thrust in, and in, and in?

Surely they didn’t mean what they said. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Forget you know me. I’m sorry.

But what about that kiss at the airport? That had meant something. He’d felt it. That had been a promise, Wes giving Justin something he could hold on to, that he could remember. No. That kiss had been a goodbye. It had been all the things Wes had been too afraid—too cowardly—to say to Justin’s face.

“I knew I wanted to marry your mother five days after I met her.” His dad held up his hand, fingers spread. “Five days. I saw her every day for a week, and I knew. She was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I wanted to have children with.”

“That’s how it felt in Paris,” he choked out. “Like what you said about Mom. It felt like I’d met the guy I was supposed to be with forever. I guess he didn’t feel the same way.”

“His loss,” his dad grumbled, glowering at the rain. “That’s his damn loss. If this asshole used you and then dumped you—” “He didn’t use me, Dad. We were…” He swallowed. “I loved him. And I thought he loved me, too.”

I would have come to every game to cheer you on if you asked me to.

He was gazing at Justin, and it was all right there on his face. How in love he was with the man he’d wrapped his arm around for the first time. How he was thinking about kissing him in a few hours. How he was hoping Justin might be the one.

The colors were blurred where his tears had fallen and soaked through the paper. How many nights had he balled up the picture and sworn he’d throw it away, only to drag it back to his face and whisper Justin’s name? He didn’t even pretend to throw it away anymore. No, now it lived beneath his pillow, where he held it every night.

And he’d be left in his bed, still curled on his side, still feeling like he wanted to die. “I’m good,” he grunted.

Going to have to talk about what? How he’d fallen in love? How he’d met the man he wanted to spend forever with? He loved Justin, loved him so damn much, but he’d destroyed what they had, and now there was nothing left. He didn’t even feel human anymore.

The earth would cool, the sun would burn itself out, and the black hole at the center of the galaxy would swallow their solar system before Justin came to Wes.

If he looked at Justin, he’d break down. Start begging Justin’s forgiveness. Justin said nothing.

He could practically hear the creak of Justin’s vertebrae, the screech of bone on bone as Justin twisted, turning the full force of his vicious stare from the whiteboard to Wes. He didn’t blink. “I’m fine.”

“You got everything you wanted.” Wes shrugged. I lost what I wanted more than anything in the world. No, he hadn’t lost it. He’d thrown it away. He’d destroyed it. He’d destroyed them. He knew exactly who was to blame.

“What happened to your knee?” Justin finally asked. He wouldn’t look at Wes. “Practice. I tripped. I was distracted.” “Doesn’t sound like you. You’re never distracted.” I was thinking of you. Wes said nothing.

Having Justin in, well, one of his arms was like giving cocaine to an addict. He turned his face toward Justin, inhaling, and almost fell again, stumbling as the full force of Justin’s proximity slammed into his soul. He trembled, and his arm curled around Justin’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer, into his chest— “I will leave you in this elevator,” Justin hissed, “if you don’t stop.”

A moment later, he rolled onto his side and stared at his Paris montage. Pulled his photo of Justin out from under his pillow and unfolded it. He sighed, tracing his calloused finger over Justin’s smile. “I love you.”

He’d said the words a thousand times in his head, had dreamed about saying them to Justin in Paris, in all the perfect days and nights he could have. Or at the airport, before he let Justin go. He’d dreamed he told Coach to pick someone else and then drove to Dallas instead of the ranch, found Justin’s parents’ house and stood on his porch with his hat in his hand and, when Justin opened the door, told him he loved him and that Justin was worth more than the NFL, more than football, more than everything.

Justin froze, pillow in hand. There, in all its glory, was the rumpled photo of the two of them, crease lines, ragged edges, tearstains, and all. Wes grabbed the photo and hid it beneath his thigh.

Say something. Say thank you. Say please stay. Say I love you. Say something.

Couldn’t he come up with anything better to ask the man he loved?

“Cool venue.” Can I come? Can I watch? Would you hate me if I came? He opened his mouth—

Wes’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached as Justin and the other guy started to move. He didn’t breathe, not through the first half of the dance. How could he, when Justin was writhing and whirling in this guy’s arms? When Justin looked like he’d stepped out of the depths of Wes’s psyche? Like he was Wes’s lust and his pure id made manifest. Wes’s heart pounded, and his fingers dug into the denim over his knees.