He hadn’t even noticed that Cam had wandered over, but after he finished the second set of sixty-yarders (missed one, got two—the second one barely cleared the bottom bar, but even though Marty made noise about it, Dawson decided he could fuck right off), he was startled when he heard Cam’s voice behind him.
“Looking good,” Cam said.
Dawson flicked his glance behind him and made a face. “If you’re here to say anything about my pushup form . . .”
“Oh, I’m not,” Cam said. He pulled even with Dawson, like he’d decided it was okay to occupy Dawson’s space bubble.
Normally, when he did this, Dawson didn’twantanybody in his space. God knew he’d complained to Marty enough times at the beginning of the season about Cam approaching him on the sideline.
But somehow, when Dawson hadn’t been paying attention, Cam had become the exception to the rule. Maybe not on thesideline, but here at practice? It almost felt right to have Cam’s attention on him.
“How’s it going?” Cam asked.
“Marty’s a sadist, that’s how it’s going,” Dawson complained.
“Only caught a few misses.” Cam hummed under his breath. “But then, I don’t know if the stick is the best way to motivate you.”
“What, you wanna be the carrot?” Dawson said it as a joke, but his pulse jumped anyway.
Cam shrugged, but the smile he shot him was full of mischief. “Why not?”
“Daws!” Marty called out. “Stop taking a break. Your arms aren’t gonna fall off.” He hesitated. “Probably!”
Cam tilted his head in closer. Murmured, “How about for every one you make over fifty yards, I’ll give you a blowjob?”
Dawson knew what was coming, but he still choked on air. “I’ve gotsixmore field goals over fifty yards.”
But Cam just batted his eyelashes innocently. “Yeah? Well, you’d better get to it.”
He wasn’t even sure Cam was wrong—a blowjob for a successful field goal might be better motivation than pushups for a miss—but he should have expected how his pulse raced, his mind already drifting to how it might happen. How it might feel. Cam’s mouth, tight and hot and wet and so fucking perfect, around him.
Predictably, even though he gave himself a long moment to regain his focus, a few deep breaths to try to even his breathing out, on the first fifty-five-yarder, the ball sailed right past the left upright.
“Damn,” Dawson muttered under his breath. He dropped down and counted to twenty as his arms shook through another set of pushups.
When he lifted himself back up, he caught a flash of a knowing smile on Cam’s face. But that wasn’t what made his whole body heat. It was the subtle five fingers Cam flashed him.
Okay. He was going to focus in. There was no way he was going to give Cam a reason to give him afournext. He had this.
He was so locked in, body falling back on the mechanics he’d been drilling into it for the last fifteen years, he barely noticed when he finished fifty-five and went on to fifty.
Cam might’ve made some kind of approving noise as the first of his fifty-yarders went between the uprights. Marty definitely said something, but Dawson couldn’t be fucked to figure out what it was. He was getting this shitdone.
He’d known, because the way they were with each other made it obvious, that the sex with Cam was going to continue. It was too good to quit, and even if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t havewantedto stop. But the fact that Cam was making these kinds of promises—
No. He cut that thought off hard and fast. He had one more to get. More than that, of course, because he still had to work his way back down to twenty-five yards, but one more thatcounted. One more that Cam had promised him a reward for.
Dawson lined up, but the focused zone he’d dropped into before was hard to find, and he thought he got close, but still, with his body growing tired from the strain of so many long kicks, it just barely missed.
“Shit.” Dawson exhaled sharply. He looked over at Cam, but his grin hadn’t dimmed, and sure enough, he flashed him four fingers.
Four wasn’t six, but it wasn’t anything to sneeze at either, and the thought of it, all that pleasure, got him through the next set of pushups.
Dawson couldn’t say the thoughts of Cam going to his knees again—four more times, even—completely eliminated the exhausted shake of his arms as he finished the last pushup of the set and stood, but they didn’t hurt, either.
“Come on, Hall, finish up strong,” Marty called out encouragingly.
It wasn’t easy, but Dawson pulled the remainder of his focus tight around him, and even though his whole body was tired, finished the rest of the ladder with no more misses.
