Griffin
The guys are beingabsolute rowdy fucks like we didn’t just spend three hours getting the shit kicked out of us before pulling off a win by sheer willpower.
And yeah, okay, I’d normally be in the thick of it, shotgunning a beer with Mack under the table while pretending I’m listening to Coach talk about discipline and focus but tonight?
Tonight I can’t be assed.
I can’t focus on a single goddamn thing except for the fact that Jacob is sitting two seats away from me. Definitely close enough for me to hear that deep-ass, sinfully smooth voice of his every time he opens his mouth. He laughs at something Hughie says and I swear to God it’s like the sound short-circuits something in my fucking brain because now I’m just imagining how his mouth looked last night when it wasn’t saying anything at all.
Just open and moaning against mine.
And that school-issued polo? Fuck me, I didn’t know khaki and polyester could look hot, but here we are. It hugs his armstoo well and clings to his chest just enough to make me think about peeling it off, and now I’m fully spiraling at a team dinner.
I think I’m supposed to be nervous. Or confused. Or, like, re-evaluating my entire fucking identity right now. I’ve spent my entire life crushing on girls, dating girls, sleeping with girls, jerking off to girls. You name it, if it had tits and a smile, I was in.
Not once did I ever think I’d be into a guy. I never even paused on the idea.
But Jacob? Yeah. He fucks all of that sideways.
He’s just so fuckingpretty, and I mean that in the most unholy, pants-tightening, what-the-actual-fuck kind of way. Last night wasn’t just a slip or a curious kiss. I’m pretty sure I stopped thinking altogether the moment I had him against that hotel room door.
And now I’m half-hard at team dinner, with our trainer sitting a stone’s throw away, probably smelling like that citrusy shampoo he uses that I definitely wasn’t burying my face into last night.
Kill me.
“You good, man?”
Mack’s voice yanks me back to earth and I turn toward him so fast my neck actually cracks a little. For one terrifying second, I think he’s going to call me out because he knows I’m sitting here bricked up like a desperate teen.
But no. He’s just got that smug-ass grin, leaning back in his chair like a lazy cat who knows way too much.
I clear my throat and force a laugh. “Yeah, dude. Just tired.”
“I bet you’re tired,” he drawls with a shit eating smirk. “I don’t know who you were with, but you didn’t come back to the room last night, and let me tell you, I’m not mad about it. Had the whole space to myself. Some quality ‘me’ time, if you know what I mean.”
He winks.
Jesus.
Gross.
“You better not have touched my bed,” I grumble, turning back to my food and trying to will my erection into the goddamn void.
He chuckles and goes back to devouring his food.
All I can do is sit there and wait for this dinner to be fucking over so I can do something other than sit here pretending I’m not falling apart at the seams over a guy.
Hughie pushes back from the table with that same calm, quiet energy he always has. He grabs his water, stretches his long-ass arms over his head, and mutters, “Alright, I’m out. Early night.”
A few guys snort, and one of the freshman goes, “Goalies always gotta do their weird goalie rituals. You gonna go meditate in a bathtub of ice again, Hugh?”
“Yup,” Hughie deadpans, already walking off. “With your mom.”
The table explodes with laughter that echoes around the room, and even Coach lets out a chuckle like he’s used to the bullshit at this point.
But me? I’m barely hearing it. My brain’s lighting the fuck up because Hughie leaving means I can leave. And if I leave, I can find Jacob. And if I find Jacob-
Well, I don’t really know what the hell I’m gonna say. Or do. But I know I want to see him. I need to.
