He smoothed a hand over my face and hummed as he slid it down my shoulder and gripped my bicep, making me shudder. I didn’t know how he’d made my muscles feel so sexual, but whenever he touched them, it was as though he was caressing my dick. Pleasure pooled in my groin.
“Let’s show these losers how sexy you are.” He winked as he released me and glanced down at my hard-on. “Maybe keep that. Show it off to them, and I’ll do something about it later.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed, shoving at him. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m an idiot, what?”
“Are you serious?” I blinked at him, and when he kept a straight face, I snorted. “You’re an idiot,Sir.”
“Much better.” He grunted out a laugh and shoved open the door.
I followed him out of the car and sighed as the cool afternoon breeze fluttered around me. At least I had on jeans and sneakers, something I usually didn’t wear much. For once, I was glad I’d dressed down after our shower. I always felt on display, and as a lawyer—and even a teacher of law—I had to always look my best. It didn’t matter here, though.
Judge’s friends stopped messing around with the ball they were bouncing from person to person and came toward us, a few already calling out Judge’s name and slapping his hand in a hello. Jury went straight past his brother and nodded at me.
“You here for the game, Mr. Goddard?” He grinned and it was the first time I saw how different he and Judge were. Their smiles weren’t alike. While Judge’s had a hidden smugness to it, Jury’s appeared more innocent—two sides to a coin. Judge had a confidence I thought was sexy as hell and I wanted every piece of it I could get.
“Please call me Flynn.” I winced in embarrassment.
Jury chuckled and nudged me on the shoulder. “Sure thing, seeing as you and my bro are hooking up. You going to play?”
“Of course he’s going to play.” Judge snorted. “We’ve got a bet. I’m going to kick your, and his, team’s ass.”
“You’re putting your boyfriend on the opposite side?” asked a young man with dimples that went deeper than Lake Ontario. He reached out a hand to me. “I’m Gibson.”
I shook his hand. “Flynn.”
Another man with springy curls shoved Gibson out of the way and huffed. “Stop hogging the new guy, Willoughby. Everyone wants to get a chance to meet the man who’s been distracting Judge from our games. The name’s Eric Hill, but you can call me Hill.” He didn’t hold out his hand, and I didn’t offer him anything but a smile.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Are you any good at playing?” He scrunched up his nose at me and I supposed he was adorable in a snobby way. “You look slow and old.”
“Dude.” Judge shoved him, and Hill let out a howl of laughter.
“Do you prefer the geriatrics, Judge?” Hill only got louder in his amusement as my stomach clenched in shame, and Judge’s red-faced anger was enough to have me grabbing his arm before he could attack his friend.
I raised my chin at Hill. “Better than you. You look like you still wear diapers. Do you need to go home for Mommy to change it?”
The men cackled with laughter together, clapping their hands and pointing at Hill, who rolled his eyes and grinned. Clearly this was a game of wits, and I’d dealt with my fair share of men like Hill in my lifetime. Jocks were all cut from the same cloth.
Hill waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah.”
Gibson clapped his hands, still hiccupping from his laughter. “That is what I call a slam dunk, Hill.” He moved his hand to mimic a shot into the basket. “Burn!”
“Whatever.” Hill grabbed the ball as it bounced past him and dribbled it. “Let’s see if the old man has it in him.”
Judge pointed at Hill, but I held his arm tighter, dragging him back to me so I had his full attention. I gave Hill a long look before I tugged Judge into a hard kiss that earned us catcalls, but my focus was on Judge and how he felt against me. His strong body folded me into his warmth and my skin zinged with the need to be closer. I wanted him inside me every chance I could get.
“What do you say, Rookie?” he whispered against my lips.
“Let’s play.” I grinned and shoved his chest, and he laughed as we went inside.
The basketball court was as beautiful as I’d imagined, since we were on Vert Island, with gleaming wood, spotless white walls, and tall stands on every side for an audience to gather. There was also a large digital scoreboard hanging from the high ceiling.
“The first team to reach twenty-one wins,” Jury said as he stopped beside me, yanking his shirt off his head to reveal a sleeveless basketball jersey beneath. It was for a local minor league basketball team. Gibson dumped a bag on the floor he’d carried in from outside. Dropping to a knee, he unzipped the end pocket and pulled out white and green wristbands, an obvious way to tell the teams apart.
I nodded. “Normal basketball rules apply?”
