DARIUS
There’san extra pep in my step as I leave my car in the Crossroads Elementary parking lot—not my typical mood on a Monday morning. We won. Okay, technically, it was a tie, but we advanced to the New England finals in Hartford in just under two weeks. As I scan the cars, I spot the navy Corolla with the “Grammar Police” bumper sticker, and my heart trips in my chest.
Harry.
After the game. The night in the hotel room. The one bed I gladly accepted at check-in instead of arguing or asking for a rollaway cot. My fingers wrapped around his blonde curls while I drove my cock between those beautiful lips. The way he devoured my ass like he was starving for it. How he sucked and finger fucked me until I blew my load in his mouth. Fuck.
My dick thickens in my track pants. This isn’t how I should be entering school. I pause at the giant metal door, taking a deep breath. Easy does it, boy.
Another inhale, and I enter, waving at Michele, thesecretary who sits behind the window that opens to the entryway. As I head in to check my mailbox, she stops me.
“Coach Hill, I can’t believe the boys won! You must be over the moon.”
“Tied, Michele, tied.”
“But still.” Darnelle Stephen emerges from her open office door. “A tie means we advance to the finals.”
Leave it to the principal to be Pollyanna.
“This is true. Thanks to the peewee rules,” I reply.
“And I heard Mr. Peterson did a bang-up job.”
Something becomes lodged in my throat at the mention of Harry’s name and the word “job” in the same sentence, and I try and clear it, but I sound like there’s a lawn mower stuck in my throat.
“You all right there?” Michele asks as she grabs me a little plastic cup of water from the cooler near the copy machine.
“Yeah, all good. Blow-up job. Bang-up. Bang-up job,” I sputter out. “He did great.”
The image of Harry’s mouth taking me as he moaned flashes in my head, and I shake it away.
“Glad to hear it,” Darnelle says. “I had a feeling you two would figure out your differences.”
“Did we ever,” I mumble.
“Pardon?” Mrs. Stephen cocks an eyebrow, and I force a smile.
Get your damn act together, Darius.
“Nothing. He was great. Harry. Uh, Mr. Peterson. The kids love him.”
“Of course they do,” Michele says. “Everyone lovesthe English teacher. Love poems. Sonnets.Romeo and Juliet. What’s not to love?”
“Exactly,” I say, gulping down the tiny drink she’s given me. “Well, I’d better get going. It’s dodgeball day. Gotta gather the balls.”
The last bit of water gets stuck as I swallow, and a cough escapes. Now, I’m gagging . . . like Harry was Friday night while I fucked his face in the hotel room chair.
“Yeah, um, gotta go.” I squash the plastic cup in my hand and toss it into the trash, where it quickly spins around the rim before falling in.
In the hallway, my legs move on autopilot, taking me toward the gym. Teachers walk by. Some are on a mission, carrying papers and supplies, while others walk in pairs, chatting. People wave or say hello, but nobody’s really interested in befriending the PE teacher.
I’m lost in the moment, focused on making it to my safety zone, and I don’t register when my name echoes in the hallway.
“Coach.”
When I blink away my fog, I see him.
Blonde curls.
