Most of the guys are already dressed and heading out, voices echoing in lazy waves down the tunnel. Micah tosses a joke over his shoulder. Colton swats it down with a sarcastic comment. Peoples slams his locker with a groan. The usual end-of-practice chaos.
Except for one thing.
One player still in the back corner, towel slung low on his hips, like he’s got all the time in the world.
Luke.
Of course.
I pause near the door, watching as he adjusts something in his locker pretending he hasn’t noticed I’m there. As though this isn’t his third time being the last one in here this week.
“This a habit now?” I ask, voice low.
Luke glances back, slow and unhurried, eyes cutting to mine as if he was waiting for me to speak. “What can I say? I like hot water and quiet rooms.”
“You’re not the quiet type.”
He smirks and goes back to whatever he’s doing. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
Bullshit.
He’s here because I’m here. Because Harris left. Because this is the part of the day where all the lines blur and whatever professional distance I’ve managed to scrape together starts to unravel.
I step farther in, and the door swings shut behind me with a solid thud.
“You heard Coach Harris,” I say, letting the words drop between us. “He left me to lock up.”
Luke glances over his shoulder again. “I heard.”
“You’re the last one here.”
“Am I?” He stretches that towel tighter around his waist, the muscles in his back flexing as he turns fully toward me. His smile is lazy, borderline innocent. “Guess I lost track of time.”
I grit my teeth.
“You planning on putting clothes on sometime today?” I ask.
Luke raises a brow, eyes flicking down to the towel. “You offering to help?”
The air goes still. Luke doesn’t blink. His fingers curl around the edge of his locker door, and he reaches inside with deliberate slowness, as though he knows exactly what this is doing to me.
He pulls out a pair of panties.
Red. Lace. Small enough to fit in one hand. Bright enough to draw my full attention.
Every last drop of blood in my body abandons my brain in favor of my dick.
He turns them over once between his fingers, examining them like they’re just another piece of equipment, his expression unreadable except for the glint in his eyes. Challenging. Curious. A question he already knows the answer to.
I don’t move.
If I move, I will touch him.
If I touch him, I will not stop.
Luke lets the towel fall.
Just like that.
