I grin. “Just trying to make conversation.”
Noah sighs. “We’re taking it slow, seeing what happens.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah.” He plugs his phone in to charge, then climbs off the bed and takes his turn in the bathroom.
By the time he comes back out, I’ve turned off my lamp and settled into my sheets in the semi-darkness.
He pads across the room in nothing but his boxers, and my mouth goes dry when I catch sight of the impressive bulge. Fuck. I look away quickly, not wanting him to catchme checking him out. Besides, he has a girlfriend. Not that I’m interested. We’ve just agreed to a truce, and I don’t want to piss him off again.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to think of anything other than the half-naked guy in bed beside me as he climbs under the covers and switches off his lamp. I’ve never had this problem with any of my other teammates, so why the fuck can’t I catch my breath?
“Night,” he says into the darkness.
“Night,” I choke out, rolling onto my side.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
Chapter 13
Noah
Ijolt awake in the middle of the night, my body slick with sweat as the lewd dream repeats in my subconscious. Sitting up, I run a hand over my face, trying to calm my pounding heart.
Zac is sleeping peacefully on the other bed, one hand resting behind his head, the other draped over his naked chest. He’s kicked the sheets off during the night, and I can’t help but run my eye over his sculpted body, my gaze lingering on the spot between his legs.
My dick throbs, and I swallow, hating myself. I can’t be attracted to my teammate. It’s not the lingering thoughts of Zac that have me thickening in my boxers.
If anyone finds out, it will be Nathan and Perth all over again. He wasn’t my teammate, but the outcome will still be the same.
Fuck.
Nathan.
Pain shoots through my chest, and I gasp.
No.
No, no, no.
Not now.
Stumbling out of bed, I try to be quiet as I rush into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I don’t bother with the light, not wanting to look at my reflection in the mirror. Breathing heavily, I fumble around in my toiletry bag, pulling out my disposable razor. My hands shake as I snap the plastic off and remove the blade.
Sliding my sleep shorts off, I press the blade to my skin at the top of my right thigh, careful not to let it slip. I don’t want to slice myself open; I only need the bite of pain to soothe the guilt swirling in my gut over what my dad did to Nathan. Cutting isn’t about hurting myself. It’s about taking the edge off the ache in my heart and the unbearable feeling of loss and shame.
The first cut doesn’t suffice, so I move to the other side, hissing in a sharp breath at the sting.
When that doesn’t work, I wrap the evidence in a bunch of toilet paper and hide it in the bottom of the rubbish bin before fumbling with the tap for the shower, turning the cold water on all the way and stepping under the icy stream.
It’s a shock to the system, but I force myself to stay under the spray, clenching my jaw as my body shivers from the cold.
I haven’t had a nightmare this bad since that first night at Euphoria when I ran off and left Romeo on his knees. Guilt coils tight in my stomach, and I wrap one arm around my middle as I lean the other against the slippery tiles.
Fuck.
My teeth chatter, and I hunch over, trying to draw a breath. Every muscle in my body has drawn tight, but I welcome the discomfort. I deserve it for what happened.
