“Oh for Christ’s sake.”
I let out a curse word while I faced the sink, washing my hands carefully with the jet of cold water.
“James wasn’t happy about it, and he wanted to make him pay.”
“Why do you let him drag you into his messes?”
“It got out of hand,” he admitted, lowering his gaze.
“Does it hurt?” I asked hesitantly.
His answer was curt. “No.”
Jackson averted his gaze from mine, maybe to not show me his more vulnerable side. I wanted to hug him.
“My dad’s gonna spend a weekend in Aspen next week if you wanna—” With a brusque gesture, he avoided the hand I wanted to put on his cheek.
“I’m at home alone,” I finished.
“And I have the game next weekend. I can’t have any distractions.”
A distraction. That was what I was for him.
“Well, we can still see each other after the game.”
“Seriously?” he replied with a sharp voice.
I felt my eyelids get heavy, like every other time he made me feel that way. Rejected.
“I thought you’d like spending time together.”
Jackson finished fixing his jacket collar. “I only need ten minutes with you.”
The silence that followed that sentence was so cold and distracted that I didn’t even hear him leave the locker room. The mirror hanging over the sink didn’t have any compassion for me. After admiring Jackson’s disturbing beauty, seeing my reflection was almost as depressing as the way I felt. Dirty and used, like my shirt. With tears in my eyes, I got undressed to take a shower. I felt split in half, like every time I found myself alone with him. I knew I had to resist him. I knew he’d never give me more than a few minutes, but I stopped being rational and always acted impulsively in indulging his desire. The same thing happened while I was under the pounding warm water. If on the one hand my emotions were in turmoil, and I just wanted to cry, when I looked down between my legs I couldn’t help but notice the swollen erection in front of me.
It had been that way since we’d started making out. He’d used me for the umpteenth time. I swallowed a sob and looked around.
How many times had I imagined this scene in my dreams? The scent of virility, musky body wash, and then, maybe sweet nothings right after. But the real Jackson wasn’t like the one in my dreams.
Despite the jet of water on my skin, I distinctly felt the tears stream slowly down my cheeks. Suddenly, a sound hit my ears. It seemed like the racket from a slamming door. I jumped.
No, I just had an active imagination.
I continued to wash myself, but another roar caught me from behind. I turned around abruptly, but didn’t see a soul, just the steam numbing my senses.
It felt like the start of a horror movie.
Instead of leaving, I wiped my tears with rage.
Why couldn’t I get Jackson out of my head? Why did his words continue to torment me? Maybe he was right. I was weak.
I should’ve told him to go to hell, given the humiliating way that he treated me. Instead, all I could do was think of him. Of my fingers between his soft hair, so blond that it looked like wheat, and the cold touch of his piercing under my tongue, his big hands around my neck . . .
The water stopped suddenly. I opened my eyes in fear. Someone was there.
“Oh, but—”
James, with perfectly arranged hair and meticulously dressed, looked down at me. I felt like I was going to die meeting his cutting sapphire eyes. He let his gaze slide down where my erection revealed anything but chaste thoughts.
