Again.
And as if that sight alone weren’t enough, he had to open his mouth and create filthy images in my head. “I could really go for some sausage.”
Swallowing hard, I forced my eyes back to his. “I’m not sure what that is, but okay. Sounds good.”
He grinned at me with his whole face. Fucking hell. “You’ve never had sausage? You don’t know what you’re missing, mate. The long ones are my favorite.”
As a porno reel began forming in my mind, I wasn’t sure we were talking about breakfast food anymore. But I had to stop this now before it got out of hand.
“Of course I have,” I snapped. “Everyone has had sausage.”
Waving my hand in the air, I tried to distract us both by searching for Bella. “Move it along, would you? We have things to do today.”
Heading toward the door, the fucker called my name again.
“Hey, Carson?” I didn’t turn around. “Let me know how much I owe you for the litter box. I appreciate you getting it for him.”
I ran my hand over my neck, still facing away from him. It was hot out here. “It’s not a big deal.”
I made my way to the kitchen and stood over my sink. It was no surprise to either of us that attraction and reactions to him were telling. Entertaining the slightest nano-thought with him would spell disaster with a capital D.
We needed to throw ourselves into learning the game and hitting the books. If we did that, hopefully, it would mitigate this annoying attraction.
When we weren’t working on learning the basics, I would have to fill my day with errands and getting things ready for my parents to arrive. My plan was to exhaust my dick in the shower every chance I got. The overwhelming attraction had to stop eventually, right? He’d get on my nerves, and I’d want to strangle him. But for that to happen, we had to be in the same room.
Focusing on the mechanics of zone defense and teaching him to read the offense cues of our opponents would be a distraction. However, that plan didn’t last long before things came to a head.
Chapter 8
Colin
Coach St. James ruined my Sunday afternoon by starting my first class in football. After lunch at a local cafe, he took me over to see the stadium. It was a magnificent structure with an open roof and seating for seventy-five thousand fans.
The lot was empty, so we opted to come back another day. I’d seen photos online and couldn’t wait to experience it up close.
When I’d seen enough, Coach St. James kicked in and shuffled us back to the house for football 101. His jaw was tight, and he tried his best not to look at me. I knew he was attracted to me, and no matter what, his eyes couldn’t lie. Every time he thought I wasn’t paying attention to him, I could feel his eyes on me. It was crazy. All it would take was a little shove in the right direction to make him snap.
His first mistake was in assuming I knew nothing about the game I would be paid ten million dollars to play. It never occurred to him that I might have spent the last month watching every video I could find online. I wasn’t ignorant of the game like he thought, but if all I had to do was sit on his big, oversized sofa and stare at him, I’d take one for the team.
Carson stood in front of his large-screen TV with his laptop connected to create the split screen. A rugby game was displayedon one side, and a football game on the other. He’d gone all out and bought a pointer stick and a big dry-erase board filled withx’sando’s. As he droned on and on about things I already knew. I watched his lips move, imagining how they might feel on my cock. Or better yet, mine on his as we sixty-nined on this big sofa.
“You might want to take notes,” he informed me.
I kicked back like a lazy bum and waved him off. “Nah, I got it up here. How hard could it be?”
That little comment set off his first mini-tirade as I enjoyed the scolding he was giving me. The only thing missing was the popcorn.
“There’s going to be a quiz,” he threatened, making me laugh.
“Okay. But I gotta tell you I’ve been playing Madden NFL for years. I think I got it, mate.”
Tirade number two kicked off with a passionate dissertation on why playing football in a video game is nothing like the real thing. And just like last time, I sat back and watched him work himself into a frenzy, pacing back and forth in front of the TV, hands waving around, along with the occasional smack of the pointer stick to the dry-erase board.
Not expecting it, I jumped, but all that did was make my dick harder. And I imagined jumping off the sofa and tackling him onto it, only to yank those athletic shorts down and suck his dick until he came down my throat. And if that didn’t calm him down, I’d finger fuck him until he couldn’t breathe.
Dammit, I was hard again.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he screeched, snapping me out of my fantasy.
