Why does it stab me in the chest to hear him only call himself my mate?
‘I reckon I’ll be okay now,’ I tell him.
Zeke finishes his food and pushes his plate away, like he’s about to leave. I don’t know what I want from Zeke, but I know I don’t want him to bounce.
‘You’ll stay until the end of the game, yeah?’ I shoot quickly.
Zeke’s Adam’s apple bobs in his thick neck. ‘Yeah. Okay. Sure.’
I focus on the game. Collingwood versus Norf. One of the Norf players takes a speccy over the back of the Pies full-back, uses him like a stepladder. Me and Zeke both shout at the TV.
‘Dunno if Baker will kick this goal,’ Zeke says, tapping his Sportsbet app. ‘Statistically, he only averages 0.4 goals per game this season. I’ve got him in my multi for fifteen disposals, though.’
‘Nah, he’ll get the goal – he’s an accurate kick – but he won’t get fifteen touches,’ I say matter-of-factly.
Zeke looks bent out of shape. ‘Statistically, he will,’ he says. ‘He averages eighteen disposals a game.’
‘Sure, but he won’t get that tonight. Matched up against Williams.’
‘But—’
‘Mark my words. I’m right,’ I say flatly.
Zeke fumes. Baker kicks the goal. ‘I forgot how arrogant you are,’ he mutters.
I kick back on the couch and put my hands behind my head, flexing at him in a way I hope looks casual and incidental. ‘I’m not arrogant,’ I say. ‘I’m just always right.’
Zeke snorts.
‘As if you don’t fucken love it,’ I say.
Zeke’s face softens immediately; there’s a static charge in the room suddenly.
‘I guess confidence is attractive,’ he says, before returning to his Sportsbet app.
Something like jet fuel starts to circulate through my bloodstream, firing up my groin.
Without even thinking about it, I yank my singlet off and sling it onto the floor, exposing my chest and returning to my chill pose on the couch, hands behind my back.
‘Bit warm,’ I mutter, like it’s normal to take my shirt off. ‘That doesn’t bother you, does it?’
Zeke looks at my rig with awe, the same way I used to catch him checking me out in the locker room at school. ‘I’m not bothered,’ he says softly.
He locks gazes with me and I can’t look away from those stunning dark Italian eyes. Fuck, he’d look so sexy on the end of my cock.
‘I’m a bit warm, too,’ Zeke says, tugging on the neck of the hoodie I gave him last night. He stands up, rips the hoodie off and slings it to the floor on top of my singlet, then makes a show of bending over to put his phone on the table. His arse is big and round, my spare footy shorts tight against them cheeks. Fuck, I wanna see that cake. I wanna eat it.
Zeke flops back on the opposite end of the couch, shirtless. His chest is even hairier than when I knew him. We’re positioned so we’re facing each other, both shirtless in footy shorts and reclining on the couch, our feet touching in the middle.
My gaze is roaming all over Zeke’s body. I wanna pick him up in my arms, carry him around my apartment and then push him up against a wall and drill him.
‘Haven’t seen that in a while,’ Zeke smirks, nodding to my crotch, where MC Hammer has sprung to life, curling out the side of my footy shorts.
I swallow. I want to grab him and kiss him, but I know the moment I do I’ll never be able to get off that train. I’ll be accepting it, for real, if I do this tonight.
Zeke seems to read the panic on my face. ‘Hey … if this is too much for you, I get it. I don’t wanna take advantage of you after what you went through last night.’
I swallow harder. ‘Yeah, me, too. Like you were in hospital and shit.’
