Without thinking, I open my mouth. “You don’t have to worry,” I say, my voice low.
His breath hitches. “W-what?”
He tries to pull back, but I hook his leg like I’m trying to flip him. Really, I’m just trying to keep him close, so he has to hear me out.
“I’m not here to upset your spot on this team,” I say. “And I’m not here to out you.”
All the color drains from his face. His eyes bug out. And then something inside him snaps.
He makes a choking sound, then shoves off me so he’s on his knees, looming over me. He’s breathing heavily, bent over me like he’s two seconds from wrapping his hands around my throat and squeezing the life out of me. In the moment of stillness, I cut my eyes down to where our dicks are less than six inches apart, both of us straining in our gym shorts. He can’t miss that he’s not the only one, because Aaron’s tiny shorts are doing nothing to help mask my situation.
The whistle blows, calling for the end of practice. I reach down and adjust myself so I’m not in danger of flashing the whole team, hoping that the waistband of these shorts and the stupid tight shirt will at least help disguise the issue. We both stand slowly. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, watching me warily until he realizes we’re the only ones still standing on our mat. Everyone else is heading towards the locker room, slowing when they pass us to watch the way we’re squared up to each other.
Lincoln sneers. “You smell like a goddamn brewery, Miller. Clean yourself up.”
There are a few snickers around us as he turns on his heel and heads to the locker room. I don’t miss Pierce looking smug and laughing with his little cronies. A hand lands on my shoulder. Jay, looking down at me with concern. I shake him off, flashing one of my signature fake smiles.
“It’s all good,” I tell him. “Let’s just go.”
The rest of the team watches me like I did something wrong. I swallow and force my shoulders loose, widening my grin and making a joke about my circulation in these shorts.
Because if I stop smiling now, they’ll see what it cost me not to snap. And I refuse to give Pierce Jamison or Lincoln Beckett one more victory today.
CHAPTER 5
BECK
Coach McCoy’s backyard is loud with laughter, shitty old country music, and a team full of wrestlers who have no respect for the neighbors. It’s the same chaotic energy every year —overloud bravado about which rivals we’re going to take down this year, the eager chatter of excited freshmen, and Coach’s barking voice as he regales us with tales from his glory days. Normally, this is one of my favorite pre-season events, a familiar event that reminds me I’m among family and gets me excited for the year to come. It’s chaotic and loud, yes, but it’s also predictable. And I like predictable. Predictable people, predictable routines, predictable nights.
But nothing feels predictable tonight, least of all the way Brody Miller has slotted himself into the team like he’s always belonged here, bright and easy and unburdened.
The longer I watch him joke with Fish or listen to him laugh at some story Roman is telling him, the more something acidic spreads under my ribs. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy or dread. Both feel equally poisonous. Maybe it’s just indigestion from the charred burger I ate.
Everyone is buzzing about going out after this. It’s tradition for the upperclassmen to have one last wild night before pre-season kicks our asses. It’s never been my favorite part of the night, and one I’ve skipped out on before, but being captain means putting my team first. It’s my job to look like I’m enjoying myself even if I’d rather gouge out my eyeballs than spend the night babysitting a bunch of drunk assholes.
So I straighten my shoulders, step into the center of the yard, and impose order onto the chaos because that’s the one thing I’m good at.
“Alright, listen up,” I call out, raising my voice over the chatter. “After the barbeque we head straight to the Howl. No wandering off, no getting separated, and if you’re drinking, keep track of what you’re actually consuming. Pierce, you’re responsible for keeping the freshmen from doing anything stupid. Please remember that your behavior reflects on Huntston University, this team as a whole, and Coach McCoy. Cade, you–”
Cade doesn’t even wait for me to finish. He throws his head back and goes, “Yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy,” in a sugary voice that makes half the team dissolve into laughter. Even Coach barks out a laugh from behind the grill.
My jaw tightens, but Cade just grins wider, licking barbecue sauce off his thumb. Idiot. No matter how many years I’ve spent cultivating a perfect mask, Cade always seems to be able to either piss me off or make me laugh.
I roll my eyes and turn away before I say something I shouldn’t, pretending that the interruption doesn’t bother me and letting the whole thing go. Maybe I’ll make sure everyone gets to the club, then cut out early. I’ll say that Caty wanted me to meet her or something.
A throat clears behind me, and I turn to see Brody approaching with his trademark self-important smirk. He strolls over with that relaxed, loose-hipped confidence of his, the kind of posture that says he’s never once worried about how people see him. He stops in front of me, arms crossed, eyes warm but sharp.
“You ever relax and just have fun?” he asks, voice low and conversational like we’re normal teammates who don’t spend half our time circling each other like predators. “Or is micromanaging everyone else your idea of a good time?”
“Back off,” I mutter, because it’s the safest thing to say. Anything else would reveal how much he’s affecting me.
He doesn’t back off. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilts his head and regards me with an unsettling steadiness, like he can read the parts of me I’ve buried so deeply, even I’ve forgotten where they’re hidden.
“As much as I find your grouchy, uptight thing adorable,” Brody says, “the attitude toward me is getting a little old. I’m not your enemy.”
Heat flares behind my sternum again. It’s not anger exactly, but something close enough that I cling to it.
He steps slightly closer. Close enough that I feel the warmth radiating off him. Close enough that I have to fight not to step back.
