Page 73 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 3

My pulse was racing now, my skin flushed, but it had nothing to do with the temperature in our room. I tried to tell myself it was just the weirdness of seeing intimate fiction written about real people, about us, but that wasn’t quite true. There was something else happening, something in the way my body was responding to the detailed descriptions of desire and discovery.

I tried to tell myself that it was just sexy. Sexy words, nothing else. The fact that it made me hard had to do with me being the subject of someone’s imagination, not that it was “Andrei” narrating the tale.

Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I was uncomfortably aware of my breathing, of the way my clothes felt against suddenly sensitive skin, of the way my dick was hard and trapped inside boxer briefs that were way too tight.

I locked my phone immediately and tossed it aside like it had burned me. This was not happening. I was not getting aroused reading fan fiction about myself and my best friend. That was insane, impossible, completely outside the realm of normal human behavior.

But my body didn’t seem to care about what was normal or impossible. Standing up only made me more acutely aware of my cock, the tight feeling of my jeans against the part of my body that suddenly felt hypersensitive to every touch.

Somewhere out there, people were writing stories about Andrei and me discovering feelings we’d never acknowledged, crossing boundaries we’d never considered. And somewhere in this quiet room, I was lying awake, wondering if the fiction was closer to truth than I’d ever realized.

Chapter Nine

ANDREI

I had no idea what had possessed Trevor to do this. Maybe he really was the sweet guy you couldn’t resist petting when you passed him by. With thick, floppy hair and huge brown eyes, there was something puppy-like about him that Jen and her team had noticed right away.

Except, I thought we would keep our roles strictly for the cameras. And Trevor was channeling that little brother energy around the clock.

Saturday evening, most of the team was down in the basement, sharing stories over beer, leaning against the soccer table nobody ever used, or fighting over the arcades like preschoolers fighting over a grocery store coin-operated pony ride.

I was on the two-seater sofa, back sinking into the pillows, legs spread, hoodie pulled over my head, a pillow hugged in my lap, and my overheating phone in my hands. Checking the online chatter was becoming an unhealthy obsession these days.

Griff sat next to me, striking an even more casual pose. His upper half sprawled over his side of the sofa, elbow planted on the armrest, some ridiculous comic book with a broken spine and pages hanging by the last thread in his hands, and his left leg tossed casually over my right one.

I didn’t mind it.

I never minded Griffin leaning onto me, throwing his arm around my shoulders, tossing his leg into my lap, or placing a pillow pretty much on my ass and cuddling up when we occasionally watched a movie together. Well, he’d put the pillow on my hip, to be precise, and I’d curl up to make space for him on the couch.

I loved that he was so carefree that he cuddled in plain sight. I’d never have the balls to do that to someone. Even to him. Especially to him.

Griffin had the luxury of touchiness and physical proximity because he didn’t hide a secret that was eating him from the inside. Leaning into me didn’t make Griffin boil with desperate feelings screaming to be released. Running his fingers through my hair like I was his little brother didn’t make his teeth itch to bite unspeakable parts of me. He didn’t need to lean forward and hum a tune to himself to hide the growing bulge every time a random thought possessed him.

Because Griffin wasn’t into me like that.

So when Trevor brought his laptop into the basement and hooked it up to the TV, I didn’t know what to expect. My thoughts were entirely consumed by the weight of Griffin’s leg on mine and the need to keep the pillow close in my lap without anyone suspecting what I might be hiding. I would have gotten up and walked away sooner, but that was kind of impossible.

“Attention, boys,” Trevor announced, his voice high and cracking with excitement. “If you could all turn your eyes to the screen, it would mean a lot to me and the NextPlay guys who helped me put this together.”

“What’s this about?” Phoenix asked, suspicious. He was suspicious of most things that had anything to do with NextPlay Media. Three episodes into the series, and every edit made him look like he was wringing his fingers with unspeakable anxiety over being the only gay guy on the team.

Little did they know, they had put the anxious gay boy into the role of a brooding baddie, while Phoenix was an out and proud trouper.

The screen flickered to life, and Trevor’s excited face appeared in a small window in the corner while the main display showed a title card: “Arctic Titans: Then and Now.” Cheesy transition music started playing, the kind you’d hear in a high school yearbook video.

“Oh no,” Mason groaned from his spot near the dartboard. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

But it was exactly what he thought it was. The first photo appeared on-screen: a tiny Phoenix in a youth hockey uniform that was three sizes too big for him, grinning toothlessly at the camera. His helmet sat crooked on his head, and one of his skates was unlaced.

“Jesus Christ,” Phoenix muttered, but I could see him fighting a smile. “How did you even find that?”

“I have my ways,” Trevor said mysteriously, which probably meant he’d called everyone’s parents.

The photo dissolved into the next one: Mason at maybe ten years old, missing both front teeth, holding up a trophy that was nearly as tall as he was. His hair was bleached platinum blond.

“Dude, you looked like a Q-tip,” Damon called out, earning laughs from around the room.

“My mom went through a phase,” Mason said defensively. “At least I didn’t cry when I lost a game.”