Page 17 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

He fiddled with his phone. Mark had texted him about an app he ‘might want to check out.’

Lookr. He found it free in the app store, a garish green with a logo of a closed eye—fucking creepy, but whatever.

He downloaded it. Input his details. Sighed explosively when it prompted him to set up a profile.

Fuck, why was everything so difficult?

Knowing he’d never get it done if he stopped now, he went to the bathroom. He took his shirt off. Took a picture. Too fucking much. Put it on again. Too fucking little.

He raised the hem above his abs, clenching, his legs parted to show the thickness of his thighs. Okay, that wasn’t too bad. Could he have just one picture on his profile?

He returned to the couch, going through his camera roll. Chose one from the back, him in trunks, skin and hair wet. And then another one he’d taken a long time ago, the outline of his dick under thin sweats.

Was it douchey? Absolutely. But he was a bit of an asshole, so at least it wouldn’t be false advertising.

He set it up, making sure his face wasn’t visible in any of the pictures. He couldn’t put his own name either, obviously, choosing to go with ‘Aunix’ instead.

Auston groaned but persevered when it asked him to put something in the bio.

Can’t meet up but not looking to play games.

That would have to do.

He swiped through a few profiles. Nothing jumped out.

He shut his screen, closing his burning eyes. It’d been a long fucking day.

Whatever was waiting for him on that app, it would keep for another time.

Chapter Three

CHASE

“Yeah, Mom,” Chase said into the phone, trying not to mumble. She hated it when he mumbled. “I just got to practice, so I’ll talk to you later.”

“Work hard. I don’t know what they’re letting you do out there, but you need to push harder.”

“Yeah, for sure. Okay. Bye.”

His mom hung up without saying goodbye.

Chase sat in his car for a little while, trying to fold up the sick feeling in his gut, to make it smaller, neater, to slot it away where it wouldn’t make him want to fall apart.

Preseason had not been as awesome as he expected. He wasn’t playing his best—he knew he wasn’t. He just couldn’t seem to be able to pull it together and do what he knew he was capable of.

He’d been relegated to the third line, centring the forwards with Marco (Jimmy) Jimenez and Girgory Novikoff on his wings. It was naïve to think he’d be in the top two lines—the first one had Noah and Sammy on it, along with Bergerstom, which everybody called Belly, and the second was centred by Auston, obviously, flanked by Brody Reat and Alex Obnizov.

At least Vincent Alamilla and Ian Ginart were paired defencemen on the third line—both of the guys were friendly and patient, something Chase apparently needed.

Not that Simeon Andreev and Advait Singh on the first defencemen pairing weren’t nice—they were just more experienced, expectations higher when playing with them.

The best part of it all, frankly, had been Sammy. Chase became a staple in Sammy and Noah’s apartment, would be invited by the Omega for lunch, dinner, for a movie, to go to the park. Sammy was the first person he truly wished he could scent—it’d be comforting, Chase thought. Chase would try to sniff himself, see if his scent was good enough, even if it was fake.

It was wild, how excited he’d been to meet Auston, but what he’d gained instead wasn’t too fucking shabby compared to that—an actual, real-life friend.

Not that it would last long.

The bright optimism that had glowed at the beginning of camp has died a gory death. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. During games, it was like his brain and body disconnected. He’d see the play he should make, but his muscles hesitated, missing his chances and killing plays because of it. He’d panic at the last moment and do something stupid, causing turnovers left, right, and centre.