“Yo,what are the chances of you putting your fucking dick away?”
I chuckle as I run a towel over my sweat-slicked chest, my muscle still aching from the punishing workout. I glance over to where Ronan is scowling at Drago as the latter leans his huge and currently very nude frame back on the locker room bench. His legs are casually spread wide, and his cock, complete with the five barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder piercing going through it, is fully on display.
“Low,” Drago grunts with a grin, grabbing a towel out of the air as Lochlan tosses it to him. He pushes it over his glistening face and dark hair before he chucks it at Ronan. “Sorry, am I inspiring feelings of inadequacy?”
Lochlan and I laugh. But my younger cousin rolls his eyes, batting the thrown towel away before he peels his practice jersey off and tosses it aside. “Not even a little bit,” Ronan grins, cupping himself between the legs. “It’s just that seeing your mangled dick is traumatizing to mine.”
Drago chuckles, glancing down his tattooed chest and abdomen, over the big crown tattoo on his lower abs right above his crotch to the dick in question. “Now, if it’s somangled, why is it that Chelsea Cafaro was bouncing and coming all overitand not your plain, boring, un-ornamented dick the other night at the party?”
Ronan glares at Drago. “Because you fucking cock-blocked me.”
Lochlan frowns. “Bro, you cock-blocked yourself when you hit that giant fucking joint that Asher rolled in with.”
I was…preoccupiedduring the Para Bellum party the other night. And by “preoccupied”, I do of course mean “chasing Yelena around a dark bedroom before making her pussy cream all over my knife”.
But I’ve heard the story recounted about a dozen times now about Drago and Ronanbothtrying to get with Chelsea, before Asher Volkov arrived and produced a massive, Bob Marley sized joint.
He, Ronan, and Akira spent the second half of the party eating ice cream in the kitchen and giggling like cartoon characters, while Drago apparently spent that time introducing his dick and all five of the accompanying piercings to Chelsea Cafaro’s various orifices.
Ronan makes a face. “I just don’t understand how it is a man can look at metal barbells and thinkyes, those belongs shoved through my penis.That’s a good idea.”
Drago lifts a shoulder and grins. “You could always ask Chelsea to explain why it’s a good idea.”
“Cool, fuck you.”
The rest of us crack up as Ronan pouts.
We fuck with each other like this, but the four of us are close as brothers. Obviously, Loch, Ronan, and I have known each other our whole lives. But Drago, who’s a junior along with Ronan, got added to the mix early on. His mother, Taylor Crown, is the “Crown” in Crown and Black, the preeminent legal firm in New York who caters to several powerful mafia families, including mine as well as Lochlan and Ronan’s. And his father, Drazen Krylov, is the head of the Krylov Bratva.
So even though he’s not technically blood, Drago’s been part of our crew since we were kids, and when I say he might as well be a brother, I really do mean it. The four of us our thick as thieves, and for all their shit-talking to each other, he and Ronan are best friends.
Today wasn’t an official Privateers practice. But the four of us like to operate almost like our own unit within the full team on the field, since we’ve been playing football together for over a decade. So I had us out all morning running drills until even I was ready to pass out.
“Fuckin’ Asher with whatever the fuck was in that joint,” Ronan mutters, peeling off the rest of his sweaty clothes and padding over to the wall of shower heads.
Lochlan snorts. “Weed, idiot. There wasweedin that joint. Don’t try to blame Asher for you getting high as a giraffe’s balls.” He shrugs. “And anyway, you didn’t have a shot with Chelsea.”
Ronan turns to us as the shower heats up behind him. “Oh you don’t think allthishad a shot with her?” He grins, gesturing to his muscled physique.
His brother rolls his eyes. “Nope. You’re too much of a jock for a girl like Chelsea.”
Ronan shakes his head as he steps under the shower spray. “I’mtoo much of a jock? This motherfucker—” he gestures with a dripping hand at Drago, “is on the footballandhockey teams!”
Lochlan grins. “Yeah but he doesn’tlooklike a jock, Ro.”
Drago is arguably one of the most athletic motherfuckers on campus. He’shuge, first of all—like almost as big as my uncle Kratos. Also, not only is he theass-stompingsafety defense on the Privateers’ football field, he’s also a brick-wall of a defensemen for the hockey team.
…The same hockey team that he’s also the captain of, despite only being a junior.
Yet, if you didn’t know all of that and you met Drago for the first time, you’d assume he was the enforcer for a motorcycle gang, or the weight-lifting frontman of a death-metal band before you’d ever guess college athlete.
Ronandoeslook like a total jock. He’s got the fresh-cut hair, only a few tattoos, and the charming, square jawed all-American look that he and Lochie’s dad has. Drago, on the other hand, has two full sleeves of tattoos, ink across his chest, abdomen, and back, shaggier dark hair, and a darkly brooding look perpetually plastered onto his chiseled face.
Believe me: girls who are into fucking a guy who looks like Drago have little to no interest in fucking a guy who looks like Ronan. But on the same token, the girls who Ronan pulls—and there areplenty—are the kind of girls who run screaming from a guy like Drago.
“Hey, speaking of the other night…” Drago glances at me as he steps under the shower head next to the one I turn on. “You stillhaven’t told me where the hell you disappeared to during the party.”
My brow furrows as I shove water out of my face. “Do yourself a favor and don’t tell Chelsea that you were thinking ofmewhile railing her.”
