Page 37 of Wingmen

“Thought we were taking it easy,” Elliot grunted.

Mm. Dustin had never been very good at that.

The game ramped up even as he tried not to let it. No calls. No mercy. Just elbows on ribs and hips on hips. The sun hammered the blacktop. Heat shimmered up in visible waves. When Elliot spun and jumped and put it in next, the light gleamed off his arms.

He drove back, faster than Dustin could slide, and floated another one in at the other end. Dustin came right back, using his forearm to clear space. They collided at full speed – knees on thighs, the smack of sweat-slick shoulders. Dustin’s lungs burned. His quads screamed from the cuts and stops. This was fucking stupid – he wasdefinitelynot allowed to be doing this – but Elliot’s breath came hot and fast against his neck on every close guard and Dustin wasn’t sure if he was elbowing him backward down the court because he wanted to win, or because the feel of that was weirdly electrifying. He hadn’t played a real, physical game in a really long time. It felt good to be moving again.

After a fast break that left him gasping, he peeled off his shirt between points, balled it, and tossed it at his bag. Elliot glanced over, then kept dribbling. Two possessions later his shirt came off too. Dustin’s eyes skated over the wings and cross on his chest, and he spotted the word on his ribs that he hadn’t been able to read on Instagram:Salvador. He remembered the rest of that photo: the oiled skin, the bulge thatmighthave just been a shadow, and put his eyes back on the hoop.

“Who’s Salvador?”

Elliot dribbled once between his legs and passed, not looking at him. “Family.”

Nine-all and Dustin was posted up low with his back to the basket, feet planted wide as Elliot crowded in tight. His forearm pressed against the small of Dustin’s bare back. The pressure was slick and solid, Elliot’s breath was hot on the back of his neck again, and Dustin stayed there a second longer than he needed to, letting the heat and closeness settle into his bones. Not sure why. Just nice to be back in a physical confrontation. Nice to have physical contact. He turned. Their eyes locked.

His dick thickened so fast in his shorts that his breath caught.

He was half-hard in a sudden rush that stole the air from his lungs. His face went so red so fast itstung, but underneath something raw and electric flared – hot and unfamiliar, and totally overwhelming. He spun away. The shot rattled out.

Okay, so apparently it feltreallygood to be back in a physical confrontation. Weird. And a little embarrassing.

Elliot grabbed the rebound and pushed. The game kept going, brutal and relentless. They battled to eleven. Rodriguez won by two.

They stood afterward with chests heaving, and sweat pouring down their torsos. Dustin bent double to catch his breath with his hands on his knees and glanced at the rivulet running down the cross in the middle of Elliot’s chest. A few watchers lingered by the chain-link fence, and the court felt suddenly small and exposed. He looked away.

Why couldn’t he stop looking at Rodriguez’s dumb tattoos?

What was Fatima doing tonight? Did Pakistani-American college students do booty calls?

He walked to his bag, tossed the ball into it, pulled out his water bottle, and sat on the concrete to drink. His hair wassweaty and sticking to his forehead, and as he shoved it back he caught Elliot looking at him.

Dustin held out the water bottle. A slight hesitation, then Elliot scooped up his shirt and came and sat beside him as he took it.

Their fingers touched and electricity shot up Dustin’s arm and into his hair. He didn’t pull away as Elliot’s eyes met his.

Suddenly his mouth went very dry and the air between them feltflammable. Elliot held his gaze and Dustin was almost sure he let his finger linger too.

Elliot swallowed and his lips parted to say something, and a vision slammed into Dustin’s head – Elliot flat on his back on this same concrete, Dustin pushing him down, his mouth on those lips, then his throat, his chest, licking the sweat off his tattoos, out of the creases of his abs, maybe pulling down those stupid purple shorts–

“Ball!” A kid’s high-pitched yell came from the other side of the court, and suddenly a ball was bouncing into his peripherals.

Both of them flinched. The back of Dustin’s neck had ignited and heart was slamming against his throat. What the fuck was happening? Never in hislifehad he thought about a man that way. Never.

He rolled sideways, grabbed his bag, mumbled goodbye, and left.

CHAPTER TEN

Elliot

That basketball game was totally weird.

Right? It wasn’t just him. Or was it? Maybe Bennet was just excited to be playing again. It probably felt good to be moving. Competing physically, not holding back, leaving it all on the court. Felt great: Elliot could understand that.

But if that was all it was, then why hadn’t Bennet texted him all week?

He was too nervous be the one to text Bennet, so he thought about stopping by Force at a time he knew Dustin would be there. But that just made him feel like a stalker. Had he stayed in Portland because he liked it in Portland? Or because Bennet was here? Was he going to Dustin’s gym because it was the best one in the city, or was he going because there was a high chance he would see him naked in the locker room?

He was probably imagining it about the basketball game. He was probably projecting his own stupid crush.