Page 19 of The Jock Next Door

“Good shakes.” I try to catch my breath. “I’m just... wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.” He pulls me back against his chest, his softening cock settling in the crease of my ass. “Look at the mess you made, Picasso.”

That’s when I see the drawing. What started as a portrait has devolved into a furious, abstract scribble, and my cum has finished the job. Graphite running, paper warped, thick white streaks splattered across the paper like a Jackson Pollock. The oversized cock topped with a milky starburst.

Trey rests his chin on my shoulder, looking at it with me.

“That’s one way to sign your work.”

A weak laugh escapes me. “Call it a collaboration.”

“Our first,” he says, and presses his lips to the top of my head.

EPILOGUE

THREE MONTHS LATER

The heavy tread on the hallway carpet. The jingle of keys. The click of his lock. I know the sound of Trey coming home like I know my own pencil strokes. My stomach does a little flip, same as always. Three months and the effect hasn’t worn off. I hope it never does.

I’m at my easel, working on a commission. A portrait of some guy’s dog, a big fluffy Bernese mountain dog named Gus. I’ve nailed the fur after days of trial and error. Too much detail and it looks like a hairball. Too little and it’s a smudge. But I finally got it. What I’m still missing is the spark in his eyes. The Gus-ness of Gus.

I’m staring at the dog’s blank eyes, trying to figure out how to bring them to life, when three knocks come through the wall. “How’s the masterpiece?” I can hear the grin in Trey’s muffled voice.

“He’s being difficult,” I call back.

“What’s the trouble?”

“He’s not looking at me.”

“How’s that possible? You’re adorable.”

I smile. He does this all the time. Drops something sweet, or filthy, through the wall. The same wall I used to curse for being too thin. Now it’s my favorite thing about this room.

“You eaten yet?” I call out. “I can make mac and cheese.”

He doesn’t answer. I hear footsteps, his door opening, then mine. There he is, filling my doorway in a sweat-soaked practice jersey and compression shorts, his fade glistening at the temples, a towel slung around his neck. He leans against the frame, just like that very first time, and I get that lurch in my chest all over again.

“Mac and cheese? You really know how to treat a guy.” He crosses the room and kisses me. Slow, deep, tasting of sweat and mint. “But I’m taking you out,” he says, pulling back. “Somewhere nice. Because this man is officially back in the starting lineup.”

“You…” I fly out of my chair and throw myself at him. “Trey! That’s amazing. That’s⁠—”

“About damn time, is what it is.” He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me clean off the floor, my feet dangling. “Coach pulled me aside after practice and told me I earned it back.” He sets me down, keeps his hands on my waist, and looks at me with those brown eyes. “And I got you to thank for that.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything.” I swat at his chest, but I’m beaming.

“You did everything. You lit a fire under my ass, Nico. I was gaming nonstop and moping and feeling sorry for myself. You told me to get my shit together. You’d make me tea and rub my neck after practice. I haven’t felt this focused in years.” He presses his forehead against mine. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

I feel the heat rise in my face, but I don’t look away. I’ve gotten better at taking compliments. Trey gives me a lot of practice.

“I’m proud of you,” I say, and I mean it. I know the extra hours he put in. The early morning runs, the weight room sessions. I definitely wouldn’t want to be lining up across from him on game day.

“Thanks, baby.” He kisses me again, hands sliding down to grip my ass, pulling me flush against him. “And I’m proud of you. Look at you. Getting paid for your art and you haven’t even graduated yet? You’re killing it.”

It’s true. I’ve had steady work coming in ever since Trey insisted on posting my portraits of him online. My little art-only account blew up overnight. It probably helped that my subject is the most attractive man on campus. It’s kind of cheating. But I’m not complaining.

The only piece nobody gets to see hangs above my bed. The messy, cum-splattered collaboration, framed behind glass. My Girl with a Pearl Earring. Except it’s Guy with an Enormous Cock.

Trey’s hands are everywhere. He’s got me backed up against my desk, his thigh between my legs, pressing right where I need it. He kisses my neck, finds the spot that makes me shiver.