Page 7 of The Jock Next Door

I risk a glance over my shoulder. He’s under the spray, head tipped back, eyes closed, water streaming down his chest and over the hard planes of his stomach. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely get the robe untied. I let it drop, step under the showerhead at the far end of the row, and cover myself with my hand.

“How so?”

“Dude was a narc.” He squirts soap into his hands and starts lathering his chest. “Reported me for everything. Having friends over. Playing music. RA was at my door every other week.”

I watch a single drop of water trace a path down between his abs, over the curve of his stomach, to the dark hair at the base of his cock. It glides down the shaft and hangs from the tip for a second before falling to the tile.

“So I figured the walls were made of cardboard. But you didn’t even hear me, so I guess my old neighbor was just a bitch.”

Here’s my chance. To come clean. If I had even a fraction of Trey’s confidence, I’d say, Oh, I heard you. I heard everything. I even heard you jerk off the other night. And you know what? It was hot as hell. The thought alone makes my whole body flush. I can’t even begin to predict how he’d react. He could laugh it off. He could show me that intensity he talked about, and slam me into the wall. I would be no match for him. Or he could call me a freak and never speak to me again. And I don’t want that. I don’t want him to stop being friendly to me. So all that comes out is, “Guess he was.”

“Anyway, I appreciate you, man. You’re chill.” He’s soaping up his arms now, muscles flexing as he works the lather into foam. “You gotta show me some of your art. For real. I’m curious.”

That can’t happen. Not with my wall looking like a shrine to him. “I told you, it’s practice stuff.”

“I don’t care. I wanna see.”

I’m angled away from him, trying to hide my cock, which is at half-mast against my thigh. I grab the soap and start scrubbing my arms, my chest, anywhere but the one place that’s begging for attention. The steam isn’t helping. It wraps around us like a warm cocoon, and his scent is everywhere. Musk and soap and wet skin.

“Maybe sometime,” I say.

“I bet you’re good. I can tell.”

Compliments from Trey are not helping right now. “I’m okay.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t sell yourself short. If you’re good at something, own it.”

“Sorry.”

“And stop apologizing.”

“Sor—” I bite the word off. “Right.”

He laughs, and the sound bounces off the tile. “I’m messing with you. But for real, once I started believing I was the baddest motherfucker on the field, that’s when I started playing like it. You gotta have that energy. About everything. Go after what you want.”

“I don’t think I could ever think like that.”

“Why not? You ever wanted something so bad it made you ache?” He turns to rinse his hair, and I get a full view of his back. His ass. Two round, solid globes of muscle. My cock twitches, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek.

“Y-yeah.”

“Then you know how it is. You just gotta let that feeling take over.”

Let the feeling take over. I’m not sure he’d be too happy if I did. The ache between my legs is so intense it borders on painful. I’m fully hard now, pointing straight up. This is torture. I stare at the grout lines. The water spots on the faucet. The chipped tile at eye level. Anything but him.

My erection is not going down. If anything, it’s getting harder. I need to get out of here.

I rinse off in record time, my back to him the whole time. I barely touched my hair. I’ll have to come back later tonight, but I can’t stay in here another second. Not with him here. Not with my body betraying me like this. I grab my robe off the floor and pull it on, tucking my hard-on against my hip before tying it shut. It strains against the thick terrycloth.

“Done already?” Trey asks, rinsing shampoo from his hair.

“Yeah, I’m in the middle of a drawing. Want to get back to it while the light’s still good.”

“Damn. You’re always in a hurry.” He turns off the water and reaches for his towel. “Hold up, I’ll come with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to get out because of me,” I say. “Take your time.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll walk back with you.”