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There, I said it, okay? I need the fucker. I can’t do it on my own.
My heart’s fucking sinking as my offensive line basically crumbles and I have to throw away the ball. Again.
We barely make it past a minute before we’re out of downs and have to punt the ball again.
The Stepbrother return it for a touchdown.
That means I’m back on the field. Fuck.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep going. Even our second string QB is exhausted.
The water is falling in waves against my body as I close my eyes and point my head up towards the shower head.
Everybody was mostly silent as the game ended. One of the worse losses in New York Nailers history.
I know I just came to this team this season, but I’ve grown to think of these men as my brothers. As this team as my fucking family.
And I feel like I’ve let the team down today.
Not even Coach Karl has anything to say to us. Maybe that’s the worst feeling of all. That even the coach doesn't want to fucking talk to you because he’s disgusted.
The shower is definitely cooling me off - calming me down and making me feel a bit more normal. Fuck.
21 to 7.
I decide to stay under the water until I feel calmer. Until my brain is focused again. I can’t keep on being distracted by thoughts of Julianna. Thoughts of Ethan.
The locker room is pretty deserted by the time I get out of the shower. That’s fine with me. Just the way I fucking want it.
I walk past rows of deserted lockers heading towards mine. Towels, jock straps, socks, helmets, all line the floor. All waiting for the maintenance folks the team hires to come clean up.
I don’t know why, but I make a turn to go the longer way, seeing if anyone is around.
And that’s where I run into him.
Ethan fucking Blake.
I have my towel on but he’s still naked, putting on deodorant.
Fuck. The fucking sight of his naked fucking back - muscled and chiseled - makes my cock twitch. What the fuck! I know I’m not gay, but what the fuck is it about this motherfucker that’s getting me fucking hard.
Hearing movement, Ethan turns towards me.
Our eyes lock. I stop walking past him and turn towards him.
“Ethan…” I manage to croak.
Don’t you fucking get caught up at laughing at me, bro. You know I fucking hate that motherfucker.
You cannot fucking forget that. I want you to burn that into your brain.
But the normal Colt Stackford is gone. Instead, my heart is fucking beating a mile a minute.
Ethan brings his eyes down, not meeting my gaze, “Sorry about the game tonight, Colt…” he begins.
“It’s okay, man,” I say, not knowing where all this is fucking coming from. I should be skewering his fucking ass right now.
But I don’t.
