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My workouts aren’t any harder than they have been in the past, yet, even after sleeping all night, I feel exhausted.
I take an assessment of myself, first pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. I don’t have a fever. I swallow. My throat isn’t sore. Kicking one leg out from under the sheet, I know my muscles aren’t sore.
I’m just tired.
Of him, my brain whispers.
That really isn’t the case either.
Outward appearances say I’m extremely agitated to be sharing a room with Rick, but a wave of sadness washes over me each night when I return to find him already asleep in his bed.
Then the memory of that kiss hits me like a shotgun blast to the chest.
I wonder what the man would think if he knew I come home and jack off ten feet from him every night?
He’d probably call me a pervert and demand a new room. That wouldn’t be the worse outcome because being close to him while he’s still so unreachable is making me miserable.
I’ve blamed him for many things over the years, but my tiredness is actually his fault.
With a groan and a case of the fuck this shit, I roll out of bed, taking a moment in silence as my eyes land on his empty bed.
Gone already, just like every other morning.
Not that I would know what to say to settle all this shit between us, but the man seems hell-bent on not giving me the chance. The only time I see him is on the field while we’re running drills or in the locker room, and there are always other people around.
Waking him up when I get home in the evening wouldn’t start us out on the right foot either. He’s a damn bear when his sleep is disrupted. He’s been that way since we were kids.
I scrape my hands over the top of my head, ignoring the erection straining the front of my boxers. I grab clothes, refusing to think about jacking off. It just doesn’t have the same appeal as it does when he’s in the room.
Basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes are the only requirements I’ll need today. Hell, as a college athlete, it’s all I ever need. This has been my uniform of choice for so long, regular clothes don’t even feel right anymore.
My phone chimes with a text, but I ignore Mazie’s name, just like I have the last four times she’s texted since yesterday afternoon. I know I won’t be able to avoid her forever, but I’m putting it off as long as I possibly can.
Hooking up with her occasionally has been fun the last three years, but it’s like jacking off, just something I did for that dopamine release, a lot like running full speed on the treadmill until my lungs start to burn.
Yeah, she’s attractive. All the girls I’ve hooked up with over the years have been. The female form is magnificent, and every woman walking this earth has some quality that I find attractive. Plus, not being picky means I’m rarely lacking company.
The reminder chime of my phone for some reason makes me think of Seth.
Rick was right to confront me that night. I was spying on him. I watched him while they chatted, keeping a safe distance on the other side of the pool. When he walked Seth around the front of the clubhouse, I took a shortcut through the building and peeked at them through the damn curtains like a stalker, my heart swelling in my chest when Rick shut down Seth’s attempt to kiss him. It’s what gave me the courage to press my mouth to his.
Biggest mistake of my fucking life. We spent years working through the ending of our friendship, and I hate that my actions were the final nail.
I’m grumbling to myself for sleeping too late to grab breakfast as I leave my dorm room, blaming everyone but myself for it as I trek across campus to the athletic complex.
Of course Rick is already in the locker room, laughing and joking with a few of the guys as they get ready for our first official practice of the year. Our season opener isn’t until the first week of February, but we’ll still spend five days a week at practice until then. Lindell isn’t special in that aspect; most college ball teams spend their off season training. Maybe this year we can manage to make it past our regular season. I’m still a little bitter about not doing so this last spring.
“Still not sleeping well?” Silas asks as he shrugs on a Lenny the Lemur shirt.
“Is that a new design?” I point to the front of his shirt.
“I take that as a no. Have you tried melatonin?”
I doubt it’ll keep me from tossing and turning because my roommate is a dick who got the good side of the room.
