16. MILES

SIXTEEN

MILES

So apparently, I like teasing Bilson. I keep telling myself to pull back, not to be weird, don’t make him uncomfortable, and yet every time I open my mouth, it … comes out. Like an obsession. A stupid, dumb, unfiltered obsession.

I’m no better than Killer, really. A yappy dog begging for attention.

I get it from him too. The idiotic smiles, the “rookie” barbs, the shoving and jostling and waiting for me after practice if I drag my feet getting ready. He helps me drown my sorrows after a shitty game and celebrate the wins.

It’s been exactly five weeks since our hookup. Things are exactly as they’ve always been between us, and I think we’ve safely made it past the risk of awkwardness.

Only problem is, things are exactly like they were five weeks ago. Bilson’s problem is back, and every time I notice that hole-wrecker waking up, it’s like a siren call for Cobra, and he rears his head in interest.

I should go out and hook up, but I don’t want to.

The thing is, now I know what his dick feels like, I’m not so sure I can be satisfied with another strap-on. Sure, strap-ons are some people’s preference, but it’s very obvious to me and my dick that it’s not mine.

Which really should make me question some things, but I don’t.

If I don’t think about sexuality, it doesn’t exist. There’s no harm in fantasizing about Bilson. I have zero problems with people being queer, I have zero problems with a man fucking me, but I can’t be not straight. My parents are very much the “I don’t hate queer people, I just don’t agree with their lifestyle” types, and it kills me to think that anything could come between us.

I’m close with my family. I love being close with them.

So taking a dick once—and who knows, maybe twice—isn’t going to change a thing.

I rip up my brake as I pull into Bilson’s driveway. It’s late, and he might be asleep, but I’ve been tossing and turning for an hour now and couldn’t drift off, so if I have to be awake, so does he.

I’m pretty sure that’s in the bromance fine print.

I jump out and approach his front door, wondering why I’ve never had the forethought to swipe a key to his place like I do when we’re on the road. It’s quiet on the street, so I try not to knock too loudly and wake everyone up. Just loud enough to wake him up.

My first knock does nothing, but the second sets off the alarm.

And by alarm, I mean Killer. His cute bark comes rapid-fire as I hear him barrel along the hall to reach the door, and after only a few moments, Bilson pulls it open.

He’s all squinty-eyed and messy dark hair, pajama pants riding low on his hips. Before I can stop them, my eyes drop to his slightly furry chest, and I have to tug them away again.

Bad, eyes. Very naughty.

“How is it that the second I knew someone was at my door, I was certain it was you?”

“Wishful thinking?” I stoop down to pick up Killer. The dograt immediately starts licking my face and shaking in excitement. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere.”

“You came around at …” He pats his pocket and searches for his phone.

I pull mine out. “Twelve thirty.”

He scuffs a hand through his already messy hair. “After midnight with no plan and woke me up to go ‘somewhere’?”

“Yes.”

He laughs. “Let me put on a shirt.”

“And underwear.”

“How did you …” He looks down to where his dick print is tenting his pajamas. “Fucking hell.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

He closes the door on me, so I wrap Killer in my hoodie, and we go and wait for him in the car. He shows up five minutes later, beanie pulled down almost to his eyes, looking all kinds of adorable.

“Cold, huh?”

“Tired. Get me coffee.”

“Yes, sir.”

He leans forward to turn up the heat, and Killer jumps from my lap to his. “We’re taking Killer?”

“Duh. He’s family.”

“I lost the dog in my marriage. Don’t tell me I’m going to lose him in my bromance too.”

I back out of the drive. “Easy solution. Never brosplit from me, and there’s no issue.”

We go through a drive-through first to get the old man coffee, and then I jump on the long road out of town to one of my friends’ properties. We’ve gone four-wheel driving there countless times before, and even though the house is all but abandoned, I know the code to the padlock, and I’m itching to do some donuts.

Bilson drinks in silence for a while, Killer sleeping in his lap.

“Wanna know where we’re going?” I ask.

“Nope.”

That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “Why not?”

“Because we’re going there anyway, and knowing you, it’ll either be something ridiculous or … no. My money’s on ridiculous. I can’t wait.”

My lips purse. “I’m trying to decide whether to be proud or offended you can count on me for dumbassery.”

“Definitely proud. It’s one of the things I like best about you.”

“My ass is the other, isn’t it?” I know I shouldn’t say it, but I just really, really wanted to.

“Surprisingly, not even top three.”

“Wow.” I gasp, reaching down to pat the side of my butt cheek. “Don’t listen, baby. He’s a liar. Thinks puppies are ugly and hates chocolate. You can’t trust someone like that.”

“And now you’re talking to your butt.”

“The fact you’re still surprised by things like this says more about you than me.”

He goes to argue but changes his mind. “You’re right. I should embrace the coo-coo. But if you’d let me speak: while your ass is undoubtedly the best I’ve ever had and ranks super high in best asses I’ve seen, it’s still outranked.”

Okay, that sounds more promising. “Outranked by …”

“Of course you’d want to know.”

“I’m a whore for compliments.”

“Among other things,” he whispers so low I almost miss it. The gravelly edge to his voice gets me all the way hard, and I curse mentally that I can’t move on. “Top three goes: loyalty, sense of humor, ridiculousness.”

It’s bittersweet knowing loyalty came in at number one. I’m so fucking glad he knows I’d have his back no matter what, but it just reminds me of my frat days and how much I loved them. How much I learned about the kind of person I want to be. Maybe one day, I’ll look back on my days with the team and feel the same.

“Bromotions.”

“What?”

I’m not even sure why I’m telling him this. “It’s something my frat buddies and I used to do. Sit down and talk about our emotions and how we feel about things and support each other. I haven’t had that in a long time.” I take another quick look at him, but there’s nothing cocky in it this time. “I’m pretty sure I could tell you anything, and you wouldn’t be a dick about it. So … like, thanks. For giving me that back, I guess.”

He’s quiet for a minute, and I don’t want to look at him and have some stupid expression prove me wrong. “I don’t think I’ve ever really had that. So thanks for that, too, and shit.”

My grin is out of control when I look at him, and while I might love these kinds of talks, my mouth does that thing where it takes over again. “So. Best you’ve ever had?”

He groans. “Of course you weren’t going to let that go.”

“Be honest, you’ve never actually had anal before, have you? I’m the only one you’ve ever had.”

“I’ve done anal.” He sniggers. “Once.”

“Yes.” I punch the air. “Best of two for the win.”

“You should feel proud. She had a great ass.”

And while I do feel pride, there’s something else there. Something I don’t like. So I play it off and ignore it like I do with everything to do with Bilson. “It was ex-wife number three, wasn’t it?”

“I’ll never tell. Some of us know how to leave sex in the bedroom.”

I hide saying boring behind a cough.

“Wasn’t so boring when I was calling you a good boy, was I?”

My jaw hits the footwell. “Why is hearing you talk about it so hot?”

He cracks up laughing, smile still on his face when it dies off and he says, “It was a pretty mind-blowing night.”

The way he says it, with a tinge of something in his voice, tells me this is my opening. My moment to suggest that maybe it didn’t have to be the only night. We could fuck again—we’ve already proved we can get past it and move on.

But I pull up to my friend’s property and still haven’t said a word.

Because I’m chickenshit.

Once can be blown off as two teammates helping each other out. What does twice equal? At that point, we might as well go for the hat trick. Will fucking more make it easier to bounce back from … or harder?

Sex is just sex.

But Bilson isn’t just anybody.

This stupid bromance might be overhyped and fan-driven, but when it comes right down to it, we’ve bonded like I never have with a teammate before.

I get out and free the padlock, then push open the gate.

When I get back in my truck, I decide to ignore the stupid thoughts. No conversation worth having happens after 1:00 a.m.

“You ready?” I ask.

“For what?”

“Hold on to Killer.”

Then I put my foot on the gas. We tear through the field, kicking up grass, and when I hit the center, I stamp on the brake and yank my steering wheel to the side.

The holler Bilson lets out as mud and dirt fly past the window is music to my goddamn ears. My whoop joins his as we drift to a stop.

Then we go again.