8. Cole

Coach is giving me a fucking headache, probably worse than Blaise did yesterday. The audacity of that motherfucker to even think about laying a damn finger on me. Who the fuck does he think he is?

He openly grabbed me, as if he did it every day, and the more I think of it, remembering the way he swallowed my cock with very little fight, he might enjoy it.

Fuck.

I’ve never indicated to him that I wanted his hands anywhere near me. Yeah, a few times I’ve teased him, called him out on his bullshit and demanded he break up with Mia, but I’ve never given him any ideas that I’d want to, and I quote, “choke on a big, fat cock.”

Fucking asshole.

A shoulder hits into me, and I nearly deck it.

“Pay attention, Carter.”

I grit my teeth and glare at Samson, not giving a fuck that he’s my friend. I’m in no mood for bullshit today. And to make this glorious fucking afternoon better, Blaise stands at the side, impatiently bouncing on his heels while he waits for the second day of tryouts to begin.

For my team.

My stepdad is kind of best friends with the coach, so it’s inevitable he’s going to get onto the team. He probably doesn’t even know how to play with college guys. The privileges of being a good boy, I guess.

“You think he’ll replace Samson?” Jackson asks beside me, tightening the clips of his helmet. “From what I heard of the tryouts yesterday, he’s a good linebacker.”

“Coach won’t replace Samson, he’s too good.”

“Hopefully Keith. He’s been slacking.”

I snort. “Says the one who comes to practice late and still drunk.”

He shrugs and runs off to his position, and I try not to look at Blaise while I finish my game, my throat sore from yelling every two seconds.

Sweating, I wipe my face with my shirt, my eyes clashing with Blaise, whose gaze lowers to my abs. He averts his stare as soon as he sees he’s been caught, and follows the coach’s assistant to start his tryouts.

I keep looking over at him, though. He moves with fluidity, and seems to know what he’s doing, which irritates me. Twice, he gets tackled, and I fight the urge to get involved when another student gets in his face.

Not my fucking problem.

“Fuck, Carter!”

I stare down at Samson, his eyes wide. Did I tackle him?

“I think you broke my ribs.”

“Stop being dramatic,” I retort, helping him up. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Because the walking thumb is giving Blaise shit? I thought you hated him.”

“I do,” I reply, shaking myself off as we fall back into position. “His dad thinks he’s a kid still and everything bad that happens to him is my fault.”

“That explains the glare you’re sending the thumb’s way.”

Sure. Let’s say that’s why. I just don’t like the way he’s scowling at Blaise as if he wants to devour him then snap his bones. He’s a big fucker; I’d get five minutes of fight time before I was a goner, but if I need to, I’ll fight him.

Blaise is soaked in sweat half an hour in, and he keeps brushing his hand through his unruly dark hair, the white shorts covered in dirt from tackles, and his muscles are bulging in his legs.

He has huge thighs to match the powerful back.

Shit. I think if we had a one-on-one fight, the fucker might be able to scrub the floor with me.

Our eyes clash again, and neither of us looks away, both trying to catch our breaths. Someone grabs my shoulder, a voice in my ear, but it doesn’t matter. The plan is already concocting in my head.

He threatened me.

No one threatens Cole Carter without getting fucked up.

Once I’m done, I head to the showers, checking my phone and seeing a text from Allie, asking me to come over tonight.

I decline. I’m not in the mood for her company. As soon as Blaise vanished from the kitchen the other morning, she tried to fucking mount me, but I shrugged her off and pretended I was late for class.

I wasn’t.

Blaise and the others from the tryouts are sent to the other locker room. Thank fuck. I think him getting naked in front of everyone would have pushed me to my limit. They would all comment on his size, then compare him to me, and then I’d need to kill them all.

Everyone’s washed and getting dressed.

By the time I finish sorting my bag, I’m alone in the locker room, and when the door opens, I glance up to see…

“Mia?”

She hugs herself, sniffs, her eyes red like she’s been crying. The door closes behind her, and she edges in. “We really need to talk.”

I frown. “Blaise is in the other locker room.”

“I know. I’m supposed to meet him, but I had to see you first.”

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I tilt my head. “What’s wrong?”

“It was a mistake. Please, please don’t try to make him break up with me.”

My brows hike up to my hairline. “What are you talking about?”

“I was drunk, but I remember some of what happened the other night. Blaise can’t know, but it won’t ever happen again. I love him.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re insinuating.” How fucked up was she the other night? I was with Allie.

Mia obviously thinks Blaise was me.

“You need to lay off the booze, Mia.”

She worries her lip and averts her eyes. “I heard you telling Blaise to break up with me the other morning.”

It takes me a long second to figure out what she means, and I let out a snort. “I was fucking with him, but you can do better.”

“I don’t have feelings for you, Cole. I love Blaise.”

Confusion hits me again. “You’re Allie’s best friend. Why would you have feelings for me?”

“Good.” She nods. “If we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen. Okay. But please don’t tell him to break up with me. It was a mistake and it’ll never happen again.”

The door opens, and she flinches as if she was right in front of me and tries to get distance as Blaise walks in, fresh from his shower, his face red. “Did you—” He stops when he sees his girlfriend. “Ah, there you are. Ready?”

He doesn’t even ask her why she’s been crying, which is fucking evident. She nods, glances at me briefly, then walks out. Blaise follows her, pausing in the doorway. “You can barely control your own girlfriend. Stay the fuck away from mine.”

The door slams, and my right eye twitches, both confused as fuck and filling with fury. I drop my bag and fish my phone from my pocket, finding my friend’s contact. He answers on the third ring.

“Do you still have those masks and hoodies?”

“Yeah, man,” Samson replies. “You need them?”

I smirk to myself, already imagining the scene. “Yeah.”

I stare at my phone,my knee bouncing, needing to get rid of this anger, but punching a bag or hitting the gym did nothing to lessen my rage.

Mom texted me earlier, asking me to leave Blaise and his girlfriend alone, and that, with the combination of his words earlier and the way he spoke to me the other morning, I’m about to snap.

Maybe I already snapped?

I type the message out four times, deleting it each time, lying back on my bed and listening to how loud Blaise’s TV is. Mia is in there. I can hear her giggling, and I want to break through his door, tell her to fuck off, and punch Blaise so damn hard, he passes out.

The white mask and black hoodie I got from Samson sit on my bedside cabinet. I had a plan. But now I think I might kill him instead.

Fuck it.

I type out the message I’ve been desperate to send.

Me: Wanna know who I am? Meet me at the college’s swimming pool at 7 tonight or everyone will see our text messages. I’m sure your girlfriend would be thrilled to know how much you love sucking dick.

Sighing, I toss my phone down and get dressed. He won’t refuse. He’ll shit himself and demand answers. He’ll probably try to find out who I am, but I won’t let him figure it out.

My phone buzzes, a ding following right after, and my heart ricochets when I see it’s a response from Blaise.

Of course it’s from him. He’s the only number I have in this piece of shit burner.

Blaise: Fine.

I snort at his blunt reply, a ball of excitement growing within me as I finish getting ready, hearing him and Mia arguing as they bypass my bedroom door. He’s trying to get her out so he can play a game of tag with his unidentified stranger, readying to choke on his cock again.

I harden at the thought and stare at my bulge, frowning. Why do I keep getting rock solid at the thought of my stepbrother? I want to fuck with him, not fuck him.

Regardless, I pulse at the memory of his throat tightening around my engorged head and the sounds he made as he gagged, and I have to adjust myself into my waistband.

I hear Blaise walking back upstairs and down the corridor, slamming his room door loudly. I smirk, knowing he’s angry, but he’ll love the way I make him feel when I make him run for his fucking life.

When it hits six, I pack my bag and tell Mom I’m heading to Samson’s. She kisses my cheek, and I ignore my stepdad as I leave.

The drive there is short. I go over the speed limit, adrenaline coursing through my veins and making my heart race.

I pull on my hoodie and slip the mask over my face, parking my car between two buses so he doesn’t recognize it.

The school is closed, and I don’t bother turning on the lights while I find my way to the room filled with all the sporting equipment. Using the light on my phone, I hunt for a weapon, settling on a hockey stick.

My phone buzzes.

Blaise: I’m here. Did you pussy out?

Rolling my eyes, I leave my bag in the room and grip the hockey stick tightly, cracking my neck side-to-side. I make my way to the offices, scouring the screens and communication devices until I find the Bluetooth settings that’s connected to all the speakers in the school.

My teeth capture my bottom lip, and I grin as I pull up my playlist, click on a rock song, and wait for it to filter through the entire building. I turn the volume all the way up, grab the hockey stick, and make my way to the pool.

When I get there, he’s got his back to the door, head lowered, staring at his phone in his hand. Since the blaring music muffles the sound of me approaching, he doesn’t get a chance to look up before I swing the hockey stick, smacking into the side of his head and knocking him into the water.

He splashes, sputtering out breaths as he breaches the surface, glaring at me, my face hidden beneath the mask.

There’s a trickle of blood-stained water down the side of his face, and fuck, my balls ache to empty at the sight.

He climbs out, tensing his jaw, holding the side of his head.

“Run,” I say, loud enough for him to hear over the music, but muffled enough he doesn’t realize I’m Cole Carter.

My chest tightens some more as he steps back, then again, and again. He could easily fight me. He could rip the mask off and see who I am, but instead, Blaise, soaked to the bone with blood down his face, turns on his heels and runs.

I wait ten seconds before I give chase.

Out in the corridor, within the darkness, I can see his shadow in the distance. I forget sometimes he can run like fuck, but unlucky for him, I’m faster.

I catch up to him just as he pushes open a door to a closet in an attempt to hide, throwing the hockey stick at his feet, causing him to hit the ground.

I’m getting flashbacks from when I chased him in the woods. I lower to my knees beside him, snatching his nape to restrain him enough he can’t get up. I’m throbbing in my pants, my precum already leaking as I see the blood soaking his hair.

“Who the fuck are you?” The heavy metal music blasting through the school drowns out his words, but I can just make them out.

I lean down to lower my body on top of him, my urge winning against my confused hard-on as I press my cock against his ass, letting go of his nape and grabbing his hair.

Fuck.

Fuck me, why does this feel so right?

I push my cock against him harder, ignoring the way he’s kicking his legs and telling me to get the fuck off him. He’s strong, and I struggle a little to stay in position as I reach between him and the floor, grinning when my hand grabs his raging hard cock.

Blaise Rowle gets off on the chase.

Squeezing his cock, I thrust against him, fighting a moan. He’s still trying to get free from me, even though his movements push him against my cock and his cock into my hand.

“Such a good fucking boy,” I whisper in his ear, keeping my voice low and undetected.

His elbow flies back and connects with my mask, nearly knocking it off me. I quickly stand to fix it, feeling some of the plastic snapped around my eye and cheek.

Blaise hurries to his feet, his cock tenting his pants as his chest rises and falls, before he turns and takes off running again.