1

Luke

“Do you have to be shirtless right in front of me?” I glare up at my roommate from the kitchen floor.

A dirty cleat sits in my lap, its spotless twin placed carefully on my other side, and I scrub it harder with a rag. This is such a stupid forfeit, but I’d rather jump off a cliff than not hold up my side of the bet.

“You know you love it.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I scoff, shaking my head. “Whatever, man. When can I stop doing this? Your cleats are stinking up the kitchen.”

Spencer shrugs, unfazed, and swallows the last of his protein shake before tossing the bottle into the sink. His answering grin is wicked, showing off slightly crooked teeth. The bastard’s probably getting a kick out of seeing me like this, sweaty and racking up aches on the floor.

He leans against the counter and adjusts his gray sweatpants to sit lower on his hips. His bare chest shines like a beacon, tight muscles shifting under planes of pale, smooth skin. It’s distracting.

Spencer Hall is distraction incarnate. Every part of him commands attention, from the glinting sword piercing through his helix and the row of rings decorating both his knuckles, to his dark brown hair cropped close to his skull.

“Told you I’m a god at video games.”

“You pretended you sucked at this one so I’d let my guard down, asshole.”

It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have taken him up on the bet when we both knew he could beat me with his eyes closed. But he’d looked so smug it made me want to put him in his place. Sighing, I give one last cursory swipe of both cleats with the damp rag and get up, dusting off my workout shorts.

“Next time get someone else to clean your stupid lucky cleats.”

I fling the dirty rag at his head. It would have hit its target, but a hand darts out and easily snatches it mid-air. Another grin, this one wide enough to catch a glimpse of his sharp canines.

“I hate you,” I say. It’s a lie, and we both know it. But Spencer’s never been one to let things slide.

He prowls towards me, body shifting like a jungle cat, until he’s in my personal space with no intention of leaving anytime soon. I bite my lip, trying not to inhale too deeply.

But it’s no use. The smell of cedarwood, smoke, and faint orange has already permeated our apartment. This close, it’s intoxicating.

He’s not much taller than me, but the extra height means I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze—a fact he takes great pleasure in exploiting. Like the rest of him, his eyes are piercing, a vibrant cornflower blue surrounded by dark brown lashes as thick as any girl’s.

We’re way too close. It’s almost like I’m back in that room with him, at the dorm party that changed my life. Neon blue light, the acrid smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, his ripped jeans unzipped at the crotch. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory.

“Say it again,” he says, low and rumbling. “This time like you mean it.”

“Back off, man.” For a split second I forget he’s shirtless and press my palm to his chest to shove him away, but bare skin meets my fingers. I snatch my hand back like it’s been burned. “And could you put on some clothes?”

Spencer chuckles, a deep sound from the base of his throat. It would almost be nice, if he wasn’t laughing at me. For the three years we’ve known each other, he’s taken great pleasure in flirting with me every chance he gets. Teasing the straight boy must be fun.

I give as good as I get, though, and we’ve fallen into an easy routine of trying to irritate each other.

It didn’t start off so nice. The night we met I learned pretty quickly that Spencer Hall is as arrogant as he is a knockout soccer player. Unfortunately for me, he’s also my closest friend.

Somehow, after that rough start, we managed to settle our differences and now we get along. For the most part. He’s still Spencer Hall, and I’m still Luke Howard; I think us arguing is written in the stars.

Clearing my throat, I step out of range—being that close to Spencer is like being in orbit, and every part of me wants to drift closer despite the danger of exploding—and grab my training bag from the couch. Spencer watches me the entire time, an amused smile on his lips.

This one is different from his hunter’s grin. It’s softer, more affectionate. Heat flashes in my lower stomach and I force myself to turn away from him, shoulders tight with tension. He’s always known how to push my buttons, make me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.

But there’s no room for mistakes, either on or off the pitch.

If we’re getting to the Collegiate Summer Soccer Championship finals, I’ve got to bring my A-game. I’m not just doing it for me—I’m winning for my dad. And my mom’s spirit, beyond the grave.

If only I wasn’t living with the biggest distraction ever to grace the earth.

“I’m serious.” I rifle through my bag, making sure I’ve got everything for training. “We’ve got to leave in a few minutes, and you’re not dressed.”

Spencer snorts. “Not my fault you’re a prude. What are you, some kind of virgin?”

Dealing with Spencer is easy. All I have to do is not react. Licking my lips, I stuff my new cleats into the bag and zip it up, trying not to shake. But Spencer notices. He always does.

“You’re joking.”

“We’re gonna be late.” Avoiding his heavy gaze, I make for the front door. But before I can get anywhere, Spencer grabs my elbow, fingers digging into the bare skin. My chest tightens, but I don’t move away.

“Wait a minute, you can’t skirt your little butt out of this one.”

“Just watch me. And stop talking about my butt.”

“I’ll talk about your butt if I want to.”

He catches my eye, the corner of his lips twitching, and I can’t help the laughter that bubbles through me. His deep chuckle is smooth, like tempered chocolate spread on freshly baked cake. Perfect, like everything else about him.

“Seriously, Luke,” Spencer says when he’s sobered up. “What about that girl in freshman year? I thought you were serious about her.”

It takes me a minute to remember who he’s talking about. “Olivia? She broke up with me a week later, man.” I scuff the smooth wooden floorboards with the toe of my sneakers. “We can’t all be gods in bed.”

I’m pretty sure if you looked up ‘player’ in the dictionary, Spencer’s chiseled face would stare back out at you. He must have gone through half the student body in the time I’ve known him, both girls and guys alike.

Not that I care. He can be with whoever he wants to, it’s none of my business. I just hate that I get less time with my best friend when he’s with them. But I’ve gotten used to it.

Spencer flicks my forehead, focusing my attention on him. Like it could be anywhere else. “I can teach you a few tricks for the ladies.”

“Like how to scare them away? Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“Wanna bet?”

A shiver trickles down my spine.

I pause, chewing on my lower lip. “What?”

“I bet I can show you how to kiss a girl.” He waggles his eyebrows. “The right way, sweetheart.”

My stomach clenches at the stupid nickname. But admitting it bothers me would feel like defeat. It’s dumb, but it’s the truth. Same with backing down from a bet. This little game between us started off as harmless pranks in freshman year, but we’ve never done anything like this, despite what some of our teammates think.

“Very funny, but there’s no way I’m locking lips with you.” Guys don’t kiss their best friends, even if said best friends have freshly-bitten, pouty lips that would feel good— what the hell?

“Scared?”

“No,” I say, lying through my teeth.

Spencer looks at me for a moment, his expression eerily calm. He quirks an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by his insane suggestion. I’m the one left sputtering and trying to get my brain to work. I rub my heated cheek, willing my body to calm down. My chest feels tight, like my heart is beating so hard it’ll burst right out of my ribcage.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, eyes locked in some heated battle I know I’m losing. After a moment Spencer steps back, the serious expression on his face breaking like the sun behind clouds. He laughs and lets go of my elbow, shaking his head.

“I’m just kidding, dude.” He punches my shoulder lightly. “Should’ve seen your face.”

“Oh. Right.”

Then he’s striding out of the room on those long legs, off to get ready for training. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. For some reason, my body feels strung-up like a bow, and Spencer’s the one who tightened the bolts.

Before I can say anything else and get myself in more trouble, I throw my gym bag over my shoulder and hurry to the door, unlocking it with my athlete swipe card.

Every member of the soccer team got one when we checked into the high-end training facility. It gives us free access to the pitch, the extravagant gym, and the fully stocked recovery room, not to mention a dozen other perks they offer in this place.

“I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” I call over my shoulder.

By the time we reach the locker room located on the far end of the facility, I’ve resolutely put the incident out of my mind. It was a dumb prank, not a real suggestion. He wasn’t being serious.

But I can’t help sneaking glances at Spencer during our mobility stretches, then after when we grab some protein bars and catch up with the rest of the team.

I’m pretty sure he’s sneaking looks at me, too. Long, appraising looks like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. My skin prickles in a way that has nothing to do with the rush of adrenaline I usually get on training days. This feels like electricity running through my veins and pooling in my gut like lava.

The last thing I see before running out onto the pitch is the sharp cut of Spencer’s jaw flexing.

Something in his eyes tells me this conversation is far from over.