2

Spencer

My lungs burn as I cut through the water, pumping my arms in long, measured strokes. Right side, then left, breathing through the ache in my muscles. With every lap, the image of Luke in those little shorts flashes in my mind.

Fuck, this isn’t working.

Hissing, I come to a stop at the edge of the pool, where defensive midfielder Junseo Lee stands with a small black stopwatch. My breaths come out shallow and ragged, but it’s a welcome distraction from the tight frustration I’ve been trying to get rid of for months.

Most of the time, swimming helps calm me down. Not today, thanks to Luke fucking Howard.

Junseo crouches down on the wet tiles, giving me an approving nod. “Looking good out there. PB went down this session.”

“It felt good.” I run a hand over my damp buzzcut. “Could probably do another few laps.”

Like most of my teammates, I’ve known Junseo since we both joined the Harper Harriers on the same soccer scholarship in freshman year. Luke is the one who usually times my laps, but these days my body doesn’t cooperate when I’m near him.

Just thinking about his sweet doe eyes and the dark freckles covering his brown skin makes my dick twitch.

Junseo claps me on the back, cutting through my thoughts, and reminds me to bring some alcohol for tomorrow. It’s his birthday, and Coach is allowing us one party, as long as we don’t go overboard.

If I’m being honest, maybe it’s what I need. A night free of overthinking and letting loose with my team by my side, drinking Luke Howard out of my system.

Seconds later, the smile on Junseo’s lips dies away, and he clears his throat.

“Don’t hate me for saying this, but are you doing okay, dude?”

I blink at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me. Coach was worried when you blew up on the field today. We all were.”

Oh, that. Gripping the tiles, I lift myself out of the water and sit on the pool’s edge, ignoring the sudden chill. “The substitute had it coming. It’s his fault he went for Luke’s leg instead of the fucking ball.”

Coach Davis thinks friendlies against the subs are great practice, which is fine by me. Playing with Luke feels almost as good as sex.

He’s the perfect attacking mid to my center forward, anticipating my moves before I make them and communicating tactics almost telepathically. Our on-pitch chemistry is out of this world and both the media and the fans call us the Dream Team—it’s one of the reasons Coach puts up with our bullshit. We’re just that good.

Hall and Howard come as a pair, do not separate.

Some idiot sub almost smashed that dream into pieces when he accidentally kicked Luke’s shin, almost taking a strip of skin with it. When Luke crashed to the ground, I wanted to grab that scrawny fucker by the neck and shake him down. Luke’s hard enough on himself without adding the threat of injury on top of it all.

“I get that,” Junseo says, frowning. “But you’ve got offers rolling in for pro teams next year. Gotta keep the record clean.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Irritation sweeps through me like a flame. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s okay that you’re obsessed with Luke but—”

I let out a disbelieving laugh and, ignoring the tight feeling in my chest, slip back into the water before I do something insane like ask him if I’m that obvious. I know I’m not, because I’m not obsessed with Luke.

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow, dude. Coach wants us to get some drills in.”

Junseo is quiet for a moment before he sighs, says, “Later, Captain,” and leaves through the sliding glass doors. I force myself to breathe away the last of the anger until all that’s left is that low-grade hum in my chest. The giant pool room echoes with each breath, so loud I don’t hear the footsteps on the tiles.

Someone clears their throat, and I roll my eyes. “What do you want, Junseo?”

Except it’s not Junseo back to annoy me with baseless accusations. Luke stands at the edge of the pool, swathed in a large vintage sweater and tiny athletic shorts that show off his lean thigh muscles.

“There you are.” He doesn’t look at me directly, gaze focused on some spot over my shoulder. “I was searching for you everywhere.”

“Clearly you didn’t try that hard.”

“Shut up.” He toes off his shoes, then his socks, before sitting down on the wet tiles. One leg dangles in the water, the other propped on the edge and wrapped in beige Ace bandages. As if drawn by a magnet, I swim to his side and lean against the pool wall.

I nod at the leg. “Aren’t you meant to be resting that?”

“Got bored waiting after I finished baking some protein squares for Junseo.” Still avoiding looking at my bare chest, he rummages in his shorts pocket and brings out two homemade protein bars. “Plus, I wanted to watch a movie but clearly you’re busy being Michael Phelps.”

Without asking, he hands me the peanut butter flavor.

It’s the only protein shit I can take; vanilla and chocolate taste like pure ass whenever I try—and not the good kind. I devour the bar in a few bites, moaning appreciatively.

Luke wrinkles his nose. “Do you have to do that?”

“Tastes good.” Ignoring his glare, I tuck the foil into his pocket and flash my patented grin. “You came to ask me if I wanted to watch a movie? I’m flattered.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds dumb.”

“Nah, it’s cute.” I leer at him, only half-joking. “Did you want to cuddle after? I could still help out with the whole virgin thing.”

Luke rolls his eyes and tilts his head back, giving me time to trace the length of his brown skin, eyes catching on the freckles dotted over his cheeks like stars.

Something dark in me loves it when he gets so flustered he can’t speak, his hands balled into fists and face screwed up in irritation. Riling him up is the best part of my day. I like being the only one who can cut through his uptight veneer.

Problem is, he knows me just as well. And Luke gives as good as he gets.

His gaze flicks back to mine, legs falling open so slightly it could’ve been a coincidence. I lick my lips. My nose burns with the copper smell of chlorinated pool water. Beyond the glass doors, a group of employees pass by, their laughter fading away with each step. Nobody looks in to see what we’re doing.

A tentative hand curls over my bare shoulder. My dick twitches in my swim trunks and I hiss, resisting the urge to lean further into him. Luke tilts his head, smiling a little.

Sneaky bastard.

But I can’t complain. Not when his skilled fingers dig into my tight trap and start massaging the knotted muscle until it loosens. His touch is a raging fire burning through my skin and caressing deep inside of me, chasing away the chill of pool water.

Junseo’s words echo in my head, but I push them away. This isn’t a marriage declaration, it’s a fucked-up game of chicken, and I’ll be damned if I lose.

“Do you get a kick out of annoying me or is it just innate talent?” Luke digs his thumbs into a particularly knotted muscle and I bite my lip to stop myself from groaning.

“It’s my life’s purpose. You’re cute when you’re angry.”

He rolls his eyes, but a tiny smile plays at the corner of his lips. “You’re such an asshole.”

Humming, I reach out and press a damp hand to the knee propped on the tiles. His leg jumps under my touch, but he doesn’t move away. A dark purple bruise mottles his shin, the worst of it hidden behind bandages. I trace around them gently, jaw flexing.

Being this close dredges up memories of the night we met. By the soft furrow of his brow and pursed lips, he remembers it, too.

I was at my friend Callum’s college party in freshman year, and I hadn’t yet met Luke. It was late at night, I was drunk out of my mind, and all I wanted was to get laid before the real hard work began.

Luke chose that moment to walk in on me getting the worst blowjob of my life from some guy who bolted at the sight of him. I guess he thought Luke was my boyfriend, or something.

He was more like an angel sent down to torment me. Wearing a cropped band T-shirt that showed off that slim waist, his brown skin tinged blue under the party lights—I wanted him almost immediately, and I told him that.

It’s the one and only time I hit on him, and after a swift rejection I never tried again. Now, I only flirt as a joke.

Luke clears his throat and, sensing an opportunity, I glide in between his legs, kicking the water softly. His mouth drops open, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows.

He’s always said he’s straight, but sometimes… sometimes he looks at me like he does right now. His brown eyes dark and appraising, mouth twisting like it does when he’s thinking about something, fingers clutching the hem of his little shorts.

I pause, brain stuttering.

He’s not usually half hard.

Those shorts hide nothing, accentuating the outline of his dick. Luke notices at the same time I do, his eyes going wide for a split second before he scrambles to his feet so fast, he almost slips and knocks himself out on the wet tiles.

He mumbles an incoherent excuse, tugging down his sweater to cover his crotch as he backs away. The triumph I feel at winning pales in comparison to the pleasant hum of arousal running through my body.

Trying to distract myself, I flash my cockiest smile. “Guess I won, sweetheart.”

“It wasn’t a contest.”

Liar . We both know everything between us is a contest when we’re not on the pitch.

I don’t bother answering, watching him squirm until the silence gets to him and he stalks out of the room, head tucked down and hand cupping his crotch.

When I’m finally alone, I work through more therapist-mandated breathing exercises to get myself back under control. Don’t want to blind some poor worker when climbing out of the pool.

Chuckling softly, I shake my head and make my way to the shower area.

1-0 to Spencer.

Even if I had a shot with Luke, I wouldn’t take it. The guy’s not only as straight as an arrow, but a secret romantic.

He’ll deny it, but I’ve seen him go crazy for those Hallmark Christmas movies, the ones where the couple falls in love and lives happily-ever-after. It’s a cute dream, but it ain’t mine. Relationships end in nothing but disaster and pain, a fact I learned after the last douche my mom kicked out.

Plus, I have a rule; don’t shit where you eat. Messing around with my best friend would ruin everything we’ve built. I couldn’t survive without him.

These little games between us, the bets, all the joke flirting—we’re skirting the edge of lines best left untouched.

But I can’t help that it’s so easy to want him.