3

Luke

I can barely look Spencer in the eye the next day. It’s like my mind tries to forget but my body—and most importantly, my dick—isn’t getting the memo.

Groaning around a mouthful of toothpaste, I scrub a hand over my face. My reflection stares back out at me with wide eyes, doped up on so many cups of coffee I’m practically buzzing. I need to hurry up. Junseo’s party is in half an hour and we’re not even dressed yet.

Somebody bangs on the bathroom door. “How long does it take to get ready?”

“Go away,” I say, ignoring the way my heart jumps at the sound of Spencer’s voice.

Of course, he doesn’t listen. Before I can say anything, the door swings open and in steps a very shirtless Spencer, a flimsy towel draped over the sharp cut of his hips.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. It’s not fair that he gets to look like that.

“We’re gonna be late if we don’t share.” He gestures to the shower. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Something tightens in my belly, and I tear my gaze away back to the mirror. The toothbrush presses uncomfortably against my tongue, toothpaste smeared around my mouth, and I force myself to nod.

“Go ahead,” I say around the toothbrush, and Spencer flashes me a wicked grin. “Asshole.”

“Thanks, man.”

The sound of the towel hitting the bath mat makes my heart jump. Spencer gets in and turns on the shower, whistling as he goes through his routine.

Spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste, I grip the edges of the sink and try to breathe. Our shower has a frosted glass divider that hides most of him but I can still make out the outline of his body in the mirror.

It’s not like we haven’t done this before. One of us being in the shower while the other pisses or shaves has become common over the last three years. But somehow this is different.

I take out my razor, splash my face with water, and start scraping what little hair I have from my chin. Unlike Spencer’s manly stubble, my hair grows in curly patches that I take every opportunity to strip clean.

Silence fills the room, obnoxiously loud even with the steady fall of water. Casting around for something to say, I think back to the abysmal practice session earlier.

“My passes were trash today. Pretty sure I saw Coach facepalm whenever I got the ball.”

“Would you quit that shit?” He sounds annoyed. Probably because we’ve had this same conversation a million times since freshman year. “You’re the best attacking mid I’ve ever played with, stop pissing on your own parade.”

“Not perfect, though. Not semi-finals quality.”

Spencer turns off the shower and lingers behind the divider, quiet for a moment. My heart is beating so loudly he must be able to hear it. I lower the razor.

When he finally speaks, his voice echoes in the tiny bathroom.

“You know your dad will be proud of you no matter what.”

Something twinges in my chest, and I study the ceiling as I try to parse the warm feeling. I’m not sure I believe him, but his words always have a way of making me feel slightly less bad about myself.

“Thanks, dude.”

“Just relax, this night’s gonna be great for both of us.”

I hum, focused on catching a stubborn spot of hair on my jaw, and glance up as Spencer steps out of the shower.

Fully naked.

Oh, God.

Droplets cling to his skin, the pale color of a vanilla flower, glistening between his defined pecs and over hardened abs. One of them glides down the jut of his hip bone, trailing lower, lower…

I can’t stop myself from looking at his soft dick, hanging low between his thighs and nestled in a bed of dark brown hair. Heat floods me like an egg cracking over my head.

It feels like the pool again; long fingers stroking my leg, Spencer’s broad shoulder beneath my hand, his considerable bulk in between my thighs. Me wanting something I shouldn’t. Something I can’t have.

Spencer grabs his towel from the mat and steps closer to me, until his chest presses against my back. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

He looks almost wild, pupils wide and surrounded by a thin line of fiery ice blue. I can’t move, can’t think as we stand there for a moment, stuck in this weird limbo of saying nothing and everything at the same time.

I want him to touch me again. What would’ve happened if he stroked a little higher, over the bulge straining in my shorts?

Spencer licks his lips, and I wonder if he’s thinking about it, too. I’ve never thought about doing… that stuff with a guy, but now I can’t get the thought out of my head.

Then he reaches around me, grabs the deodorant from the small shelf below the mirror, and retreats. I watch warily as he applies it and puts it away, before clapping me on the back the way bros do. At my continued staring, he quirks an eyebrow. Even now, he’s as nonchalant and cool as ever.

“See you in ten,” he says, then leaves the bathroom. The door shuts behind him with a mocking click.

I grip the edges of the sink, curl over the basin, and take deep breaths until the half-chub in my pants dies down a bit. What the fuck is wrong with me?

We haven’t even done anything and I’m still wired-up like a kid kissing his crush for the first time.

*

The party is in full swing by the time we make it to the apartment Junseo shares with three other teammates, located on the other end of the facility.

This place has everything from high-tech gym equipment to the swanky accommodation for away players. Very different to what we’ve got back in Oregon—being in Washington has its perks.

Junseo loves the protein bars I made for him, and our goalie, Ryan Taylor, snags three of them before anyone can blink.

Spencer and I grab a solo cup of some European beer he’s obsessed with. It tastes like piss to me but it gets the job done, I guess.

Everyone's careful not to get too drunk; the last thing we need is to hear one of Coach’s lengthy speeches.

2000s dance music blasts from an old CD player in the corner of the living room, pervasive with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Empty beer bottles litter every surface not crowded by muscled bodies. We catch up with a few of the guys, and soon everyone migrates to the couch and the large flatscreen TV complete with a gaming console.

Junseo challenges me and Spencer to a match of some soccer game loaded onto the console, us against him and Ryan. It’s the same game we played a few days ago, the one I lost the bet in. This time, we’re working together, and our easy chemistry from the pitch translates into game format.

It takes a few matches—Junseo refuses to surrender—but eventually Spencer beats his ass for the third time in a row. He claps my back, the warm length of his body pressed up against mine on the couch, and I can’t help but lean into him.

This is one of my favorite versions of him; soft and glowing with pride, his sword piercing glinting in the light.

“Dream Team, baby,” he says, grinning at me. “We’re perfect for each other.”

I blame the sudden heat in my cheeks on the alcohol.

For the rest of the night, I want to stick by Spencer’s side, but he disappears into the kitchen after the game. Thumbing my new bottle of Heineken, I tuck into the couch corner and chat with a few of the guys as I wait for him. After a few minutes, I realize he’s taking way too long for a normal piss.

I unfurl from the couch. “I’m gonna find Spencer.”

“I don’t think he wants to be found,” Ryan says beside me. He winks with his whole face, like we’re in a middle-school stage production.

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“Nothing. Just the last time I saw him he looked busy.”

Junseo rolls his eyes. He’s leaning over the back of the couch, chin resting on Ryan’s shoulder. “He means Spencer’s getting some chick’s number.”

Of course. We’re leaving in a few days and he’s worried about getting with some girl.

Abandoning my drink, I head for the kitchen where I saw him disappear. The identical looks of amusement on my teammates’ faces barely register.

Light filters into the kitchen from the living room, enough that I can just make out the tall silhouette of Spencer tucked into a corner, nodding and laughing at some girl I’ve never seen before.

She’s pretty, with dark skin and even darker curly hair. Sweet smile, dimples, nice eyes. Definitely his type. Something green and ugly writhes in my chest.

I stop by Spencer’s side. “Hey. Who’s your friend?”

“There you are.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and gestures to the girl. “This is Imani, she knows the birthday boy.”

Imani says hello and her voice is as nice as the rest of her. The green thing twists deeper. I’m being an asshole, but I can’t help myself. The last thing I want to do is make small talk.

Gripping Spencer’s wrist, I tug him away, vaguely nodding at the girl in a gesture that could’ve meant goodbye, if you’re being generous.

Manners aren’t on my mind right now.

We stumble into a hallway with multiple doors and I pick the closest one. It opens into an empty bedroom decorated in soccer paraphernalia and framed posters of The Office. Definitely Ryan’s room.

The door slams shut behind us, cutting off Daft Punk. All I can hear is our harried breaths mingling in the dark. Spencer huffs out a laugh.

“What was that for?”

“Kiss me.”

He pauses. “What?”

“I bet kissing you won’t change my life. Not like you think it will.”

I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more; him or myself.

“We don’t have to—”

I cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. By now my eyes have adjusted to the dim light, and I make out the sharp cut of his jaw, the dark intensity in his gaze. My stomach jumps. Being this close to him is making me dizzy.

“I want to do this,” I say. “It’s just a bet, right?”

“Right. Just a bet.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but my head feels stuffed full of cotton. If we were any closer, our chests would brush. As it is, I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Anticipation thrums through my veins.

It’s so dark, I don’t see him move until plump lips press against mine.

I’m kissing my best friend.

That’s the only thought racing through my head as my lips tremble against Spencer’s. Every muscle in my body seizes up, stiff and unyielding. Despite my nerves, I can tell his lips are warm and soft. But he’s not moving. Strong hands grip my face, pulling us apart.

“What’s wrong?” Am I doing it weird? The last thing I need is for him to decide he won because I was nervous.

“You need to relax. Kissing feels better when you’re not so tense.”

He brushes a thumb over my cheek, and my breath hitches in my throat. It’s a simple touch, but my world feels like it’s collapsing around me. Spencer presses a sensual kiss under my ear and I must be sensitive there because, embarrassingly, I arch into him. His grin is sharp against my neck.

“You can stop smiling now.”

“I’m not smiling.” He sounds amused.

“Liar.”

The hand cupping my face snakes around the back of my head, fingers scraping my nape. Spencer kisses my jaw again, his stubble catching freshly-shaved skin, and my stomach flips. I’m already harder than I’ve ever been in my life, my cock straining against my zipper.

Biting back a moan, I push his shoulder. “I don’t remember this in the bet.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just wanted to taste you.”

My brain short-circuits. Who says things like that? Maybe he’s trying to scare me into backing out. I lick my lips. Except I’ve never wanted to complete a bet more in my life. Before I can snipe something back at him, he tugs me closer until his breath ghosts over my lips.

“Relax, Luke,” he says. Then he kisses me.

I never understood kissing when I had a girlfriend in the past. It was too confusing, and I was always worried I was doing it wrong.

But kissing Spencer is different.

As soon as our mouths touch, fireworks explode behind my eyes. I can feel him everywhere, large body curved over mine, arm around my waist and slipping under my shirt to stroke my bare hip.

Spencer kisses like a hurricane. He steals the breath from my lungs until I’m panting and clutching at him, trying to think past the sudden madness.

I trace the bulk of his shoulders, lips parting enough for him to lick into my mouth. He tastes like rich alcohol and birthday cake. Nothing like the cherry lip gloss and bubblegum I’m used to. Better than any of that. Like this is what I’ve been waiting for all week.

His faint smell of cedarwood and smoke envelops me like a blanket, masculine and inescapable. Paired with the feel of his arms around me I feel well and truly trapped. Nowhere to go but into him, and I drown in the pleasure pooling in my stomach until I can’t breathe.

When we finally pull apart, our breaths ragged in the silent, dark room, I have to stop myself from swaying forward and chasing his lips. Focus, Luke. I clear my throat and try to blink the stars from my eyes.

A large hand roams soothingly over my back. It’s the only reason I don’t protest when Spencer presses another kiss to my cheek.

“Good?” His voice is husky and deep, rumbling through me like an earthquake.

I thumb my lips, tracing over the tender skin. “Life seems pretty unchanged.”

“Admit that you liked it.”

“It wasn’t bad.” I shrug, grateful for the dark room; Spencer can always tell when I’m lying. “Do you kiss all the girls like that?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

My stomach flips. I should step back, untangle our limbs and leave the room. But I can’t. Spencer Hall is a force of nature.

Something about him is magnetic, and I’m a planet fixed on the orbit of his brilliant sun. I want to stay in this quiet limbo space, our lips kissed raw and red, Ke$ha playing in some party that feels very far away from here.

He’s still holding my waist. Like we’re a couple or something and he’s claiming me as his, towering over me like a brick building.

The thought startles me out of my haze like an ice bucket dumped over my head.

What the hell are we doing?

My cock strains against the front of my pants, digging into the fly and making it hard to think. All I know is I need to get the hell home and put this bet behind us.

Shaking my head to clear the fog, I step out of his arms. Cold suffuses me instantly, and I clench my fists to stop myself from swaying into his orbit again.

“Congrats, you won,” I say. “Now let’s go home.”

Spencer is quiet as I fumble for the door handle. Light spills into the room, illuminating his face. Before I disappear back into the party, I glance over my shoulder at him. His eyes glitter like diamonds, sharp enough to cut through my soul.

He looks like how I feel; disheveled and more than a little bit horny. Like he’s thinking of doing it again.

My dick twitches in my pants again and I tear my gaze away from his.

Something’s changed between us, and it feels like fingers branding my skin, setting me on fire from the inside-out.