4

Luke

I can’t stop thinking about the stupid kiss for the rest of the night, and by the time we stumble into our apartment I’m so pent-up I could get off in the shower with him still here, not caring if he heard me.

Spencer shuts the door, completely unaware of the fire eating me alive, and heads for the fridge without turning on the lights.

“Want a beer?” he calls from the kitchen.

Toeing off my sneakers, I make my way through the open-plan living room to the transparent balcony doors. “Okay, but just one.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

I’m grateful for the fresh night air cooling my heated cheeks. Outside is another world, the sky above dotted with faint stars. The balcony attached to our unit is big enough for a few people, the only decor two rattan porch chairs facing each other in the far corner.

Behind the glass railing, the training pitches spread out like an emerald sea. My boner’s gone down, but the arousal still hums under my skin.

Spencer’s shoulder bumps mine when he slips in beside me and hands over a bottle of Corona. His grin is blinding. Muttering a “thanks”, I try not to shake when taking a swig. Being this close to him is a hazard. He’s not even doing anything and my body is malfunctioning.

A thought pops into my head. I sneak a glance at Spencer through my lashes, heart pounding.

But he’s already looking at me. “What?”

“You’ve dated people before.”

He huffs around the mouth of his beer. “Dating is for people with nothing to lose. I don’t do that love shit.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mom spent her whole life looking for ‘the one’.” Spencer’s gaze turns distant, and a shadow passes over his eyes. “He left when I was ten after she got pregnant with Rachel. Said it cost too much to love us, or something.”

I knew he’d grown up in a trailer with his mom and his sister, but he’d never told me what happened to his dad. Same way I don’t talk much about my mom passing, I guess. We don’t press each other to share, because we understand that some things are too personal.

“That sucks, man.” I grip his bicep and turn to face him fully, taking in the slight part of his lips and the bags under his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Love’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Having someone accept you for all your flaws would be nice.”

Spencer leans forward, and the intensity of his attention roots me in place. “Listen to me, Luke. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I have to look away or risk doing something insane like telling him he’s the real catch.

“That can’t be true.”

“Are you kidding me? People should be lining up to get a piece of you.”

“My ex-girlfriends would disagree.”

This is familiar territory, the ribbing and light-hearted bickering. Spencer is the only one I talk to seriously, more than with my dad even, but I love the way his face lights up when we’re going back and forth.

After a moment, he sinks into one of the porch chairs. I follow, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Do you only last five seconds or something?” He lounges back, limbs sprawled haphazardly. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Is that why you’re a virgin?”

“No, asshole. I could last longer than you.”

Spencer licks his lips and my world narrows down to his mouth, and that skilled pink tongue. The memory of the kiss blazes in my mind, seared behind my eyelids like a brand. I think it’ll be the first thing I dream about tonight.

“Wanna bet?”

My heart stutters like a skipped record, and I blink at him stupidly for a second, trying to make sense of the words. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re so sure of yourself, let’s prove it right now.”

“You’re joking. You want us to get off in front of each other and see who lasts the longest?”

The bastard shrugs like he didn’t suggest the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I could make it good for you.”

He’s unbelievable. Deranged, insane, totally unhinged. Frowning, I stare into the depths of my bottle, trying to parse through my racing thoughts. It’s a stupid joke, nothing more. Something about the kiss must have messed with his head.

Except now that he’s said it, the idea won’t leave me alone. I could last longer than him, no problem.

“How good?”

His smile is wolfish, the edges sharp and dangerous. Distantly, I hear the sound of traps snapping shut.

“The best you’ve ever had.”

“Fine.” I push away the thought that this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done, too pumped-up now to back down. “You’re on, asshole.”

Looking at Spencer’s half-lidded eyes makes my brain feel like TV static. I should go to bed and sleep this feeling away. But even as I think it, I’m flopping onto the other chair, beer forgotten. I squeeze my thighs and try to calm my sudden racing heartbeat.

“What do we do?” I’ve never jerked off in front of someone else. Especially not my guy best friend.

Spencer quirks an eyebrow and lounges back in his chair like he owns the place. His legs fall open, exposing the thick bulge visible even through his black jeans.

I’ve seen dicks before—thank you, high school soccer team locker rooms—but I was never actively looking. Not like I am now. Jesus, no wonder the guy’s so confident. If I was rocking that, I’d think I was God’s gift to mankind as well.

Spencer grips himself through the fabric, drawing a hiss from his lips. My cock jumps in sympathy. His gaze flicks to my crotch.

“You should take care of that.” His voice is hypnotic, a low purr that caresses my ears. “It’s not fair if I have a head start.”

“Yes, captain.”

“Cute. Slowly, sweetheart, unless you want to lose.”

I huff, snaking a hand over my clothed cock. Molten pleasure zips through me like a bolt of lightning, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from moaning in relief. I’m not used to the slower pace, but it feels sinfully good. Usually, my jerk-off sessions are quick and furtive in the shower, the evidence washed away before Spencer can wake up and hear me.

“Good,” Spencer says. The word curls around my heart. “Unzip your trousers and take out your cock.”

He does it first, kicking off his jeans and wraps a fist around his cut length. The head is an angry pink and pearling at the tip, slick and shiny. I scramble to obey, fumbling with my pants zip for a second before I wiggle my pants down my hips. My cock springs up and hits my stomach with a wet slap. Almost instinctively, I wrap a hand around it.

He groans. “You're not wearing underwear? Luke, you kinky fuck.”

I duck my head, feeling hot all over. “Didn’t think anyone would notice.”

I’m so hard I could burst, the hardest I’ve ever been in my life. Not that it means anything. This is the first time another person has seen me jerk off. Any guy would feel like this in my position, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Stroke yourself for me,” Spencer says. I love how wrecked he sounds, the husk in his voice deepening to gravel. “Go slow, so you don’t spill too early.”

Licking my lips, I wrap a hand around my cock and can’t help but moan, high-pitched and feverish.

Following his instructions, I fist my cock carefully, lifting my hips with every stroke. Spencer’s pace is torturously slow. He coaxes me through every step with that voice of his but, instead of pissing me off, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

It dawns on me what he’s doing; the bastard’s coaching me to my own defeat. And it’s working. I can barely think through the haze of lust building in my mind, every nerve in my body finely attuned to Spencer.

With his free hand, he cups his balls, stroking the skin roughly. Another pang of arousal spears through me and my cock strains in my palm, somehow even harder than before. I don’t know how much longer I can last.

A fine sheen of sweat covers me, and I have to let go of my cock, gripping the chair arms and praying to everything that I won’t come. Not this early.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop now,” Spencer hisses, jerking his chin roughly at my crotch. “You stop again, you forfeit the victory to me.”

I groan. “ Please, Spence. I’m about to—”

“Don’t care. Quit bitching and stroke your cock, cheater.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right. Panting, I take myself in hand again, curling forward in the chair at the wave of pleasure that crashes over me.

“That’s it, Luke. You like touching yourself when I’m here, don’t you?”

I don’t respond. I can’t.

Spencer doesn’t skip a beat. “You like it when I watch. I bet it gets you all hot. Bet you’ve thought about it before, me listening while you get yourself off.”

The rest of the world falls away. My cock throbs and I squeeze the base of my shaft, trying to stave off the inevitable. But I’m close. Spencer licks his lips, and all I can think about is how much I want to feel them on mine again.

I don’t get why I feel like this. It’s not like I want to do this with any guy. Only Spencer, only right now, and only so bad it makes me delirious.

Spencer notices, just like he notices everything else about me. As if he can read my thoughts, his expression sharpens. He pats his thigh. Come here.

I waste no time kicking my pants off the full way and getting unsteadily to my feet. I’m in his lap before I have time to think what a profoundly stupid idea this is, but all common sense has been thrown to the wind. I’ve never been this turned on, never felt this aching need before in my life.

Spencer has awoken something in me, and I don’t know whether to run away or dive headfirst into the feeling.

His body is warm and solid beneath me and it’s almost enough for me to blow right there. Smirking, he lines our hips up and presses our cocks together, base to tip. My eyes roll into the back of my head. The slide is slick and wet from precome, and a needy whine spills from my lips at the feeling.

Spencer strokes my bare thigh. “You like that?”

“Shut up.” I mean to sound serious, but my voice is too high, too needy.

He laughs, that stupid gorgeous chuckle that reminds me of chocolate, then wraps a large hand around the back of my neck. Tugging me closer, he captures my mouth with his. Kissing him is just as good as it was earlier, maybe even better now that I’m less nervous. His lips are soft but rough from years of biting, and work magic against mine. I sigh, clutching his arms.

Our cocks drag together, trapped between our stomachs. The feeling of another person against me, a man, is overwhelming. Way better than my own hand.

Spencer takes both of us in his palm, long fingers wrapping around our cocks, and I make a broken sound into his mouth. He pulls back, nosing my jaw as I try to catch my breath. My lungs are burning, like the rest of my body.

“That’s it, Luke. Let go for me.”

It’s enough to send me over the edge. White, hot pleasure shoots through me and I pant against him, ropes of come spilling over his stomach and staining my shirt. Damn, I’ll have to wash that later.

Spencer sucks on my earlobe like it's a lollipop. “Looks like I won.”

I slap his chest, barely hearing his delighted chuckle over the fuzzy haze in my ears. For a moment, I’d forgotten all about the bet.

“Asshole.”

“An asshole who just gave you the best orgasm of your life.”

Cocooned in Spencer’s arms, my limbs feel like lead. I have to force myself to gingerly climb off his lap and grab my clothes.

“Not that it means anything.” I can’t look him in the eyes, so instead I focus my attention on hiding my ass from the open night air. “It was all for the bet, right?”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his gaze on me like twin flames scorching my back. My stomach clenches. Whatever this is, I don’t want it to ruin our friendship. I can’t afford to be distracted this summer season, not when my dad’s counting on me to win what he couldn’t.

The sound of a zipper closing echoes behind me. He’s putting on his clothes, erasing the evidence of this night.

“You’re right,” Spencer says finally. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

All he does is repeat exactly what I said.

For some reason, I hate it.

*

Training the next morning is an escalating disaster.

For two and a half hours, I go through the motions of practice but all I can think about is Spencer's hand on my cock.

We haven’t spoken since yesterday night. I woke up this morning to an empty apartment and the shriek of my alarm piercing my hangover. The asshole hadn’t bothered waking me up before he left, but there was a glass of water and two painkillers on my nightstand.

I don’t know if I should be mad or confused.

Most of my time on the pitch is spent watching Spencer. He’s wearing his old jersey, the one that’s a size too small. It stretches across his broad chest, defining his strong shoulders and muscled back.

The urge to touch him again, feel his hot skin against mine, is almost overwhelming. What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s not like Spencer’s any better. His kicking form is off all morning, but nobody dares to correct him when his face is set in a permanent scowl like a warning sign.

When we break for the morning, Coach pulls me aside on the way back to the locker room. He asks what’s wrong with Spencer and all I can do is shrug. No way am I telling him things are weird now that my best friend knows what I look like when I orgasm.

Junseo corners me when I’m drying my hair from the shower. The locker room is almost empty, but Spencer’s presence is a monolith, taking up most of the room as usual.

“What’s up with Spencer?” Junseo says, leaning against the locker next to mine.

“Why is everyone asking me that?”

It’s annoying. I’m not his keeper. If he wants to throw a hissy fit at every passing glance, it’s none of my business. I scowl and towel my hair faster.

“You’re practically attached at the hip when you’re not fighting like an old married couple.”

“That’s—what? We’re just friends. Nothing else.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.” He laughs and claps my back. “You can relax, dude. I just figured you’d know why he’s been so uptight today.”

“Well, I don’t. You’ll have to ask him about it yourself.”

“Ask who about what?”

Spencer stands behind us, arms crossed over his bare chest. Is this guy allergic to shirts or something? He’s staring at Junseo’s hand, still attached to my shoulder. His jaw twitches.

Junseo snorts and steps back, hands up like he’s facing a feral animal. “I was just leaving.”

He’s gone before I can tell him to stay, dragging the rest of the stragglers with him until it’s just me and Spencer in the middle of the room.

“Do you have to be like that?” I say, crossing my arms.

“You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m not the one who let me sleep through alarms instead of waking me up this morning.”

He snorts. “And risk getting punched in the face? Yeah, no thanks.”

The irritation sparking through me all morning burns brighter. It’s like this guy was put on earth solely to piss me off.

I try to shove him away, but instead of stepping back he leans closer. This is the perfect time to leave, turn around and pretend this never happened. But his skin is hot and soft under my palms and I can’t stop myself from running a thumb over one of his nipples.

Spencer groans, so close I can smell him, a mix of fresh sweat and cedarwood. His eyes are dark, full of the same lust racing through me. My stomach tightens.

“You’re so annoying." Instead of harsh and resolute, I sound almost fond.

He grabs my waist and presses our chests flush together, bare skin against T-shirt. We’ve only kissed twice, but already every cell in my body feels attuned to him.

I went to bed thinking about him instead of going over strategies. When I woke up this morning, he was the first thing on my mind. It’s like he’s taken over my very heartbeat. Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.

He mouths my ear, hot breath warming my skin. “I can’t stop thinking about your face when you came.”

“Is this still part of the bet?”

“If you want it to be.”

Whatever I felt before washes away like a baptism. I clutch Spencer’s arms and will myself not to explode.

“I think I want it to be,” I say.

Then I shove our lips together and kiss him like a man starving. Spencer’s grip turns bruising, crushing me against him, and I make a little noise that he swallows. I groan into his mouth, eagerly welcoming his insistent tongue.

I’ve wanted this all day. Us together, locked in this heated battle.

He parts my legs with a single nudge and slips his knee between my thighs, rolling against my half-hard cock. Our lips detach and I try to breathe, head tilting back as he licks and kisses along my neck.

“I promised I’d make it good for you,” he says, running a hand down my spine. “And I’m a man of my word.”

My head falls against the lockers with a thump, and it’s all I can do to hold on.