7

Luke

Evening sun warms my face, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of Spencer’s bare chest.

I shift a little on the picnic blanket, careful not to let sand on the dusty rose fabric, and bury my face deeper into his pecs.

After cleaning us up, he’d brought out a picnic blanket, some of my favorite snacks, and an old soccer ball, leading us closer to the water’s edge where we set up shop. Playing soccer in the sand is almost impossible, but that didn’t stop me from smoking his ass a few times.

He’d torn off both of our shirts before dragging me into the waves. Despite the late July heat, the water was freezing, but it was worth it to kiss the salt from his lips.

A strong arm tightens around my back, pulling me close enough to press a soft kiss to my temple. With his free hand, Spencer unlaces a familiar pair of cleats.

I’ve never seen him so relaxed. The soft slap of the ocean against the sandy beach is soothing, a steady rhythm to the racing beat of my heart.

“Why do you need those?” I ask, watching him clean the surface with care rivaled only by how he touches me. “You’re always amazing on the pitch.”

“I don’t know. It’s comforting, I guess.” He shakes his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “Started when I was in high school. I’d collect my old cleats and save their shoelaces, like a reminder I’d done something with my life.”

I hum, watching him for a moment. He looks beautiful like this; a Greek Adonis decorated in silver and black. Utterly perfect and untouchable.

“You could go pro after the Harriers,” I say eventually, swatting away the treacle-sweet feelings. “Everyone thinks so.”

Spencer shrugs. “What do you think?”

As if the opinions of the coaches, the media, and all our fans don’t matter as much as mine. Leaning forward, I wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him into a quick kiss that sends flutters through my stomach. Spencer grips my thigh and tilts his head just so, deepening the kiss into something rougher, more desperate. Like he’s afraid I’ll run away. It leaves me panting when we pull apart.

“I think,” I say against his lips, “I’d be stupid if I didn’t want the great Spencer Hall on my team.”

His answering smile is so bright, so fun of sunshine I can’t look at it for too long before I burn up.

“I have these dumb cleats, but you’ve got real hard work, sweetheart.”

“But what if it doesn't get us through the semi-finals?”

Spencer runs a thumb across my cheek, silver rings catching the dying sunlight. “You got this far, didn’t you? And you don’t have to do it alone, because I’m here.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint the team.”

He grips the hand resting in my lap and squeezes. It’s comforting. “We’re the Dream Team. Whatever happens, I’ll be by your side.”

He says it with such conviction I have no choice but to believe him. The weight that it feels like I’ve been carrying on my shoulders for the last few years falls away, leaving behind an almost euphoric lightness. I want to believe him, and isn’t that enough?

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I stare at our entwined hands. Pale against dark. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Luke.”

My lips quirk up. “Does that line work on all the girls?”

“I’m telling the truth, asshole.” Lucky cleats forgotten, he maneuvers us around until he’s behind me, legs encasing my hips. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were an angel.”

Heat floods my cheeks. God, the things that come out of his mouth. He always knows how to make me flustered, how to rip the ground from beneath me like a rug.

What do you even say to something like that? But Spencer doesn’t seem like he’s waiting for an answer. He allows us to settle into a comfortable silence, humming a soft tune that rumbles through his chest. We watch the sunset together, as pink fingers spread over the rippling water.

But through the feelings of relaxation and comfort, something niggles in my chest. Somewhere along the way, we’ve crossed the line of what’s acceptable between friends.

The problem is I don’t know if I want to stop.

*

We had left our phones in the car—an idea from Spencer that had seemed good at the time—but when we return to start heading home, my phone flashes with dozens of missed calls. Some from our teammates, two dozen more from Coach Davis and Assistant Coach Miller.

All of them saying we’re late for our last practice before the match.

“This is all your fault.” I press my forehead against the window, hoping the cool glass will stop me from panicking. It doesn’t. Washington whizzes past in a blur, and my stomach rolls.

“Bullshit.”

“You’re the one who dragged us out here. Something about having fun, wasn’t it?”

Spencer runs a hand over his buzzcut. “Would you just relax? We were having a break, it’s not a big deal.”

Except it is a big deal for me. I don’t bother responding, chewing on my bottom lip, and try not to feel like I’m letting something slip through my fingers.

When we finally arrive at the training facility, practice is in full swing. Assistant Coach Miller is waiting for us in the locker room, her shaggy blonde hair messier than usual. Like she’s been running her hand through it all evening.

“There you are,” she says, mouth pinched into a thin line. “I was beginning to think you’d run away on us.”

Spencer pastes on a confident grin and tries to explain where we were but Miller holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“Save it for after.” She gestures to him. “You go on out there before Coach Davis beats the substitute striker over the head.”

Blue eyes dart to me, full of an apology that he can’t say right now, but I understand. Too bad sorry doesn’t fix things.

When he finally leaves, Miller pulls me to the side.

“Look, normally I wouldn’t ask because it genuinely doesn’t matter what you lot get up to in your own lives, but this time it’s affecting the team, so I have to.”

“...Okay?”

She sighs. “Are you and Spencer a thing?”

My mouth runs dry, and for a moment I can’t breathe. It should be easy to answer no and step out of her hold, but something keeps me in place. Does what we’re doing—the kissing, the sex, the sweet words uttered over the sunset—count as a ‘thing?’

I guess we’re friends with benefits. But my stomach churns at the idea. Okay, that’s clearly something I have to work out on my own later on.

Instead of dumping all these revelations on Miller, I just shrug. “Kind of.”

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter. Honestly, it’s good for play.”

That throws me for a loop. “Really?”

“Are you kidding me? Davis is counting on the Dream Team making his entire college soccer coaching career.” She smiles, the stern lines on her face melting into something kinder. “You’ve never been late to training, especially not before such an important match. I just need you to lock it in for me, Luke.”

I agree easily, because she’s right. I’ve been letting Spencer take up most of my time, drawn like a moth to a flame. He’s the sun my world revolves around, but I forgot about the sun I’ve followed my entire life.

I’ve loved soccer much longer than I’ve known him.

We can’t ruin what we have, both on and off the pitch. Our friendship is what keeps me going, and if we lost it because of some bad decisions, I’d never forgive myself.

I change into my soccer gear in record time and step out onto the pitch, already rehearsing my apology to Coach Davis when a hand clamps around my wrist and tugs me back. I hit the outer wall of the facility with a groan. The familiar smell of cedarwood and orange envelops me.

“You could have just called my name like a normal person,” I say breathlessly.

Spencer noses under my jaw. “Would have taken too long. What did Miller want?”

Molten pleasure pools in my stomach as he mouths my neck, sucking and nibbling until my toes curl in my cleats. I have to fight to keep my thoughts straight.

“Just ragging on me for being late.” It’s not completely a lie, but it still doesn’t sit well in my stomach. “Please, Spence, what if someone sees?”

“Let them. I want them to see how good you look when you’re desperate for it.”

Oh, my God.

He continues like he didn’t rock my world. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Covering my body with his, Spencer kisses me properly. For a moment, I let my eyes fall shut, enjoying his chapped lips on mine. We slot together like puzzle pieces, like every inch of him was meant to fit under my hands, molded to my exact shape. When he presses our crotches together, a moan rips through me. We can’t do this. Not here, and definitely not now.

After a few false starts, I manage to pull away, shaking my head. “We’ve got practice.”

The look Spencer levels me with cuts through my soul, but I slip out from under him before I can fall back into his arms.

We have to focus on the semi-finals. Whatever that’s going on between us can wait.