8

Spencer

Training, or what’s left of it, is a total disaster.

The main problem is located right slap-bang between me and Luke. When he has possession of the ball, he passes to anyone who isn’t me. I can’t predict where he’ll be from the stony expression on his face or understand what play he’s going for.

It’s like we’re out of sync instead of being two sides of the same coin.

In the locker room, the team’s synergy has gone to shit. We dress in silence, a strange tension settling over us like a blanket. Every few minutes someone will strike up a conversation, but the ice emanating from both me and Luke freezes every attempt at warmth.

We’re not subtle, judging by the strange glances everyone gives us. But what do they want me to do? Luke refuses to even look at me, let alone talk. When Coach walks in, the disappointment is clear on his face. Nobody can blame him. The match is in two days, and I scored exactly one fucking goal.

Somehow, I have to fix this.

Luke, as always, is the last to be done in the showers. I corner him at his locker when everyone has left, my footsteps echoing in the silence. He averts his gaze, focused intently on packing his gym bag.

“Are we okay?” I say, leaning a hip against the locker and crossing my arms.

“We’re fine.”

“Liar. You were practically allergic to me out there.”

He shrugs and stuffs his jersey in beside his cleats before standing up. “I was trying something new.”

“Does the whole lying thing fit into that as well, or is this just for fun?”

I don’t mean to argue, but like everything between us, we descend into bickering. Luke groans and tugs on his curls.

“Shut up, Spence. This whole mess started as a bet.”

“Yeah, and it’s a little more than that now.” Right? I couldn’t have imagined the way he looked at me on the beach. Like I was the one who commanded the waves to move.

“I told myself I wouldn’t be distracted,” Luke says, shaking his head. “Things have gone too far.”

“We made one mistake—”

“That could cost us everything.” He turns pleading eyes to me, large and round like a doe’s, and the sharp words on my tongue soften and melt away. “Please, Spence. Let’s not have this conversation now, not when we have a match to win.”

“Why is it always about winning with you?”

I regret the words almost as soon as they leave my lips. The look on his face tugs at my heart, and I reach out to curl a hand around his neck before catching myself. A switch seems to flip in him and his expression shutters like an old camera lens.

“Wait, Luke—”

But he grabs his bag, tips me a nod that could mean anything, and leaves for recovery.

That’s the last time I see him for the next few hours. He skips out on our gym session, disappearing into fuck knows where and leaving me all alone.

I try to burn away the frustration coursing through me at the gym but, if anything, it makes my racing heart and thumping headache worse. Not to mention I have to dodge annoying attempts at comfort from my teammates.

They’re just worried. Usually, I’d be all for letting my problems out with the guys who are almost like brothers to me. But this feels too raw. Too personal.

After a while, I get sick of it and head for the showers. There are a few other soccer players, mostly from the substitute team, but I ignore them, strip down, and tuck myself into a corner. Whenever someone tries to talk, I answer with noncommittal grunts. I’m not in the mood for chit-chat.

They eventually get the message and slink away, their tails tucked between their legs. I’m being an asshole, but right now I’m not good company. They’ll thank me later.

Hot water scorches my skin, washing away most of the anger until all that’s left is an empty feeling, like a wrung-out towel. Whatever. If Luke wants to pretend what we’ve been doing means nothing, then that’s fine with me.

Finishing up my shower, I tug on a pair of soft gray sweatpants and grab my shit before leaving the gym.

Fuck, I need a drink.

*

Groaning, I thump my head back against my pillows, staring at the spidery lines in the ceiling. Somehow, life’s gone to shit in the blink of an eye.

I came home yesterday to find the apartment empty and spent the rest of the night scrolling through social media to keep my mind off of Luke. The weird tension between us continued through our light training session this morning, and now Miller’s shooting me concerned looks. Like I’ll self-combust if I’m not directly beside Luke at all times.

Who knows, maybe she’s right. I can still taste him in my mouth and, if I close my eyes, it’s almost like he’s in my lap. Panting for it, his eyes dark with lust and bright with another emotion I was too scared to name.

But I saw it.

My cock stirs at the memory, and I roll onto my front, hips pressing into the mattress. Lifting them a little, I tug down my gray sweatpants. Delicious friction slides along my length, drawing a hiss from my lips, and I rut against the sheets, chasing sweet pleasure.

I’ve been on edge since kissing Luke at practice. Seeing him in his soccer gear—and those damn shorts—was the fucking icing on the cake. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, watching his little tongue poking out in concentration, tracing the soft furrow of his brow.

It was all I could do to focus on the ball. I wanted to sweep him up and pepper his face with kisses until his tense expression smoothed out.

Then came the fight, and I opened my stupid mouth.

The tip of my cock catches on the sheets. When I squeeze my eyes shut, Luke wells up in my mind like a ghost. Everything in my life has been about him since the day we met.

“Fuck,” I groan into the pillow. “Luke.”

The apartment walls are thin. If Luke heard me rutting against my mattress like a man possessed, muttering his name, he’d freak out. But the other side of the wall is quiet. I start my slow grind again, picking up steam. Delirious, I lick my palm and work a hand under my body, gripping my cock tightly.

In the throes of pleasure, I allow myself to come to the realization. Somewhere along the way, I fell for Luke. Honestly, I think I’ve liked him this entire time and I was too stubborn to see it before.

My orgasm hits me like a wave, empty and unsatisfying. I know what would make it better, but that person’s currently pretending the last week hasn’t happened. To Luke, we’re just friends. Nothing more. A sticky warmth spreads under my hips. I roll onto my back, running a hand over the mess on my stomach.

It doesn’t matter what I feel about him. He’s made it expressly clear that we should be focused on soccer, and I can’t help but think he’s right. Love isn’t worth losing our friendship over.

Sometimes all love gets you is disappointment and the only person you can trust is yourself.

Luke avoiding me is only proof of that. But even as I tell myself it doesn’t matter, my heart feels heavy in my chest. A lump forms in my throat and I run my clean hand over my face, taking a deep breath to gather myself.

I still feel his absence like a missing limb.

*

“Are you stalking me?”

I snort, tugging on the waistband of my swim trunks.

“It’s a free pool, dipshit. I’m allowed here as much as you are.”

Luke rolls his eyes and ducks back into the water, probably to save himself from having to talk to me. He hasn’t been doing much of it since our last conversation in the locker room. This is the first time I’ve seen him since morning. If you don’t count me jacking off to the memory of him an hour earlier.

To be honest, I hadn’t expected him to be here. I wanted to clear my mind before the match tomorrow and, apart from kissing Luke, swimming is the only thing that works.

My stomach clenches, but I ignore the pain curling around my heart and lower myself onto the pool edge. Luke eyes me warily, like he’s expecting an ambush.

Unfortunately for him, now that he’s here this is the perfect opportunity for one.

“What I said before—”

“It’s fine.” He grips the edge of the pool and blinks up at me through thick black lashes. “I’ve been kind of obsessed about winning. But you get it, don’t you?”

I do. I know what it’s like to have expectations placed on your shoulders. Everyone wants me to be the All-American boy, a perfect soccer captain, star striker of the Harper Harriers, soon-to-be professional player making millions on the pitch.

It’s not like I don’t want that, because I do. I haven’t worked my entire life to get to this point for nothing. But sometimes, I wish I could be something else. Someone else. The kind of guy with hobbies other than soccer, and a life outside of sports.

Luke is the closest thing I have to that.

So yeah, I get it. But that doesn’t mean he gets to push me away when he wants.

“What about after the semi-finals?”

He purses his lips. “What about them?”

“We could revisit this.” I clear my throat, tugging on my sword piercing. “Revisit us.”

“It was just a bet, Spence. Nothing more.”

The measured, sterile words shouldn’t hurt as much as they do. Luke glances away, refusing to meet my gaze, and something like hope pools in my stomach. Liar. He’s just too scared to admit it. That’s fine. I can be man enough for both of us.

“Really? Because I thought we were getting along pretty fucking well.”

“And we were. As best friends, like we’ve always been. Let’s just go back to that.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“What?”

Taking a deep breath, I take grab one of his hands resting on the tile. “I like being with you, sweetheart, and I kind of want to keep doing it. Officially, this time.”

Luke’s eyes widen, mouth parted in shock. After a second, he shakes his head, visibly collecting himself before tearing his hand away.

“I’m sorry, I—I can’t. I have to go.”

The splash of cerulean water as he climbs out is a gunshot in the heavy silence. My heart thuds in my chest, and something hot curls in my stomach. Shame and embarrassment rolled up into one. Luke leaves me staring at the empty water, my hands clenched into fists by my side. A cruel reflection of the last time we were at the pool together.

But instead of a tentative beginning, this feels like the end.