1

-NORTH-

IT'S FOURhours since I told Malcolm Blackwood that I like him, and four hours since he made it clear he wasn't interested. At least not in the way I want him to be.

Four hours since he told me he doesn't hate me, and he cares about "my welfare," whatever that means.

Now as I make my way to the locker room, my nerves are jangling, and it's got nothing to do with the big game. After everything that happened today I have no idea what to expect when I see him. From Mal, or from me. But what's new, right?

It feels like all I've done since we started this whole confusing agreement is try to figure out what's going on behind his impassive face. His annoyingly sexy impassive face.

My head is a sludge of different emotions jammed with everything we said, and everything we didn't say. I told him I like him. Which, come on, was no easy feat considering how unpredictable Malcolm is at the best of times. Last time I said something like that he lost his shit. But it's not only that, this is big for me, too. I've had to do some serious soul searching about whether I even like guys—surprise, guess I do!—and if I want anything to do with Mal after everything that's happened—surprise again, I do. Self-preservation? I don't know her.

This sure as hell isn't how I saw my college life playing out—all of this was a low tackle out of left field—but my heart is strapped in for the ride, and there's no getting off now. Call me crazy, but I don't want to get off. Now I just need to get him on board too.

Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen.

My duffelbag bumps against my hip as I walk, making the strap rub against the sore spot at the base of my neck. The spot where Mal sucked and bit my flesh until it was red and raw. In the middle of a forest. While I was handcuffed to a tree. My pulse surges at the memory. Damn. Now is not the time to get horny.

I sigh. I must be literally out of my mind to like him so much, but he's just so . . . intense. Yeah he's stiff and emotionally repressed as hell, but he's got an urgency to him, an energy that flies between us and fills my veins with throbbing electricity whenever I see him. He makes me feel alive.

Plus, he's hot as hell, which doesn't help matters.

I trace my fingers over the hickey. What would it be like if he just pulled that stick out of his ass and learned to relax and enjoy himself?

Would he like me back the way I want him to? I want to send him funny memes. I want to go to the movies with him and share a bucket of popcorn. I want to shove that popcorn up my nose and shoot it at him. I want to talk about sports, sitting in our boxers and socks after a day of classes. I want to make him laugh. A proper belly laugh, not that snort of derision he does when he's trying to pretend humor is beneath him.

I want to slide my hand up his back, feel the soft bump of his scar under my fingertips.

And dammit, I want to kiss him more than once a day and have him kiss me back without freaking out.

I want him, more than I've wanted anyone. Talk about pathetic.

When I finally get to the locker room door, I pause and take a deep steadying breath.

He cares about me. He told me himself. And for Mal that's a pretty big deal. So that'll have to do for now.

I go in. Inside it's packed. The team is getting ready for the big game, laughing and joking as they get into their gear. A few of the guys look up as I enter, and cheer.

"Here he is!" Danny shouts, throwing a balled-up sock in my direction. I deflect it.

"What took you so long, Alaska? Thought we were gonna have to go on without you," Josh says.

The nickname is from the old song. It got bestowed on me my first game at Langley, and it's stuck ever since. It's not the worst name I could have gotten, just ask Fapper, and I actually quite like the song now.

"Yeah, and get our butts handed to us," Randy adds, readjusting his pads across his chest.

I roll my eyes and laugh as I walk past them, aiming a kick at Danny's butt, but it's half-hearted with how tight my chest feels.

Then I see Malcolm and everything else fades into the background. He seems to be back to his old self, leaning against my locker, already in his football gear, arms crossed. The wide padded shoulders make him look even more intimidating and my heart does a little double tap. His dark hair falls over his forehead, and the sharp line of his jaw is shadowed, mirroring the sharp line of his mouth. I will never get over how good he looks. Did I really go through my whole life thinking I was straight? Because wow.

He watches me with his dark-brown eyes as I drift toward him, pulled in by his gravity, and he shifts over to make room for me, pushing away from my locker with his elbow while maintaining eye contact. My skin tingles all over.

"Hey," I say. "Did you get ready early just so you could hang around looking mysterious?"

He doesn't smile at my joke, but something softens in his eyes. Relief? Has he been agonizing over what happened as much as I have?

That energy he radiates is filling up my veins, and all my doubts are disintegrating again. This happens every damn time. This is why I'm such an idiot when it comes to him, I just can't keep my head.

"Are you going to move so I can get into my locker? Or do I have to earn it?" I say in a low teasing voice, for his ears only.

He raises one eyebrow a fraction, as if the idea appeals to him, but then tilts his head in the direction of the showers.

"Right now?" I hiss.

I glance around. It doesn't look like anyone is paying us any attention, but the room is full. What if someone sees us?

He opens his mouth—

A hand slaps the lockers between us, with an almighty CLANG, and I nearly jump out of my skin, and then Jason is leaning in, grinning at me. Where the hell did he come from?

"Hey, Alaska, you coming to my kegger right?" he says.

I plaster a grin across my face. "You know it, bro."

"Sweet, I've got a whole keg with your name on it!" Jason raises his hand for a high five.

Behind him, Mal raises an eyebrow—he still hasn't taken his eyes off me—and I laugh tightly and high-five Jason, trying not to go bright red. Mal said I couldn't drink without his permission, but what else can I say? Sorry, I've given full control to the guy fucking me and he says I can't?

A moment later Jason seems to notice Mal looming right behind him, and his face drops. Mal can have that effect on people; most of the team are either in awe of him or scared of him.

"Oh, hey Malcolm, I didn't see you there. You can totally come, too, if you want to."

Malcolm blinks at him, one long slow movement, and Jason ducks his head and scurries away.

"You coming, bro?" Malcolm says, heading toward the showers. I duck my head and go after him, heart pounding. The mass of bodies part for him, and he leads the way into the far stall in the shower block.

"Have you got the plug?"

"Er, yeah."

He takes the bag off my shoulder and unzips it.

"Take your pants off."

Straight to the point in true Malcolm form. I almost choke on my spit, but that doesn't stop me whipping my pants off like there's a venomous spider in them.

"Turn around and bend over," he says, pulling a bottle of lube out.

I do as he says and a moment later the cold drizzle of lube down the crack of my ass makes me flinch.

The tip of the plug presses against my hole, and then he starts to work it in, stretching me out a little at a time. The noise from the rest of the team is barely muted by the shower walls, any one of them could walk in here any second and see me, bent over while Mal pushes a butt plug into my ass. I cover my face with my arm.

He leans over my shoulder as he works it inside me and talks quietly into my ear.

"You took this out earlier without my permission. I'll allow it this time, but never do it again. I own this hole."

Oh god, he knows exactly what to say to get my pulse racing. I bite down on my lip and try not to make a sound as it fills me and my rim of muscle closes around its base.

"I want to own you on the field tonight. No one will know that under your clothes you're filled and mine." He twists the base and gives it a shove, and my body lurches. "And then when it's over and you've won us the game like I know you will, I'm going to take this plug out, and fill you all over again." His hand ghosts over my dick and I hiss. "Win this game for us, and I'll let you come first."

Shit, if that isn't motivation to play my best I don't know what is. I'm already itching to get out there and show him how good I can play for him.

He pulls my sweatpants back up with a snap. "But don't think I'm letting you off easily though. I'm still going to punish you for being such a fucking idiot earlier."

Ah, yeah. The whole EpiPen thing. I nod dumbly, and his eyes fall to my lips. I want to kiss him, but I've used up my kiss for today. Maybe I should just do it anyway and face the punishment.

But before I can do anything, he moves away and the space around me feels empty without him taking it up.

"Now get ready."

Right. I've got a game to win.

***

Ten minutes later, I walk out onto the field with the rest of the team, butt plug filling me, as the crowd cheers. It feels dirty wearing it in front of so many people, and the thrill makes my dick stiffen inside the jock strap, adding to the pre-game exhilaration.

The captains step forward to call the coin toss. While we wait, I catch Mal's eye and he gives me a knowing look, and my face heats, as well as other various body parts. It's our dirty secret. And god, it's hot.

I look away. A sign saying "GO Langley Green Hawks" in big green letters near the front of the bleachers catches my eye. Becki shakes it and waves at me, eyes bright with excitement, and I smile and wave back.

We lost the toss, and the Rangers defer, so we form our lines for the kickoff. A heavy hush falls across the stadium.

The whistle blows. The kicker takes his run up. The ball sails into the air. And I'm running, adjusting my route to meet the ball. It slots into my hands, and I sprint. The Rangers charge forward, meeting us in a clash of bodies. I search for my gap, and slip between two bodies, avoiding the hands that grab for me.

I make some good headway up the field before a Ranger barrels into me and takes me out. The land is hard with his weight on top of me, and the plug shifts and presses against a spot deep inside me. I gasp.

He doesn't seem to notice my reaction as he climbs off, and thank fuck the helmet masks my expression, because I can't stop the heat that's radiating up my neck. The Ranger pulls me back up onto my feet, gives me a nod, and jogs off. I take a deep breath and shake it off. No one knows.

We line up for the first down. I take my position behind the quarterback, hunched and ready.

Despite the butt plug, my mind is clear, each movement flowing like clockwork from years of practice. This is what I'm good at; I might not be the best academically, I might not be the tallest, and I might not be the biggest. But football is like breathing. It comes naturally to me—the feel of turf under my cleats, the noise of the crowd, my teammates around me. It all feels like home.

My heart thrums and I take a slow breath in and out as the adrenaline courses through me, my body primed and ready to go. These pauses between plays stretch out into silent oceans.

And then. Snap. The play starts.

The quarterback gets the ball, passes off to me. I tuck it under my arm, my cleats dig into the turf. I shoot off. Bodies collide in front of me. Ahead, I spot Mal, his wide back straining. A gap opens to the left and I go for it. An arm grabs at my waist, but I twist away from it. And then the field opens up and I let loose. My limbs pump. The ground disappears beneath my feet. The ball sits safely cradled in my arm.

Someone comes at me from the right, and I sidestep and spin around them. But the sound of pounding feet is right behind me. Then, out of nowhere, a meaty shoulder smacks into my side, and I smash into the ground, instinctively keeping the ball close. The weight lifts and I push myself back to my feet, looking around as time slows down again. I've gained enough for the first down.

Someone claps me on the shoulder. "Great play, Alaska."

I slap him back, and we make our way to line up again.

On the way, Malcolm jogs up to me. "You good?"

"Yeah, all good." I flex my shoulders and neck, feeling limber and loose, and he takes me in and nods.

The next few downs, the quarterback throws a pass play, pushing the ball down the field to the receiver, each time gaining more ground before they're taken out.

We're doing good, pushing down the field bit by bit and when it's my turn to take the ball again, I'm eager to add to it.

The quarterback passes off to me, the ball slots into my hands, and I'm gone. Round to the right this time, around the horde of bodies. Malcolm breaks from the mess and flanks me, arms pumping, and I feel invincible with him there. Because nothing can stand in his way. He isn't the biggest player on the field, but his sheer drive makes him a goddamn freight train.

We move together, and with every step the plug shifts inside me. It should be distracting, but it's a buzz that feeds the fire inside me, keeping me on my toes and out of my head.

The Ranger's safety charges from the left, his huge head down, arms wide, ready to take me out. But I have Malcolm. He surges ahead like a homing missile, and slams into the player with his full weight, driving him into the ground with those powerful shoulders. I leap, jumping clear over both of them as they roll. For a second, I'm airborne and weightless. Then my feet thud down, I twist my cleats into the turf and I'm away, the field open in front of me.

The roar of the crowd is a muted hum in my ears as I stretch out, fly up the field into the endzone, and score the first touchdown.

The crowd goes wild. I fling my arms up and throw myself into a one-handed cartwheel, basking in the glow of it. This feeling is almost as good as sex. A moment later, the other Hawks slam into me, taking me off my feet.

"Yes! You're a beast!"

"North, you fucking rock star."

Sometimes it's a hard slog, but I must admit, I love the adoration. The shouts and cheers feed me. But all of that dims when Malcolm catches my eye and smiles. It's a small and controlled thing, the faintest curling of his lips just visible under his helmet. But it makes me beam with the power of a thousand suns.

The first three quarters fly by, and by the start of the fourth, we're ahead by ten points. But the Rangers play a mean game, and they claw it back until we're all tied up.

Now there are only a few minutes left on the clock, we're in possession, the end zone within reach, and everything to play for.

"We're gonna run it," the quarterback says as we huddle together.

"Are you sure?" I say.

"Yeah, their safeties and cornerbacks are on their A game, but the D-line is gassed. It shouldn't be too hard to get you through, get you a good shot at the end zone."

Ok, this one's on me then. I take a deep breath.

"You good for this, North?"

"Yeah, I got this."

"That's right. Let's show them who we are."

I shake out as we take our places, feeling an unusual bout of nerves. I need to make this play. Everyone's depending on me, everyone's watching. But it's more than that, Malcolm is expecting me to win. And the promise of the reward hangs over my head. Somehow that's more pressure than the team or the crowd watching.

God, I'd kill for a smoke.

I shift, the plug moves inside me, and it brings me back to the moment with a jolt. I'm overthinking. I just need to relax and do what I do. Slow breath in. Slow breath out.

The down starts. The center snaps the ball, the quarterback hands it off to me, and I run.

He was right. The Rangers' linemen falter under the attack and a gap opens up, just wide enough for me to fit. I slip through, running with everything in me. One of their linemen closes in on me, angling so that our paths meet a few yards ahead. I alter my course, veering away. But a hand shoves me from behind, grasping to find purchase, tipping me forward. It slips away but it's enough to knock my balance off. I stumble and try to get my legs back in order. Before I can, the lineman coming from the other direction crashes into me and gets his arms hooked around my waist. My breath slams out of me, and I fall, dragged down by the guy's weight, twisting as I go. Time slows. I'm going down. And I was so close to the endzone.

No. Mal is expecting me to win. So, I'm going to fucking win.

Because goddammit, I want my reward.

My free hand shoots out, stopping my descent with one hand and one foot on the ground. I twist and jerk forward, carried by the momentum. The guy's grip loosens. I shove up and forward, hard, with all my strength. A tangle of limbs. The weight falls away, my legs driving under me, pushing me forward, almost parallel to the ground. Grass skims my fingers. And then, somehow, I'm out and upright and running again, leaving the Ranger scrambling behind me.

Four yards.

Three.

I'm going to make it.

Two.

One.

The crowd surges up as I hit the end zone, roaring almost as loud as the buzz of adrenaline in my ears. I made it. We won.

I hunch for a moment with my hands on my knees and drag breaths in through the stuffy helmet. Then my eyes find Malcolm, the blazing lights outlining him in a halo. I shout and step forward to launch myself at him. I want to wrap my arms around him and lift him off the floor. But then the guys rush to huddle around me, and Mal hangs back, separate from everyone like always. With us, but apart.

I accept the praise and high fives from my team, but there's only one person I want to tell me that I did good. Through the press of bodies, I catch sight of him again, and he gives me a nod and a goddamn genuine smile, and my heart hammers in response. That small acknowledgment is more exhilarating than the entire crowd of cheering people.

The team drag me off the field, back toward the locker room, with Mal still some way behind us. A few of the guys break out into song as we go, absolutely murdering the lines.

"North to Alaska, we go north, the rush is ooooon!"

I manage to make my way to the back of the group and linger there, waiting for Malcolm to catch up.

Suddenly there's a high-pitched shout behind me. Becki runs at me out of nowhere, launches herself like a bottle rocket, and flings her arms around my neck, swinging her feet off the ground. I stumble back a step, caught by surprise.

"Whoa—"

She squeals again, directly into my ear, and her long chestnut hair flicks into my open mouth. I spit it out.

"Oh my god, North, that was amazing! You were so good!"

She's heavier than she looks, and I hunch, putting her feet back on the ground, but she doesn't let go. I'm suddenly very aware of the plug and clench up around it. I'd die from embarrassment if she found out.

"Thanks, Becki," I say.

Tammi and Staci are holding the "GO Langley Green Hawks" sign off to one side, making similar high-pitched noises and jumping up and down.

"I don't even know how you can do that, North," Tammi says.

"You're definitely the best player on the team," Staci says.

I smile at them. "Thanks, guys, it wasn't all me though. Team effort and all that."

Becki is still clinging onto me, and I try to twist in her grip to locate Mal again. I can't see him anywhere. Has he gone into the locker room already? The need to see him is all consuming.

Becki's saying something and I zone back in to catch the end of it.

"—or sometime, like I'm free this weekend?"

"Huh?" I grunt.

"If you want to?" She's looking up at me, waiting. She wants an answer, but I have no idea what she just said. I frown, trying to go back over what I heard. Something about a drink.

Wait? Is she asking me out? I blink at her, now paying full attention. She's smiling up at me and her friends are watching. Waiting for an answer.

Maybe a few weeks ago I would have jumped at the chance, but now? I just want to find Mal. But my mind blanks, and I can't think of a good reason to say no.

"I, uh, I have a lot going on at the moment, studying, practice, and . . ." Getting fucked by Mal. I trail off.

"Ok, but I'm sure you can spare a couple of hours for me. I could come over to your place and help you study." She moves in a way that pushes her soft boobs against me. She does have nice boobs, I guess.

What do I say? Malcolm made it very clear we weren't together in that way, and I could date anyone I wanted. So that means I'm available right? Do I even want to be available?

I haven't thought about trying to date anyone else up until this exact moment. Becki's nice, and a bit of healthy attention might actually be good for me.

She plants a kiss on my cheek, her lips soft and warm in a way that I wish Malcolm's were. I close my eyes briefly and try to imagine it's him but it's all wrong, Becki is far too soft, sweet, and small to ever be him. I open my eyes again and freeze.

Malcolm's standing near the entrance to the locker room, his helmet under his arm, his dark hair messy and damp. He's watching us, eyes wide, lips parted like he's frozen in the act of speaking. Then all at once his face closes off.

My heart drops.

"I have to go," I say, pushing Becki off me, but she keeps one arm hooked around mine.

"But what about this weekend?" she says.

I hesitate, I have to give her some kind of answer so she'll let me go.

"Erm, I-yeah, maybe. I'll let you know, ok?" She frowns, and I finally slip my arm free. "I have to go."

But when I look up again, Malcolm's gone.