by Saxon James
“Nope, just been thinking.”
“No wonder you sound annoyed.”
He doesn’t laugh.
“What have I done?” My words come out on a sigh.
“What?” He sounds like he’s only just checking into the conversation. “Why the hell do you assume that?”
“Maybe because normally we talk about anything and everything, but tonight I’m struggling to get a word out of you.”
“Sorry,” he whispers.
That one word sounds so pathetic I immediately want to fix it. Taryn might be serious most of the time, but he’s never like this. “This is why you have my number. When you need someone to talk to, you call me. Now what’s got you all worked up?”
He exhales like a bull, but still doesn’t say anything.
“Taryn…”
“I’m not a pity case. I have no clue what the hell prompted you to give me your number in the first place, but I don’t need you, Elliot. I want one thing, and you want something else.”
It’s taking everything in me not to meet him on his level. “Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who wanted to keep talking?”
“Well, duh, you’re hot as hell. And fine, you don’t feel the same, but stop flirting with me and just say it.”
The absurdity of his words crashes down on me, and instead of snapping back, a small laugh bursts from me, followed by another and another. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m glad you’re amused.”
“No, let me get this right. You’re pissy because you think I’m not interested, when actually I can’t stop thinking about that night. Every guy I see gets compared to you, and I don’t know if anyone’s told you this lately, but no one fucking compares.”
I’m not sure if I’ve gotten through to him, but the movement on his end of the line stops. I’ve laid it all out, now it’s up to him to sort out what to do with it.
“Have… have you been with anyone since me?” The hope in his words loosens the knot in my chest.
“No. I’m guessing you haven’t either.”
“Why do you assume that?”
“Hello? Closeted, recognizable football player. It was an easy bet.”
The chuckle that follows my words is instantly warmer than our whole conversation so far. “You would know.”
“And that is a problem that isn’t going away any time soon.”
Someone staggers into the bathroom and heads straight to the urinal, so I move our conversation into a stall, dropping my voice so I won’t be easily overheard.
“What…” He breathes heavily through his nose. “What are the chances anyone would even notice? I was with Liam for six years and no one caught on.”
“Exactly. Six years of secrets, and now, what? You’re ready to say fuck it all and take a pretty huge risk?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation.
“Okay, but we’re not talking about being outed here. This isn’t run of the mill, jeopardize your career shit. If anyone suspects you’re playing shady, and then you’re linked back to me, that could be jail time, T.”
“I know that should worry me… it just doesn’t.”
“I bet if you got off, and the blood had a chance to get back to your brain, you’d think differently.”
“Try me.”
My dick perks up at the clear challenge, and I can’t deny him anymore. I’d kill to get another night with him—hell, I don’t think one night would cut it. So before I can start overthinking, before I can talk myself out of doing something stupid or impulsive, I hit video chat on my phone and train the camera to where I’m hurriedly unzipping my jeans one handed.
“Hel—oh!”
“Please tell me you’re alone,” I say, hand stilling on the waistband of my underwear, even as my cock aches to be set free.
“I’m alone.”
I tilt the camera up so I can see his face and spare him a rough smile. “We’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper.
He squints as he tries to figure out where I am. “Are you about to jerk off next to a toilet?”
My eyes go wide as I strain to hear whether I’m alone again or not. When I’m sure it’s all clear, I raise the phone to my face. “Is that a complaint?”
“No, sir.” He grins wide. “Carry on.”
The image on-screen goes shaky for a moment, and when it clears again, Taryn seems to have propped his phone up in front of the couch he’s leaning back on. His hand drops to his crotch and he gives his gorgeous, hard dick a squeeze.
It’s all I need to yank my pants down and expose my own.
This is a stupid idea. There’s no reason why I couldn’t have at least gone home before deciding to initiate phone sex, but as Taryn roughly shoves down his sweatpants, I know the second his erection comes into view there’s no stopping this now.
“Oh fuck…” I breathe.
He’s perfect. I had a good amount of time to become familiar with his cock the other night, but I’d forgotten just how big it was, how dark. The round head, tight balls, and the vein running along the underside, that I ran my tongue over more times than I can count, make my mouth water.
I make sure the camera angle is pointing down again as I finally wrap my hand around my cock. Taryn leans over and pulls some kind of cream out of a drawer, but the best I can do is spit into my palm. It’s enough.
I bite back a groan as I give myself a solid stroke, grip tight, twisting at the end. On screen, Taryn is already doing the same. But where I’m trying to take it slow and stay in control, Taryn doesn’t have the same worries. His hand is working up and down his shaft, and his head is thrown back over the couch, barely angled down enough to keep one eye on me.
I want to tell him how I’m dying to shove my cock in between his parted lips. How I want to feel his breath hot against my skin. How I want to wrap my legs around him as he buries his cock deep inside me.
Instead, I turn, propping my forearm against the stall wall and leaning my forehead into it. I barely have the presence of mind to keep my phone on the action as my hand starts to move faster. I match Taryn stroke for stroke, imagining it’s his hand gripping me.
Imagining it’s him here with me.
“Fuck… fuck…” I pant in time with my hand.
Rolling my palm over the precum leaking out, I use it to replace my spit, making each stroke easier, smoother.
“Elliot… I’m…”
“I know,” I choke out as a tingling erupts in the base of my spine and rips through my balls. I thrust uncontrollably into my palm as I come, biting back the groan I need to let out.
My head is light as I drop back against the door, trying to catch my breath and stop my legs from shaking. I catch Taryn’s stare. His hand is moving wildly, showing me he’s close, so I stretch my arm out, making sure my whole body is in the shot. Not taking my eyes off the camera, I give my softening cock one last stroke, then lift my cum-covered hand to my mouth. Taryn’s eyes go wide as I lick at the mess and when I slide one finger into my mouth, his hips jerk up off the couch, and with a groan loud enough for anyone beyond the door to hear, he comes long and hard.
I can’t stop my satisfied smile as I grab some toilet paper and finish cleaning up my mess, waiting for him to come down from his high.
He doesn’t make a move to clean up or grab his phone.
“You okay, big guy?”
“Never better.” A dopey smile drifts across his lips. “And I definitely haven’t changed my mind.”
Thank fuck for that. “I feel like we’re asking for trouble.” Good grief, what am I saying?
Taryn puffs out a breath. “Maybe.”
“And that’s okay with you?”
He gets this cute furrow between his brows as he reaches for his phone. The video ends, and I quickly press the speaker to my ear.
“Like I said, you don’t have time to find guys, and I can’t. Even you agreed it was a good idea.”
His words make sense, but they still make me worry. “So… you want to fuck?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Well, yeah, obviously. I mean, I still want to talk to you like normal, and then, before our days off, maybe we meet up? Friends with benefits, right?”
I snigger. “Are you asking or telling me?”
His soft laugh hits the phone and something in my gut tightens. “I dunno. I’m not very good at this, clearly.” Despite his uncertainty, his tone is the lightest it’s been through the whole conversation. I guess a good orgasm will do that to you.
Acting more confident than I feel, I take over. “Okay, so Tuesday or Friday we meet up, depending on where and when you play. And, what? Spend the night together? Or fuck and bail?”
Taryn groans. “Spend the night, definitely. Surely we’re friends by now. I don’t want to have to treat you like some trick just because that’s what people do.”
My stomach does that weird pull again, and I have to swallow before I can keep talking. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Agreed. And, ah… are we talking exclusive, or—”
“Yes.”
I raise an eyebrow he can’t see at his definite tone. Deciding to see how far I can push that streak of—was it jealousy?—I add, “But what if—"
“Exclusive, Elliot. Nonnegotiable.”
My lips quirk, but I quickly stamp down my amusement. “So things stay as they are, we hook up once a week, and no fucking anyone else.”
“Sounds about right.” I can practically hear him rubbing a hand over his face. “Could we make this any less sexy? I feel like I’m entering contract negotiations.”
I laugh as I unlock the stall and head to the sink to wash my hands. “I didn’t know football was so fun. Don’t worry, we’ll make up for it when we see each other next.”
“Mission accepted.”
I tuck one ankle behind the other, as I hesitate over not wanting to end the call, but knowing I’ve been way too long. “I should probably go. Rainer will be looking for me.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I’ll see you later?”
“Yes.” There’s a smile in his voice that comes plainly over the line. “Wait until I get my hands on you again.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t. I can’t wait. I almost want to leave now, blow off Rainer and work and my clients and meet Taryn wherever the fuck he wants. We’ve both agreed this is casual, so I really should make the most of it.
No matter how these soft feelings for him keep trying to take over.
Chapter Fifteen
When it comes to football and sex, I’d be hard pressed to pick which is better. Game days make me feel so alive. The smell of grass and sweat and the crowd’s excitement rile me up to the point I’m ready to vibrate right out of my skin.
I breathe in the anticipation and lingering smoke from the fire cannons as we take our line for the first play. The ball snaps back, the cheers from the crowd turn deafening, and it’s on.
I take off up the field, ducking around the waiting cornerback, and O’Brien’s pass is right on target as I reach out and snatch it from the air. We make first down on the second play, and set up on the line of scrimmage to go again. I’m buzzing, every nerve alive. O’Brien throws the Jets off with a pitch and gets the ball to Edgerton. He sidesteps the defensive tackle and then he’s off. He picks up speed, outstripping the rest of the team until he’s brought down after a twenty-yard gain.
“Yes.” I jog up to join the line and slap Edgerton’s back as he heads to his position. With that one run, anticipation builds. We’re so close I can taste it. O’Brien calls the play and I get into position.
“Hut! Hut!”
I practically fly up the damn field, darting away from the cornerback. Most of the defense were expecting Edgerton again, so when O’Brien winds up and sends the ball sailing into the end zone, the ball slams right into my chest.
The cheer I let out isn’t even human, but I’m so damn happy I don’t care. This is where I’m meant to be. And fuck, I hope Elliot is watching. The feel of his eyes on me spurs me through the rest of the game. I push harder, run faster, and take the big hits. My heart is beating like crazy, my lungs burning, and the feeling of coming apart in the best way is completely addictive. Even the dull throb in my shoulder from one of the tackles is welcome.
Our defense is on fire too. Zane doesn’t let a player past, and the Jets struggle to make ground. We’re deep in the final quarter when the Jets finally put away two touchdowns, but by that point it’s too late. We’re tired, but we’ve already won, and with that knowledge, O’Brien pulls off a beautiful trick play out to Johnson who passes off to me. I’m brought down a few yards out from our end zone but on the next play, Michals puts the field goal away, and with only a few seconds left on the clock, the team converges on him. Zane slams into my aching shoulder but even the sudden throb can’t kill my smile. We’ve won another one—five in a row—and tomorrow night I’ll be celebrating the win with Elliot.
“O’Brien wants to go out,” Zane pants. “You’re coming, right?”
I shrug, because no matter my answer, they’ll drag me out anyway. “Guess,” I grunt, the word washed away by our supporters, still screaming their reactions to our win from the stands. It’s not that I don’t want to have a night out, but I already know I’ll be up all night tomorrow with Elliot, so I was kinda hoping everyone would be too tired to celebrate.
Zane’s limp is back as we shake hands with the other team and slowly make our way off the field. There are reporters around and fans waiting for autographs, so instead of running and hiding like I want, or better still, getting my shoulder iced, Zane and I head for the side of the stands where people are hanging over the railings holding balls and jerseys for us to sign.
I love talking to our fans after a win, but there’s never enough time for everyone, and unfortunately, a few people think that means it’s okay to approach me in public. It’s one of the few things Liam and I fought about, but no matter how many times he said it was sweet or part of the job, I hate it. That isn’t likely to ever change.
On the field or at events it’s fine, but on my own time? Hell no.
Handing the ball I’ve signed back to a kid, I lean in for a photo with a girl wearing my jersey number. Right before the flash goes off, she turns and presses a kiss to my cheek. I don’t get a jersey-chaser vibe from her so I keep smiling, willing the moment to be over.
Finally, Zane hands a marker back to an older man and gives my arm a quick tug, signaling he’s ready to go.
We wave, and as we turn to leave, a few groans meet our departing backs.
Despite his limp, Zane is practically bouncing from our win. This week wasn’t anywhere near as physically draining as last, so I’m not surprised to find the music already blasting in the locker room as our team doctor checks over our injuries and congratulates us on the win.
Winston, our assistant coach, grabs an ice pack for my shoulder and tells me I should wait for the doc to make his way around. There seems to be three specialists today, one specifically here for Edgerton who took a nasty hit to the head in the third quarter.
Finally, Doctor Fallins finishes wrapping Zane’s ankle and moves on to me. “Only the shoulder, Taryn?”
“Yep. It’s already feeling better though, probably overextended on a catch.”
He hums, not taking my word for it, as he instructs me to take off my jersey and shoulder pads. His fingers are cold as they slide over the skin, feeling for god knows what. Once he seems satisfied, he tests out movement and positioning. “I agree, it’s likely a strained muscle at most. No heavy lifting or overexertion, you know the drill.”
I nod. This isn’t the first time my shoulder has acted up.
Doctor Fallins pats my uninjured shoulder. “Good game.”
“Thanks, doc.”
He joins the other two talking to Coach, probably giving a run down on how we’re al
l doing, as the team strips down and files into the showers. It’s loud, and I can’t help a small laugh at the rowdy men behind me. It’s become almost second nature to ignore the muscular bodies of my teammates, but I still make a point of getting in and out of the showers quickly, so if my sexuality ever does get out one day, no one can accuse me of being a perv. Considering some of the homophobic shit that comes out of these guys’ mouths, the way they behave seems pretty fucking gay sometimes.
I smile to myself as I turn off the shower, grab a towel, and head back to my locker. I’m sure Elliot would have watched the game, for work if nothing else, so I dress then grab my phone.
Even though it’s been hours, there’s only one text from him. I quickly open it to find a photo and the message, Should I be jealous? ;)
Frowning, I open the picture and zoom in a little, trying to place what I’m seeing. There’s Zane, signing some guy’s shirt, and next to him… I laugh as I realize it’s a picture of that fan kissing me on the cheek. It takes a second to sink in that this isn’t a professional photo.
Me: Wait, are you here?!
Nerves explode in my stomach as I imagine Elliot out there in the crowd, watching me play without me even knowing. I can’t help but wonder if he saw the big hit I took toward the end and held my ground or the touchdown I got in the second minute. Was he impressed?
A Friend: Would it be okay if I was?
Me: Well, you’d be breaking our rules, so you’d definitely have to make it up to me.
A Friend: Consider it done.
Looking over my shoulder toward where the rest of my team is, I make a split-second decision and bail. I’m sure Zane will be blowing up my phone the second he realizes I’m gone, but fuck it. Elliot is here.
My hands are clammy as I send him my address. Maybe I should have organized a hotel or something considering there’s still that tiny voice reminding me I haven’t known him that long, but even as my good sense tries to take over, I can’t deny I trust him. Because it’s Elliot. The guy who makes me laugh, and makes me think, and keeps a stupid smile on my face all day long. The guy who keeps giving me hope we could have something more.
