Howl At The Moon: MM Shifter Romance

by Primrose, Ella

  Poor Carson was too embarrassed by the fact that this conversation was even happening to fully register the contents and what was being said. “Um, hello! I’m sitting right here, you know!”

  Simon waved a hand to silence him. “I used to be his favorite, you know.”

  “I know,” Fabian answered sympathetically. If Carson didn’t know any better (and if he were paying attention to anyone besides himself) he might have mistaken Fabian’s wide-eyed expression for flirtation. “I’m sure you still are.”

  “Oh, hardly. All I heard yesterday was ‘Carson this’ and ‘Carson that’ and ‘what do you suppose the weather is like in London this time of year?’ and ‘have you ever thought about visiting England?’ He’s asking me about vacationing in England!”

  Carson gaped at Simon, trying to comprehend exactly what he was implying. He opened his mouth to inquire, but Fabian spoke first, cutting him off. “You mean you’ve never considered taking a trip to England, Si?”

  “Oh, I fantasize about going to England all the time, Fabian,” Simon said, leering so suggestively Carson thought he might gag. “But those fantasies never involve Ian.”

  The look Carson gave them was one of sheer horror. He did not want to think about Simon and his twisted fantasies involving Fabian Harris. At least, he didn’t want to think about that stuff in public. Face scrunched up, he gawked at the laughing pair of them for a moment before it slowly dawned on him that they weren’t only flirting with each other. Fabian and Simon had armed him with some valuable information. Carson perked up and dared to look back at Ian and Sam.

  The two were still deep in conversation; Sam politely nodding, but slightly bored, Ian rambling a little, sheepishly laughing every so often. From a distance, it all looked so innocent. Nothing in either man’s body language hinted at anything more involved or familiar than teammates and casual friends. They weren’t openly flirting the way Simon and Fabian were. They weren’t even sitting as close as half the other guys were to each other.

  When he stopped to think about it, the only person Sam ever really hung all over was Drew. Even on the field where emotions ran hot and everyone celebrated with whoever they could grab hold of, Sam always seemed to gravitate toward Drew. Sure, he’d kiss and hug his other teammates, but he saved something else for Drew, something he never gave to the rest of the guys.

  Sam smiled at him. It was a shy, dopey, lovesick little smile. And Drew gave that same smile to Sam, each and every time. 'Look at me,’ that smile said. 'Love me. Love me like I love you. I love you. God help me, I love you.’ It was the exact same smile Simon and Fabian were sharing at the table beside Carson. And it was the same smile he knew he had whenever he closed his eyes and thought about Ian.

  So, Carson closed his eyes and did think about Ian. He couldn’t help it. He’d tried so hard not to, he knew it was stupid, knew it was basically the dumbest thing he could ever do, and yet there was no backing out once his heart had opened up like that.

  It had started out so innocently. He was just eighteen when he was first called up and everyone around him was so famous, and so talented and amazing. He was star struck, he’d be the very first to admit it. But he knew he belonged there, on that team, so he set about making friends and fitting in. And despite being a kid, he had found his niche. The younger guys were fun, like schoolmates he could play tricks with, and the older guys taught him how to be a better player and how to create plays. He took what they taught him and applied it on the field. He was more complete because he was part of a team at that time in his life.

  But it wasn’t just only that he’d learned professional skills or fun pranks to pull. Carson learned a lot about himself in those earliest call-ups. For example, he learned quite early on that Ian’s’ stare was even more intense in person than it was on TV. He learned that Ian liked to keep up the appearance of professionalism. He learned that Ian wanted to be seen as a mentor and a leader, even though Cassius was still in charge, so he didn’t have need to have a stick up his ass all the time. And he learned that Ian liked to pick on the people he liked the most. He liked to tease, not in a mean way or anything, but he seemed to secretly crave attention of all kinds, even if it was negative.

  Carson remembered the first time Ian had made fun of him. The specifics of what Ian had said were lost to him now. It was probably some joke about how he needed a haircut, which in hindsight was the truth. Carson could only remember the way it felt when his heart dropped out of his chest and into the pit of his stomach and how hot his face felt, burning so furiously he was sure he matched his shirt. He remembered too the look in Ian’s eyes a moment later when he’d wrapped an arm around his shoulders, laughing and telling him his outfit looked good on him.

  Carson had turned his head to look at Ian, to sneer at him maybe, or otherwise engage in his game. At least he’d wanted to tell him to stop being such a prick, but instead their eyes met for half of a second, and in that instant, Carson fell in love. Or maybe it was lust. He was young, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he knew he wanted Ian. He didn’t care if Ian was controlling or snide or a bit of a dick sometimes. He didn’t mind the territorial big brother act he pulled out of his ass from time to time either.

  Carson wanted Ian’s attention. It didn’t even have to be all of his complete attention, just so long as he could be the center of Ian’s world for a few days every couple of months. All Ian had done was look at him and he was a mess. It was embarrassing, and for some stupid reason, Carson was okay with it.

  It had never even occurred to him that now, some years later, Ian had actually felt something for him too, besides mild annoyance and an obligation to tolerate him due to their status as teammates. Yeah, they were friends, but were they anything more than that? Had Ian made a move in all that time? No. He hadn’t. All he’d done was spend time with Carson whenever they were in the same city, talk to him on the phone when he could, tease him about his hair during call-ups, wrestle with him sometimes, and above all else, watch over him like he was the most important person on the team. Ian didn’t even do that for Simon, and Carson knew they were best friends.

  Maybe it was because Simon had a good three inches on Carson and could easily handle himself. Or maybe it was because Ian and Simon were with each other constantly, so Ian knew what Simon could handle more intimately than anyone else did. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because Carson’s well-being mattered to him. Carson had never entertained that thought before, not with any level of seriousness anyway. But now, after what Simon and Fabian had said, and how they’d snickered to each other, not even caring that he was right there with them…well, it was very tempting to let the idea in for a moment or two.

  He opened his eyes and leaned in toward the other men, who were still engaged in their ridiculous version of flirting. Before either could back away, he grabbed each of them by a hand, looking between Fabian and Simon with large, imploring eyes. Simon almost laughed at the sight of him. Carson looked like a sad cartoon animal while pulling his face like that.

  “Does he like me?” Carson asked, looking straight at Simon.

  Simon did laugh then. “What do you think? I mean really.”

  “Si, be nice.”

  “I’m being plenty nice,” Simon insisted, looking at Fabian again. “It’s not my fault these guys are dumber than planks of wood. ‘Does he like me?’ Are you kidding me right now? Yes, Carson. Ian likes you. How is it not fucking obvious to you? I mean, come on!”

  “That’s not fair, Simon. You know Ian better than he does. How’s he supposed to know when Ian’s being difficult out of love or if he’s being difficult out of spite? I can’t even tell sometimes. You can’t expect Carson to know instinctively whether or not Ian likes him.”

  “Ugh, you had to bring love into this, didn’t you. That’s your word, Fabian, not mine.” Simon rolled his eyes, launching into affectionate banter with Fabian again. Carson slumped back in his chair, letting go of them both.

  Love? Did Ian love him? No, no
way was it possible. A crush, maybe. Some affection, definitely. But love? It was too much to hope for, to think that the guy he’d fallen for at age eighteen might love him too. It was just too much.

  “Ian loves me?”

  Simon sighed, shoving a hand into his hair. “Great, Fabian. Now you’ve done it.”

  “Someone had to make a move. Why not me?”

  “Ugh. Listen to yourself. Who do you think you are? Tyrone?”

  Carson didn’t even stick around to hear the rest of their exchange. He was already on his feet, floating back toward the table where he’d left Ian and Sam. Except there were others there now, too. In the interim, Tyrone had joined them, and the four of them were chatting about something or other. A novel, from the sounds of it. A novel. It was so ridiculous, Carson wanted to laugh. Instead he stood behind Ian as quietly as he could, waiting for a lull in their conversation before he cleared his throat and jumped right in.

  “Uh, um, Ian?” He coughed and tried to look cool.

  Ian turned around quickly to face him, face unhelpfully difficult to read. “Carson, hey. I didn’t think you were coming back so I asked—“

  Carson smiled and shook his head. The other guys carried on their discussion without missing a beat. Only Sam seemed to notice that he’d returned. Carson nodded at him, too. “It’s alright. I was just hoping we could talk. Just for a minute. Out in the hallway or something, I don’t know.”

  Ian was on his feet before Carson could explain that it wasn’t a pressing matter or anything, and it would be okay if Ian was busy. But Ian was already reaching for his arm to lead him to someplace a little more private. This was the second time in as many days that Carson had asked him to talk. It was finally sinking in that maybe Ian should shut up and actually do it.

  The man held his breath for a moment as they walked toward the door. A few of their teammates were watching them leave together and Carson couldn’t help but grin with pride. He was still himself, after all. They were a half-second from leaving the dining room when Coach Emerson appeared, smack dab in front of them, clapping his hands together and commanding all eyes on him. He had an important announcement to make.

  Obediently, Ian let go of Carson’s arm and the two of them stood at attention. The rest of the room went silent, too.

  “I’m so pleased to inform you all that Drew has been cleared to attend the game this evening. He’ll be there, just not in a playing capacity.”

  There were some murmurs of surprise and a few stray questions from the gathered crowd.

  “The doctors assured us it was a mild flu with dehydration, but he’s right as rain now. And we’re all so happy he’ll be back with us tonight. Of course, this means there will be some last-minute adjustments, but that’s none of your concern. Your job is to win. Warm up for the tournament, gentlemen. I need you in top shape for next week.” And with those words, the team was dismissed.

  Ian gave Carson an apologetic smile as their teammates began to stream past them and into the hallway. “After the game we’ll talk, okay? Deal?”

  Carson bit his lip and nodded. “Deal.”

  They parted ways then, Carson dragging his feet as he went to join the others. Sam caught up with him a few moments later. He still had a vaguely predatory look in his eyes, like he’d been watching and stalking this situation with Ian from afar. More so than that, though, Sam looked happy. Carson could see the joy in his eyes, hidden behind the aloof way he held himself. There was true happiness there, and Carson was pretty sure he knew exactly why Sam was so happy. “Come on, Carson. Let’s have a good day today.”

  Chapter 26

  A Change

  The morning training sessions went just about as well as could be expected. They were really more focused on strategic plans than form and physical performance, but the guys were loose and ready to play once it came time to board the bus to the stadium for the evening game. Carson was hoping he’d get a chance to talk with Ian on the ride over, but no such luck. Ian had boarded well before he did and as such was seated beside Gordon. He tried to mask his disappointment as he walked past Ian’s row and dropped into the open seat next to Wesley.

  “What’s the matter, Carson?” Wesley asked, pushing his headphones off.

  “Nothing’s the matter. I’m just tired.” Carson answered quickly, eyes fixed on the back of Ian’s head three rows ahead. “Cassius and Adrian were watching TV or something this morning and it was so loud it woke me and Sam up.”

  Wesley shook his head, chuckling a little, “That’s just Cassius for you. Too bad Drew wasn’t around last night. I think his favorite hobby is telling Cassius where to shove it, especially where Sam is involved. Can’t have Sam missing out on his beauty sleep you know.” He laughed again, fondness in his voice.

  Carson stifled a yawn, turning around quickly to see Sam sitting near the back of the bus, absorbed in his texting. For the moment, Carson’s own personal melodrama was forgotten in favor of sorting out whatever was going on between Sam and Drew. It had bugged him for years, trying to figure out if they were or they weren’t. Sometimes he was certain they were lovers, other times he thought it must just be a very tight bromance. And though he’d played beside them for years now, he didn’t get the daily ins and outs of their dynamic the way their teammates did. He turned back quickly to look at Wesley again. “Wes, do you think they’re really like that all the time?”

  “Who? Drew and Sam?”

  Carson nodded.

  Wesley’s face lit up conspiratorially and he leaned in close, just in case anyone was listening in. “They’re worse, I think. Not to rag on them, because they’re my friends, but they can be a little…”

  “Clingy?” Carson offered. “Completely up in each other’s business?”

  “I was going to say co-dependent but that works too.”

  Co-dependent? That was a new one. And it was a negative one. He wasn’t sure he liked or agreed with that assessment of Sam and Drew’s relationship, but he was willing to hear Wesley out at least. Carson raised his eyebrows, signaling for Wesley to continue.

  “I don’t mean that in a clinical way,” Wesley clarified. “I mean like they feed off each other, encourage each other.”

  “We all encourage each other.” Carson felt it was important to point that out. They were all teammates. They all cared for one another and wanted to see everyone else succeed. That trait was not unique to Sam and Drew.

  Wesley shook his head. “Yeah but they do it on a whole other level. The way they move together, it’s like they operate by instinct. It’s like they’ve got some sort of weird psychic bond which no one else can see or understand. I sure as hell don’t understand it and it’s right in front of my face all the time. Tell me you know what I mean, Carson.”

  “I know what you mean,” he answered. And he did. And he was suddenly quite jealous. How wonderful that must be, to feel so in tune with someone else that you didn’t have to even look for them, you already knew they’d be right where you needed them. Drew and Sam were so lucky to have found someone on their exact wave length, someone to drive them to be stronger, tougher, faster, more complete. No wonder Sam was so concerned over Drew. He must’ve felt so lost on the field without him, even during training. Carson wished he could find someone like that. Then he realized, as he’d been pouting over Sam and Drew and their mysterious connection, that Ian had turned around in his seat and was looking back at him. His heart skipped a beat and he gave Ian a huge grin. Ian returned it, their eyes locking for several seconds before Wesley poked his arm and he turned back around. Carson averted his gaze then too, looking quickly back at Wesley, slightly pink in the cheeks.

  If Wesley noticed that little exchange, he was polite enough not to rub it in Carson’s face. Instead, he sounded almost wistful as he fiddled with his headphones. “It must be really nice knowing that someone’s got your back like that. It’s not like we’re not all friends, you know, but there’s no breaking into that. There’s no splitting those two up.
And I’d hate to be the idiot who tried it.”

  Carson nodded. Whoever tried to come between Drew and Sam was a fool indeed. “Yeah, you’re right. They belong together. Those guys are like peas in a pod.”

  “Or sprinkles on a donut.” The other man laughed, putting on his headphones as he settled against the window to tune out the world.

  Yeah. Carson thought dreamily as he stared at Ian’s profile up ahead. Like sprinkles on a donut.

  * * *

  There was no mistaking Sam’s elation when he disembarked from the bus and found himself face to face with Drew. Sam’s entire demeanor brightened as he pushed past the others and trotted up to Drew, pausing shyly before him as he slung a carefree arm over Sam’s shoulder. The other teammates clamored around Drew too, offering greetings and thanks for his speedy recovery.

  “It was just little flu and dehydration,” he said confidently, falling in with the rest of the group as they headed for the locker room. “I told them all I needed were some electrolytes and I’d be fine. I’d have been out of there last night if they’d just listened to me the first time.”

  “Good,” Ryan said, speaking for the group. “Because we’re counting on you. It’s the last match before the cup—”

  “No need to remind us,” Carson called out, groaning emphatically.

  “And we need you in top form, Drew.” Ryan summarized. Several of the other men grunted in agreement. Drew smirked.

  “We all need to be in top form,” Ian corrected him. “Think of this match as a dress rehearsal for next week. Now let’s get dressed. Come on, guys.”

  The men whooped and cheered and set about dressing for the game. Sam stuck close to Drew’s side as they changed.

  “You called it,” Sam said softly, glancing at Drew sideways as he adjusted his laces. “I knew you’d play tonight.”