Unnecessary Roughness (ESC Mavericks Book 2)

by Alison Hendricks

  I keep telling myself if he's going to avoid me, I can avoid him, too. Except I can't. Nate has this presence about him that's hard to ignore. He's got a perfect white smile that could melt anybody's heart, enough charm to worm his way out of even the most serious trouble, and boundless energy and enthusiasm for the game.

  Seeing him sometimes in practice, I forget for a second that we're apparently mortal enemies. Then he catches me watching him and the look he gives me makes all that anger surge forward. It's like he thinks I don't even deserve to be on the same field as him, and that's a story I've been hearing since the day I started playing football.

  Brody tells me to keep my head down, that Nate will come around eventually. But he doesn't know what all went down, and I'm not in a hurry to have even more guys on the team see me as the villain because of a stupid thing I did when I was a dumb, confused kid.

  I guess the one good thing about it is Nate and I don't get in any fistfights for the rest of the week. That's something, right? Every play we're both in still feels like a pissing contest, and when he gets one over on me he makes sure I know it. But the fact that we both care a little more about football than being at each other's throats is progress, I guess.

  On Friday, after a long day of practice and class, I just want to drag my ass to my dorm room and sleep. The Mavs run me harder than the Panthers ever did, probably because they know I might actually see some playtime. But before I can make it off campus, my phone buzzes with a text from Reggie.

  Reggie: yo wru?

  Owen: Science building. Why?

  Reggie: me and some of the boys are doing a madden tournament

  Reggie: u in?

  My desire to sleep all weekend wars with my desire to hang out with the few guys on the team who actually seem to like me. Reggie's been good to me, taking me under his wing and introducing me to his crew. And it's honestly that more than my desire to hang that gets me to text him back that I'm in.

  I head over to the dorm he shares with Jordan where I'm immediately greeted by a rowdy as fuck group of guys all crowded around a single Xbox.

  There's music and beer and a lot of shit talking, and for a few hours I forget about the aches in my muscles or the pain in the ass that's waiting for me back in my own dorm. Reggie treats me like one of his own, and I show off some pretty impressive Madden skills once the controller heads my way.

  Jordan and I go head to head in the semi-finals and, while it's a hell of a game, he gets the drop on me with better play-calling. I cheer him on in the "championship" while he cleans house, soundly trouncing Reggie.

  While everybody's celebrating, I glance at my phone. It's almost midnight, and my basic ass really needs to get to bed. I've got a Saturday class first thing in the morning, with a test our professor's telling us we can't make up if we come in even a few minutes late.

  I should probably finish reading the book that test is on. Might help.

  "Hey man, I gotta cut out," I call to Reggie over the din of the other guys, "but thanks for the invite."

  "No problem. It sucks being new, especially when you've got baggage."

  The way he says it makes me think he experienced something similar. He seems pretty well-liked now though, and it gives me a little hope that maybe I can get over this thing with Nate.

  I'm in a pretty good mood by the time I make it to our building. If he tries to start shit, I've already decided I'm not going to rise to the bait. Kill him with kindness, or something like that.

  He's probably not even here, and that's why I don't think much about just walking right in. I set my bag down beside my bed and start searching for a change of clothes to bring with me to the shower before I realize I'm not alone.

  There's a partition between our beds--something Nate bought so he didn't have to see me, I'm guessing--but it's absolute shit at blocking out noise. I can hear masculine grunting and panting, the slap of skin on skin, and instantly I freeze.

  Holy shit. Is he here with somebody?

  Every cell in my body reacts to those sounds as they continue, and I feel a mix of embarrassment and... excitement. The exact same mix of feelings I was overwhelmed by when I caught Nate sucking off some rando in a pickup truck.

  I know I should just leave. It's not right to stand here and listen like a perv, and it's definitely not right to walk toward the edge of the partition. But that's exactly what I'm doing, my feet seeming to move on their own, bringing me closer and closer to seeing something I shouldn't.

  I'm too far gone to stop myself, taking the last couple of steps needed to clear the partition before I'm greeted by a sight I'm not sure I'll ever get out of my head.

  Nate on his hands and knees on the bed, his whole body lurching forward as he's absolutely reamed by some guy I’ve never seen before. Nate's caught up in the moment, his hair a wild tangle of curls, the muscles in his thighs and his ass flexing as he rams back to meet the guy. My gaze roves over his body, greedy as fuck before landing on his dick—rock hard and probably aching for release.

  "Holy shit," I breathe, not even thinking about the fact that either or both of them could hear me.

  The random is the first one to take notice. He whips his head to the side and his eyes widen as he spots me. Immediately his hand goes to Nate's thigh, smacking him insistently.

  "Nate," he hisses.

  "You're a greedy little bitch, aren't you?" Nate growls out in a voice that sends a shot of heat straight to my balls. "You want more?"

  Holy fuck.

  "Your fucking roommate's watching," the guy manages, and that stops Nate cold.

  He turns his head to see me, still impaled on the guy’s dick. There's murder in his eyes, but also a hint of something else. Something that only grows as his gaze flicks down my body. Heat flushes through me as I realize I'm tenting my shorts with one hell of a boner.

  "Get the fuck out of here, Collins!"

  His voice is thick, anger mixed with the lust of the moment, but the force of it finally breaks me out of my stasis. I flee the room like I don’t have a right to be there, and then just start walking.

  What the hell is he thinking, bringing somebody back to the tiny space we share? It's not like we've got separate bedrooms, and he had to have known I'd be back eventually.

  Did he mean for me to see that? The thought hits me like a three hundred pound linebacker and I can't get it out of my head. There's no way. As far as Nate knows, I'm just some homophobic asshole who outed him for a leg up during our senior year.

  He doesn't know I spent that whole night fighting with my rock hard dick, trying to get it to fuck off but taking the train straight to boner town whenever I played back the image in my mind. He doesn't know I ended up giving in and jacking it, imagining his pretty lips were wrapped around my cock instead of whatever lucky bastard was in that truck. He doesn't know it was the first time I'd ever thought about another guy that way, and it shook my world to the foundation.

  He's not going to know, either.

  I march my ass to the showers, not caring that I haven't brought anything besides myself. Quickly stripping off my clothes and ignoring my still-hard dick, I turn the faucet all the way to the right and damn near jump out of my skin as freezing cold water hits me right in the chest.

  It has the intended effect, though. My balls pull close to my body and my boner shrinks almost instantly. I stand there under the water, letting it cool down my overheated skin to the point where my teeth are almost chattering before I turn it to a more reasonable temperature for a final rinse.

  Asshole dick dealt with, I swipe a towel God knows how many other guys have touched and dry myself off, pulling on my clothes as quickly as I can.

  When I leave the bathroom, I catch sight of the guy who was dicking Nate down. A burst of jealousy flares in me and I shove it down, instantly pissed at myself for even having that reaction.

  Why should I care who Nate fucks? So long as he isn't doing it while I'm there, it's none of my business.

  I ho
ld on tight to that indignation, knowing it's the only thing that's going to get me through this conversation. Because unlike Nate, I'm not content to just avoid the elephant in the room. I apparently have to walk up to it and do everything in my power to piss it off.

  7

  Nate

  Of all the people to walk in on me getting pounded by some random jock, of course it had to be Collins.

  Not like I didn't know it was a possibility, since I have to share this room with him. Maybe some fucked up part of me wanted him to see, but I expected him to behave the way any insecure straight boy would when confronted with two dudes banging. I thought he'd turn tail and get the hell out of there, then give me shit about how he's "not homophobic, but..." while telling me I need to keep my private business private.

  I never expected him to just stand there and stare at me with his dick standing at attention.

  After Dustin leaves--I think that was his name, anyway--I sit on the edge of my bed with blue balls and spinning thoughts. I don't know what it's like to be a straight guy. I tried in middle school and high school, but I was absolute trash at it. There's no way somebody who's totally straight would pop a boner while watching a guy they hate get pounded by another dude, right?

  The only explanation is that Owen Collins isn't as straight as I thought he was, and that opens up a whole bunch of bullshit I don't really feel like dealing with right now. Not when I've got a more obvious conflict brewing when Collins gets back from wherever the hell he went.

  That unspoken question is answered when he knocks on the door--something he sure as hell didn't bother to do earlier--and calls to me through it.

  "You still fucking some rando, or can I come in?"

  Jesus, why does he have to be such a prick? I know I'm not some paragon of mature behavior when it comes to Collins, but he makes it really easy to tear into his ass.

  "Sorry, peep show's over," I call back. "Guess you'll have to jack it to porn like everybody else."

  The door opens and I'm met with Collins’ fierce glare. I've never really been intimidated by other football players, but having a two hundred and forty pound guy staring me down like that is liable to make me squirm.

  Well, that and the fact that my over-sexed brain is imagining him looking at me like that under different circumstances. Like when my dick's halfway down his throat, or when he's nailing me so hard the damn walls shake.

  Fuck. I should've gotten myself off after Dustin left, because now I'm horny as hell and the only outlet for that energy is a guy who probably doesn't even know he's in the closet.

  "You keep telling yourself that." Collins’ weak-ass comeback just makes me snort.

  "So that wood you were sporting was just some weird coincidence, huh?"

  He flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. It's kind of adorable, and just one more thing for me to hate about the guy.

  "Screw you, Vincent. If you think I wanna watch you being dicked out, you're delusional."

  The fact that he couldn't take his eyes off me earlier says otherwise, and I can't help it. I have to push. This seems like the one thing that gets to Collins more than anything else, and I'd be crazy not to exploit it.

  "You talk a big game for a guy who couldn't stop staring at my dick."

  I adjust myself just to fuck with him, and when his gaze flicks to my crotch I smirk.

  "Wow. You know, I've never met a more self-absorbed asshole. Bra-fucking-vo, Vincent."

  That shit gets my red up. The condescending tone, the little golf clap he does. I know he's just deflecting, but I still take the bait.

  "Hey, I can't help it if I know how to use what the good lord gave me," I toss back at him.

  "Doesn't mean you need to flaunt it. I don't wanna see that shit." He gestures to my crotch with a look of derision that makes me want to punch him in the face.

  "So knock, asshole. It's rude as fuck to just walk in on somebody."

  "It's my room, too! I shouldn't have to knock."

  The rational side of me knows he's got a point. My last roommate and I used the whiteboard to let each other know when we were hooking up. Before that, it was the tried and true sock on the doorknob.

  I could've been considerate and given Collins a heads up, but he probably would've ignored it anyway.

  "Yeah well I'm sorry if my gay ass offended your 'straight' sensibilities," I say, making sure to use air quotes.

  His nostrils flare and he breathes in through his nose. "Don't pull that shit on me. It's not about that and you know it."

  "Oh yeah? What was it about when you told all your little buddies I like to suck dick?"

  This is so not a discussion I want to have right now, but I can't seem to stop myself. It's almost comical that Collins is dead set on avoiding the subject. He's accidentally acting like the adult both of us need to be.

  "How would you feel if you walked in on me fucking some random girl?"

  The image hits me like a freight train. Collins behind somebody, one of his hands wrapped in long hair and the other holding onto the headboard as his hips pump furiously, his dick pistoning in and out.

  God damn. I'm getting hard just thinking about it.

  "Guarantee I wouldn't flip out about it like a little bitch," I snarl, being as much of a dick as I can to hide the fact that I probably wouldn't mind watching him fuck somebody.

  Especially if that somebody was me.

  "Jesus Christ." He rakes a hand through his damp, wavy hair. "You know what, man? I'm not doing this tonight."

  Something in me deflates, like I'm a damn retriever and somebody's just thrown my favorite ball over the fence. Having it out with Collins has apparently become my new past-time; the way I release all of that pent up energy when I don't have a ball to run or a dick to suck.

  But I don't try to get him to stay. As he grabs his bag, I call after him, "Wish you would've decided that earlier. Maybe I could've actually nutted."

  Collins' brows drop low over his eyes and his pretty lips pull into a scowl before he slams the door so hard it rattles the walls of our dorm room. And the first thing I think about is what that kind of strength would feel like if it was used on me.

  I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me but I need to get a grip, and soon.

  Life goes on, and Collins and I don't have any little cat fights outside of our normal posturing. I can feel it brewing though, bubbling away just under the surface, and I know all it'll take is some small, stupid thing to set us both off.

  It comes predictably enough when we're scrimmaging. I wish I could say I've got my head in the game, but my brain's been a mix of filthy images and anger at even thinking of that shit since Friday.

  I catch a beautiful, tight spiral about twenty yards deep, but because I can't focus for shit, I don't even see the guy rushing me until it's too late. I'm thrown to the ground by the force of a bulldozer, and when I look up I see Collins' piercing green eyes staring down at me.

  He offers me a hand up, and I take it. But only so I can pull him close once I'm on my feet. "If you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask."

  His eyes flash, and I know the heat I see there isn't just his hatred of me. I can feel it deep in my bones and especially in my stiffening cock.

  He looks like he wants to deck me, but I follow his glance to the sidelines and see the defensive coordinator watching us. Collins backs down, jogging off to the line of scrimmage, and for the second time in a week, it feels like I've got a serious case of blue balls.

  Later that night, Collins comes into our dorm room looking for a fight.

  He knocks on the door and after hearing my snide comment of "my dick's in my pants, dude," he barges in with a hard glare focused right on me. Whatever he's worked up about, it's apparently been brewing for a while. I set aside the textbook I had open on my chest and spring up from the bed, adrenaline pumping.

  There aren't any coaches here. Whatever happens isn't going to get broken up, and after all this time containing mys
elf, I'm ready for it.

  "You can't pull shit like that on the field," he starts, shutting the door behind him.

  "Shit like what?"

  Yeah, I know exactly what he's talking about. But the fun is in forcing him to say it; watching him squirm as he does.

  "Like saying I want to get you on your back, or acting like you're going to grab my dick when we're on the ground."

  I scoff, blowing him off. "I do that shit to everybody. That's just the way guys talk to each other. The only reason you're pissy about it is because I'm gay."

  As much as I like tweaking Collins, there's a lot behind my words this time. It's something I've had to deal with since high school, and back then I didn't know how to handle my teammates looking at me like I was going to start humping them like a crazed dog at any minute.

  But since that's the image they had of me, that's what I projected in college. It's made it real easy to tell who the pricks are.

  "Stop trying to make me out to be some homophobic asshole," Collins growls, crossing the room to get in my face.

  "Hey, if the cleat fits, man."

  Not like it's any surprise the biggest homophobes are closeted as fuck. Politicians, athletes, actors. The higher the stakes, the louder they protest.

  "It just makes me uncomfortable, and I know you're doing it to fuck with me."

  Well, yeah. That's the whole point. I just smirk and stand tall, lifting my chin up so I can stare right into his eyes.

  "Is your masculinity really that fragile, dude?"

  Big, bruising hands grip my shoulders, and before I know it I'm being shoved back against the wall.

  "Nothing about me is fragile," he grates out.

  His eyes darken and his pupils dilate. I lick my lips and catch his gaze flicking downward. Seems a safe bet he's as turned on right now as I am.

  "Whatever you say," I drawl. "All I know is I've turned 'straight' boys who weren't anywhere near as try-hard as you."