False Start (Eastshore Tigers Book 2)

by Alison Hendricks

  He wants to know whether or not he’s straight, but I’m just sitting on this precipice of wanting to know whether or not he’s going to act.

  “You think… if I did a little more than kissing, I’d be able to get a better idea?”

  Oh, God. Kill me now.

  “I… think there’s a chance,” I croak out. “If that’s something you want to do. Not that kissing isn’t a good warm-up.”

  A good warm-up? Seriously? If my body wasn’t so on edge, I’d probably try to open up a hole in the earth and crawl into it right now. As it stands, I don’t think I can even move.

  It doesn’t take much movement for Dante to get closer to me, but it feels like an eternity as I wait for his lips to come down on mine.

  When they do, that tension unfurls, flinging a surge of lust through my body like an arrow loosed from a bow. His kiss is tentative, slow, and not anything like the roughness he described.

  I wait for him to take it further. I wait for him to touch me, and when his fingers grip into my hair and he pulls me closer to suddenly deepen the kiss, I can’t contain myself anymore. I kiss back with a fire I didn’t even know existed in me. I moan wantonly against his lips, and when his tongue savages my mouth, I practically beg him for more.

  His thigh wasn’t even touching mine before, but now I can feel part of his weight against me. He’s not on my lap, just leaning on my leg, and the shot of pain from that mixes with the pleasure of his kiss.

  But kissing wasn’t all he wanted to do, and in that moment I start to take the lead, figuring it will be easier for him that way.

  And selfishly wanting to touch him. Really touch him.

  I start at his chest, my hands moving over the hard planes of muscle. I’ve seen him shirtless before. I know what his firm pecs look like, what those sculpted abs look like. But feeling them now—even through his shirt—is a whole different experience. My fingers seek out the sharp grooves, and I can’t help myself once I get to the hem of his shirt. I slide my hands underneath it, and feel his body without any barrier.

  He doesn’t stop me. In fact, his hands go to my back, and he starts to explore, too. His hands on me are distracting, but when my fingers stroke over the soft hair that leads from his navel to the waistband of his pants, my goal is suddenly brought back into focus.

  I have a moment of doubt as I move lower, wondering if maybe this is going too far. Having another guy touch your dick is pretty much the definition of not-straight conduct.

  I move slowly, hoping he’ll stop me if he’s uncomfortable. He does stop kissing me—which pains something deep inside of me—but it’s to gulp down some air. And to watch me, his gaze intense as he does.

  I lick my lips, my throat unbelievably dry. Dante doesn’t discourage me as I trace the seam of his pants. In fact, he leans back and spreads his legs a little so I have more room.

  I don’t go straight for his fly. Instead, I slide my hand over the prominent bulge in his pants. I felt him the first time we kissed, when he ground against me. But this is a different experience, and I shiver with anticipation.

  Dante’s eyes are half-lidded, his lips slightly parted. I take the initiative and kiss him this time, but he takes his own kind of initiative, reaching for the buttons of my pants. They open easily, and my zipper follows. He doesn’t hesitate. His large hand reaches into my briefs and he grips me, warm palm against scalding flesh.

  I groan, the kiss derailing as my brain grinds to a halt. He strokes me, and while there isn’t anything especially smooth or practiced about it, the fact that it’s him makes my body start to tense already.

  “Stand up,” I rasp out.

  I get to my feet as he does, partially because I need a reprieve before I just can’t last anymore, and partially because it’s easier for us to explore each other this way.

  I pull my shirt up and over my head and Dante ditches his, too. When I get rid of my pants, my actions are more tentative. But he responds in kind, and I lose my briefs, too, standing naked in front of him.

  His hot gaze roves over my body, and my breath staggers under his scrutiny. My cock is rock hard and aching for attention, but the rest of me wants to see him strip down, too.

  He obliges after a few moments, seeming none too shy about shedding the last of his clothing. And as I take in the sight of him, one thought is emblazoned across my mind: He’s breathtakingly beautiful. The raw power in every inch of him renders me completely speechless and overwhelms me with longing.

  He seems to break the same moment I do. He pulls me to him, taking my lips in another searing kiss. I can feel his scalding hot shaft against my stomach, and my hips act of their own accord, shifting and pumping to try and rub my cock against his.

  It’s clumsy and frantic, but every time smooth skin glides over smooth skin, we both moan and the kiss becomes stuttered, then all the more intense.

  When I can’t take it anymore, I reach between us and grip his cock, jacking him with long, sure strokes. I can feel his breathing change, and eventually he can’t focus on the kiss anymore. Instead, he just looks into my eyes with this hazy, lust-addled expression that makes me want to drop to my knees before him.

  I pray this won’t be our last encounter, though, and instead decide instead to satisfy us both at once. His cock is thicker than mine, and it takes an effort for me to grab us both and coordinate my strokes, but when I manage, it’s pure bliss.

  He groans, surrendering to me for a time before it becomes obvious he wants to learn. His hand hovers near mine, and I give him the reins, letting my head fall back when he takes my place.

  He’s a quick study, eventually involving his hips until his hand doesn’t really need to move anymore. He just keeps it there to make sure we stay aligned while we practically rut against each other, skin to skin.

  I’m breathless, panting with each thrust of my hips, and as amazing as it feels, what pushes me over the edge is locking my eyes with his, seeing the unbridled desire concentrated into an inferno of want.

  It doesn’t take me long to reach the precipice. I go before he does, my cock jerking, my body wresting all control from me. But he follows soon after, and his groan pulses through me, reverberating deep into my soul.

  When it’s over, we stand body to body, chests rising and falling as we try to catch our breaths. My legs feel shaky, and despite being able to tolerate rigorous two-a-days and a packed schedule, this renders me almost unable to stand.

  Full-body exhaustion overtakes me, but I venture a glance at Dante. The corner of his lips quirk upward, and I want to kiss that spot right where his expression changes into a grin.

  “Guess that answers that,” he says.

  I laugh, and I can hear the relief in my own voice. But as we part and gather up our clothes, I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind right now.

  He enjoyed himself, that much is obvious. And he enjoyed himself with me, specifically. But even if he wants to continue this—whatever this is now—is it just to scratch an itch? A way to experiment while he has the option available?

  I’m young enough that I know I have plenty of time ahead of me to find the right guy. But I can’t help thinking I might have already found him. I should set boundaries right now; tell him exactly what I’m thinking and feeling. But I can’t bring myself to do it.

  I want Dante however I can get him, and if that spells certain disaster, at least I know I’ll have a few good memories to hang onto in the meantime.

  19

  Mitch

  I’m almost hesitant to believe how well things are going.

  The Tigers are having one of their best seasons to date. We’ve only lost one game so far—yet again to Auburn, which seems to be par for the course around here—and we’re tied with UF as the leader in the division. Analysts apparently favor us to pull ahead and secure a bowl spot, if not the national title.

  For this to happen in my freshman season is just insane. I’ve been working my ass off for the past few weeks, and
my schedule is pretty much jam-packed with practice, classes, workouts, and maybe—if I’m lucky—a little time with the guys at The Top.

  If I’m extremely lucky, though, I get some time with Dante, too. Alone time.

  Since our… mutual exploration, we’ve made the most of the time we have without interruptions. Usually that’s only an hour or so, and it’s time we have to beg and barter for, but for right now, it’s enough.

  Things usually ramp up pretty fast. I’ve started to memorize every beautiful line of Dante’s body, etching them into my dreams at night. And I’ll admit I don’t mind at all that Dante seems to have a voracious appetite. I discovered that firsthand when he decided he wanted to learn what it felt like to blow another guy.

  He’d been surprisingly good at it for a first-timer. Competitive man that he is, though, he compared his own performance with mine afterward and took a few mental notes for improvement.

  It hasn’t all been sex, though. Some nights we’re both so exhausted that we can barely move. We just hang out on the couch—usually mine, since privacy is guaranteed—and watch a game or break out the PS4.

  Just being with him, getting to see him smile and hear him laugh is having an effect on me. Probably more of an effect than it should.

  And so far, I haven’t worked up the courage to ask if he feels the same.

  Fortunately, Coach has kept us busy enough that I’m not given a lot of time to think about it. Tonight—close to ten in the evening, when the rest of our college town is out partying—we’re doing circuits at the gym. It’s pretty much an Eastshore takeover, with our starters and reserves occupying the weights and cardio machines.

  As a defensive player, it’s especially crucial for me. Too much cardio and I start losing muscle mass, and that just isn’t going to fly. So I spend a lot of time lifting, working the leg press and toning my arms and core.

  Whenever I need a spotter, I turn to Dante. We’ve become gym buddies by this point, and a part of me wonders if the rest of the team has noticed.

  “Come on. I could lift more than that when I was in middle school.”

  He stands above me in a wide stance, ready to grab the barbell in case my arms give out on me. The taunt—and that’s definitely what it is—comes with a grin, and I know it’s well-meant. I’m learning more and more each day that this is just who Dante is, and considering my goals, it’s who I have to be, too.

  “I don’t see you down here lifting,” I manage as I push the heavy weight back up to the top with a grunt.

  “That’s because your ass has been hogging it the whole night.”

  “Not true,” I say, and count another rep in my head. “Besides, I’d share if you asked.”

  Dante smirks at that. He crosses his arms over his chest. Like a lot of us, he isn’t wearing sleeves. But the other guys’ bare arms don’t make my heart pound out a staccato rhythm.

  Jesus. I’m liable to have a cardiac episode at this rate.

  “What, share the bench? Am I supposed to try and squeeze on there beside you, or just straddle you?”

  The tips of my ears burn, and my arms falter as my attention wanders. My gaze darts to the machines near us, desperate to see if anyone else heard him. No one’s looking at us, but when I lift my gaze back to Dante’s, there’s a heat in his eyes that’s hard to mistake.

  “Keep that up and I’m going to do even worse,” I say, summoning all my strength to do another solid rep.

  He just laughs, either oblivious to my plight, or enjoying my suffering. I’m guessing the latter.

  I finish up on the machine and we switch. Dante makes a crude joke about having seen somebody lift weights with his dick. The other guys hear it, and while it’s pretty tame for locker room standards, to me it takes on a different meaning.

  Because watching him is already making me hard, and if he doesn’t stop deliberately trying to get under my skin, I might just be able to give that hypothetical someone a run for their money.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but when we reach the mat, he’s closer to me than a spotter really should be. Anyone who isn’t looking for it probably wouldn’t notice, but when I raise up from my sit-ups, he’s right there. The temptation to kiss him is high, and that spark of desire just continues to burn in his eyes.

  “You’re killing me,” I say breathlessly.

  And not completely because of the workout.

  “Just giving you some motivation,” he shoots back, cracking a boyish grin.

  And if desire is setting my body aflame, that gesture melts my heart. He looks young when he smiles like that; like he doesn’t have the pressure of football and family and everything else on his shoulders. Like we could really just be two guys…

  Doing what, exactly?

  Neither of us have labeled it, but I’m starting to itch to do just that. Privately, anyway. I’m not keen on going public with it. I haven’t had as bad an experience as some—and I think my size makes a lot of people think twice before running their mouths around me—but being out around friends and family hasn’t done me any favors so far.

  For the most part, I focus on my reps and on Dante. More specifically I focus on what I hope I’ll have enough energy to do to him later. But the longer we’re partnered up, the more I notice glances coming our way. They’re few and far between at first, but eventually they begin to pile in from one guy in particular.

  Anderson.

  He’s a freshman like me, but that’s where the resemblance stops. His attitude is terrible, he’s barely making grades in his classes, and he always has shit to say about everyone.

  Apparently, Dante and I are next up on his list.

  “Can you believe this?” he asks the guy he’s spotting.

  There’s a grunt in response, and I try to ignore Anderson. But he speaks loud enough that his voice carries over to me.

  “Bad enough we’re known as the fuckin’ Rainbow Tigers. Now we gotta watch guys go at it in the gym, too?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

  The guy he’s spotting for—Branson—is also a freshman. Apparently that grunt wasn’t a grunt of agreement. As he replaces the barbell, he seems absolutely oblivious. But Anderson’s eyes are boring into mine. He knows damn well I can hear him.

  “These two over here. Hey,” he says, his voice rising even more. He gets the attention of almost everyone nearby, too. “You wanna feel each other up, why don’t you go out back and do it instead?”

  Dante tenses.

  “Don’t,” I tell him quietly, but he’s already sitting up.

  He doesn’t make any effort to move away from me, so we’re awkwardly sitting almost face to face, with Dante’s knees between us.

  “You got a problem, Anderson?”

  “Nah, man. It’ll be great to have every TV station in the country focus on you two instead of the rest of us when we win the bowl.”

  “Shit, you may be onto something,” Dante says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why am I even here working my ass off? I can just coast as a ‘Rainbow’ Tiger, right?”

  He shrugs. “You said it, not me. You could probably make it a little less obvious that you two are fucking, though.”

  I swallow hard, and that flush spreads to the rest of my face. It feels like everyone’s eyes are suddenly on us.

  I’m waiting for Dante to jump all over this guy; to tell him he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. But he just leans back casually, and there’s barely any tension in his body.

  “So what if we are? Are you jealous or something? ‘Cause you’re not really my type.”

  I’m not normally one to just stand by and not speak up for myself, but right now I’m just staring at Dante. Did he really just… admit he and I are a thing? No, that can’t be what he did. He must assume Anderson will read it as the same ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude he showed earlier.

  “You guys sucking off the Coach, too? That how you’re getting to start while the rest of
us ride the bench?”

  That’s what gets Dante to his feet.

  “Knock it off, Anderson,” someone says before Dante can even approach him.

  Trent comes up and stands beside Dante. Several other guys do the same thing, crowding around us. Here for the spectacle, maybe? They aren’t leering at Dante and I, though. Most of them are staring down Anderson.

  “What the fuck is this? The homo squad?”

  “I’m gonna say this once, Anderson. I don’t give a shit what these guys are doing off the field.”

  “They—”

  “I trust Mills, and I trust Erickson.” He glances at us both in turn. “If they’re hooking up, more power to ‘em. I’ll be the first to give a wedding toast.”

  Jesus Christ. My whole face feels like it’s on fire.

  But… this is so far from what I expected. No one’s laughing. No one’s sneering at us, aside from Anderson. Right now it’s about ten against one.

  Our teammates are backing us up.

  “If our school ends up getting a rep for having gay guys on the team, then we’re doing something right. They can paint the whole field in rainbow colors for all I care. Rather have that than appeal to trash like you.”

  The other guys voice their agreement, and my chest constricts. My heart thumps almost painfully beneath my breast.

  This… isn’t what I expected at all.

  “If you want, I’ll be happy to tell Coach you’re the reason everybody lost gym time. Or you can keep your mouth shut and worry about your own shit.”

  I can see a muscle in Anderson’s jaw working. His fist is clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.

  But after a long moment, he just nods. It’s not a respectful nod, by any means. But he does back down, and the other guys wander back to their machines.

  “Thanks, man, but you didn’t have to do that,” Dante says, clapping Trent on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, I did. Plenty of other schools he can play at. If anybody starts that shit here, they need to know it’s getting shut down quick.”