19,29,39: M/M Football Romance

by J. M. Lee

  Contents

  Copyright

  19

  TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

  Best Left Unsaid

  Locker Room Crush

  Slasher Flick

  29

  CA$H Rules

  Waited So Long

  Say My Name

  Synesthesia

  39

  Ten Years Gone

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The events, characters and firms depicted in this ebook are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual firms, is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  19

  TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

  The sound of Coach’s whistle echoed through the stadium the college players were practicing on. Weighed down by their gear and soaked in sweat, they tiredly jogged towards the middle of the green field, doing their best to look unfazed despite the heat and vigorous exercises their practice had so far brought them.

  Coach Jenkins, pot-bellied and frustrated, crossed his arms to rest on his middle. He stared at his boys for a minute, sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, squinted. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, what the hell are we doing? What the hell are we doing? Clemson comes tomorrow and you’re telling me— no, showing me— that this is the best you’ve got for me today? If this is it, you all should just go on home and forfeit. What is this bull I’m seeing? John!” Coach yelled, not bothering to say the full part of the surname. He turned to his wide receiver, his main captain because Mark said Coach thought the quarterback was a sissy and liked Cassius’s attitude much better.

  “Yes, Sir?” Cassius said, voice strong and unfaltering. His eyebrows were raised like he was smiling or nearly amused. His charcoal black, curly hair pressed into his head and let sweat trickle down his neck and all the way down to his back, over the eagle tattoo he felt kindred to even when he couldn’t see it, the forty five.

  “John, what are we doing?”

  “Sir?”

  “What’re we doing wrong?”

  Cassius cleared his throat. “I believe we’re guarding from the corners when we should be covering at least one of the posts…it’s hurting us in the penalty zone.”

  Coach Jenkins smiled. “Really? Is that so, boys? I mean, me, a coach, never even thought about that,” he said, deadpan. His smile reminded Joaquin of Tommy DeVito from Joaquin’s favorite scene in Goodfellas. “I just wanted to get your opinions on things.”

  Silence.

  “What should we do to fix it, Gaston?” The coach turned to Joaquin now.

  Joaquin with his skin as dark and sacred as the earth on African coasts and brown eyes grinned. It was the sweet, earnest kind of grin that he hoped coach took as a reverence. His locs rested in perfection, pulled away from his face. He held one hand on his hip and the other dangling with his helmet. “Well, Coach. I definitely agree with St. John. I say we… Fix that. Yeah. We should fix it.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe that back press we practiced the other day with multiple coverages. We spread out to make sure every post is covered. Play hard.”

  Coach smiled. “My boys!” he exclaimed. He turned to the rest of the team. “You heard ‘em gentlemen! Get in your PROPER positions, please. Let’s see if we can make some magic this time.” He blew his whistle once again.

  Cassius and Joaquin got in their places. Joaquin was a few yards ahead of Cassius and to the side. They glanced at each other, smiled slyly. A fellow teammate muttered teacher’s pets and made kissing noises before laughing.

  Joaquin smiled, but Cassius’s grin went stale, and though his cheeks don’t go a shade darker, he could feel them warming, not from the sun but from embarrassment. He straightened himself, focused on the scrimmage at hand.

  Joaquin brushed it off. Tried to, at least. It was hard not to care, to not be insulted by the gesture. He wasn’t even sure if the idea of Cassius being gay in the first place or if it’s he himself that caused this, but he turned to the play about to start as well. In another lifetime, he thought.

  Practice was a blur after that, both men lost in their thoughts. The play was fixed, though. Everything was going smoothly. The coach was happy. The assistant coaches were happy. The field was bright again.

  Cassius and Joaquin somehow found themselves side by side as everyone headed to the locker room to shower and rest before the game that night. Joaquin couldn’t even enjoy the usual locker-room roasting session with his friend. He wanted to ask about what that was back there, what Cassius meant when he stopped smiling, why he couldn’t take a joke for the sake of Joaquin’s self esteem. He stayed quiet instead.

  “What. A. Day.” Cassius sighed. He heaved a leg onto a bench to untie his cleats. “You ready for the game tonight, Wah?”

  “Yeah,” Joaquin responded absentmindedly. He sat on the bench beside Cassius. Today, for some reason, he was super careful not to let his leg touch his friend’s.

  “You seem a bit tired, too.”

  Joaquin ran a finger through his hair, where his locs parted into neat braids. He’d have to see if he could sweet talk Ahmad into washing and twisting them for him, later. “I guess, man.” He sighed. “We’re only as young as the minute.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I gotta go print out a paper. Should shower first, though. See you later?” Staring straight ahead, Joaquin felt Cassius’ eyes on him, but he didn’t dare meet them. He got up from the bench without waiting for a response.

  Best Left Unsaid

  Ahmad was a nice guy, Joaquin thought, not for the first or even tenth time that night.

  He was so funny and confident, and his warm amber eyes found some way to hypnotize Joaquin whenever they turned to him. He took Joaquin to lunch at this restaurant which boasted butter-cured aged steaks and artisan kale quinoa salads, whatever those were. Filled with staff who didn’t respond to a suck of their teeth to your order, it was exactly the type of pretentious eatery place his pops avoided. He didn’t dare tell trust fund baby Ahmad any of this.

  They sat in the middle of a smaller, more intimate dining room. They were the only diners there at the moment. It was an odd hour. “So,” Joaquin began. “Tell me how your day went.” The question seemed vague, but he wasn’t really sure of what to ask at this point. He was feeling a bit dull, like life was lulling along since practice. Thinking of Cassius’ expression from earlier, he cleared his throat.

  “Well… It was fine. Wilson’s lecture today was sooo boring, but I made do knowing we’d get to see each other later today. I feel like we haven’t seen much of each other lately. Just couldn't wait to see more of you tonight.” He smiled shyly, but laid a hand on Joaquin’s taut thigh. “Athlete,” he muttered, smile widening.

  Joaquin grinned. “That’s nice.”

  “What about you?” Ahmed leaned over the table, like his eyes wanted to bear into Joaquin’s soul. “Tell me everything.”

  Joaquin studied the steak on Ahmad’s plate, which looked like it could have gone a few more minutes in the pan. “I mean… I dunno. Day was fine. Usually classes— Leudtke and Peace— Practice. Lunch. Studied some and hung out with the guys.” Joaquin wanted to keep talking, but when Ahmad turned his liquid gaze on him, hands warm on his thigh, the words left him. He thought of the text Cassius sent him after practice that he left on read. He resisted the urge to fish the phone out of his pocke
t. Sipped at his ice water instead.

  “Mmhm…” Smirking, Ahmad gestured for Joaquin to go on.

  “So…yeah.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Sitting up, Ahmad raised a well-shaped brow. “Really? Usually you’re the talkative one.”

  You always talk more than me. Joaquin started to mirror Ahmad’s look but ultimately shrugged, not in the mood to argue. “It was a normal day. Besides, it’s not like we’re not gonna see each other tomorrow…” Joaquin resisted rolling his eyes. He knew Ahmad was teasing to get Joaquin to open up, but today, every single thing was annoying to him. The carpet, the waiter with the sideburns who kept checking on them, the blue curtains on the window, everything.

  “Sorry,” Ahmad said, looking anything but. “I was just trying to make conversation.” He reached over the table and took Joaquin’s hand into his, and Joaquin could feel his resolve softening. Deflating, like someone had slowly let the air out of a balloon. “I feel like… Like we don’t talk anymore, babe. We say, Oh, classes are good or bad as usual. Practice is fine. Band is fine. Everything is always just so fine. I want more… more.”

  Joaquin nodded, looking away. “I know… I’m sorry. Everything’s just been a little weird lately. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Tell me.”

  I think we should break up, Joaquin found himself thinking. His throat formed the words. He sipped at his water again, but it was of no use. His mouth refused to comply.

  Ahmad was good to him. He was a nice guy. Exactly the type of guy mama said she wanted him to date when he was six and told her he was gonna grow up to marry Ricky up the block.

  Joaquin had known that would be what came next, but he didn’t want to answer, to tell Ahmad that the truth was that he wanted someone who could never, ever want him back like he needed him to. Joaquin scooted up in his seat and reached for Ahmad’s hand. “I want you,” he said quietly, hoping to convince him.

  He needed to convince himself, first.

  Locker Room Crush

  Game days were the best days for some players. It was the day they spent all day together. From practice to the horn at the end of the game, they never left each other’s sides. Now, the men communed in the locker room. Done going over the drills, Coach freed them to take a couple hours off to shower and have lunch. Today, for some reason beyond Joaquin’s understanding, was also picture day.

  He sat on a bench in the locker room while the guys talked. He was not in or of the conversation, merely came in whenever he was listening or had something to say, which he didn’t at the moment.

  The vanguards were Brock and Will. They were probably the manliest men in the college’s sports program. If the hilarity and toxicity of testosterone had a scent, it was definitely their Walmart cologne and sweat.

  “Bruh, bruh, bruh!” Brock playfully punched Will in the upper arm to get his attention. “Did you see Marissa at the party yesterday? Girl was like… Ooh, Willllll. Will, come get all this chocolate!” Brock laughed.

  Will laughed as well, punching Brock back. “She was better than Mia. Remember her? Your actual girl. Mia was on you all night, and you didn’t do a thing. I’m surprised she didn’t break up with you at the end of that night.”

  Brock rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t checking me out as much as Joaquin was looking at Marquis.” The whole locker room turned to look at Joaquin, hoping to get some sort of response.

  Joaquin smiled, white pearls sparkling at his teammates. “Marquis and I had some fun,” he said simply. Guys didn’t kiss and tell either. “Yeah. Fun.”

  “Just fun?” Brock laughed. “As if. He’s definitely cool, though, man.”

  Usually the main one participating in raunchy locker talk with his latest exploits was quiet today. Joaquin looked quickly at the forty-five on Cassius’ back. It offered no clues. Nor did the last text Joaquin sent to him, frown deepening as he watched text bubbles disappear and turn into ‘Read 7:46 p.m.’ Frustrating.

  “I guess.” Joaquin ducked his head back down to finish unlacing his shoes. He didn’t think it was fair, but it made enough sense that he wasn’t going to fight it or confront him about it.

  Cassius was already undressed, more than most of the guys could say. He had his waist wrapped in one of the white towels kept stocked in the bathroom and body wash in the other hand. Joaquin remembered liking that brand. It smelled nice, like coconut and sandalwood. He hunted down the scent online after some random guy wearing it walked past and almost gave himself whiplash looking for Cass. Cassius sighed as he stood and stalked off to the showers down the hall of the locker room.

  Joaquin felt the urge to follow. He quickly took off his equipment and underclothes, wrapping himself in a towel as he snagged his own body wash of the same brand and followed Cassius to the showers.

  Cassius was already in the shower, humming to himself as he turned the spray on and hung his towel over the shower rod.

  Joaquin breathed lightly, scared that Cass might hear anything louder. He watched the outline of that beautiful form in the curtain. He had these broad shoulders that tapered into a tight waist. His waist flared out into a perfectly rounded ass that he had caressed in his most private thoughts, many times.

  The way he moved was so…it was so something. Cassius was powerful on the field, graceful, but Joaquin couldn’t describe the laid back yet passionate mechanics of Cassius taking a shower. He just knew he loved them. They made him tingle, his heart buzz, his towel tent.

  Though he couldn’t see himself blush, Joaquin felt his cheeks warm. He rushed into a shower stall and turned the water on so that no one saw him. Cassius’s outline was imprinted on his vision, though. Even as he lathered himself up, fingers carefully massaging in a circular motion, relaxing his limbs and cleansing him.

  He imagined things he might do with Cassius. Maybe Joaquin would ask him to lunch or to join his English Comp study group. He would sit across from Cassius at the table and make jokes and loosen the tension. Maybe they would laugh about it later and it would all be good. Cassius might get over it and fall in love with him.

  Maybe Joaquin would have lunch with Cassius, and they would fall in love and graduate and move in together and have kids and grow old and even more in love, and maybe it was all a pipe dream he was having in the shower beside his crush that would eventually go away. Joaquin didn’t care to think about that, though. There were more important, pretty things to think about. Like how Cassius stretched his thick, muscled quads before games. Like how his smile was bright as the sun.

  That boy.

  Slasher Flick

  “You’re so hot right now,” Ahmad whispered, sucking Joaquin’s neck. He was definitely into the moment. The rain poured down in a deluge outside. A movie played on the television in the library media room, Jason Voorhees chasing some teens around a boat, but he didn’t watch it. He was too focused on Joaquin.

  Joaquin on the other hand, was less than interested. He was cold and uncomfortable and not in the mood to make out. He would actually rather see the movie. This was the part where Jason knocked the boxer’s head off the roof. He sighed and tried not to seem annoyed.

  Ahmad didn’t seem to notice.

  He drew a little path of kisses down to the side of Joaquin’s neckline, keeping pressed right into the hickey.

  “Still a bit sore, Ahm,” Joaquin warned when Ahmad pressed the pad of his thumb a bit too hard, but he didn’t flinch. He crept up Joaquin’s face, going over it with his mouth pressed into a firm line, and nudged his nose to Joaquin’s.

  “I want you tonight, Wah.” He smoothed his mouth to Joaquin’s upper lip slotting his bottom one between the little gap, nudging the lips gently apart. The first time they kissed like this, lips pressed up against each other under the bleachers, Ahmad’s fingertips ghosting the small of his back, it had been Joaquin’s undoing.

  Joaquin made a motion to lick his chapped lips, but his tongue got caught between Ahmad’s lips and
he weakly moaned silently when Ahmad dragged it out to suck it into his mouth. Joaquin had given in completely from there, turning his body so he’s facing Ahmad, their mouths still sealed together.

  “Just you and me, yeah?” Ahmad murmured, still moving his lips against Joaquin’s. He pulled back a little to tilt Joaquin’s chin upwards and darted his tongue out. “Todd’s staying at his girl’s for the weekend,” he said before licking from the bottom of Joaquin’s chin up to his still separated mouth. Their lips came together again, careful and slow.

  No teeth clinking together, no rush. Just two guys. Joaquin was starting to feel warm, comfy, a bit more into it. He keened when Ahmad smacked his lips and tilted his head to the side to form a new angle. Someone’s phone buzzed in the background, and Joaquin couldn’t help but wonder if it was Cass, finally wanting to talk.

  He really had to stop doing that to himself.

  Their noses brushed together as Ahmad reached up to rub a soothing finger on the top of Joaquin’s soft cheek bone. Joaquin gave a real moan, feeling himself pressed up into the wall. He lifted his arms up as to not wanting to get them crushed by his side, and used both his large hands to clasp each side of Ahmad’s face. The look in his eyes when he said that made Joaquin the ache in his chest spread. He inhaled deeply, and touched his forehead against Ahmad’s.

  “I want you,” Ahmad whispered.

  Joaquin didn’t answer.

  29

  CA$H Rules

  California was hot and smooth and home of one of the top NFL teams this season, home of Cassius St. John. The magazines had started calling him Cash, because of the unprecedented deal he had signed fresh out of college. The sneaker companies followed suit. He supposed he nickname was apt.