Provoking the Punter

Chapter 8

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Garrett hadn’t drunk any alcohol, but he felt rough as if he had. Maybe it was the lack of sleep caused by the memories of sucking Chester’s cock.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

He’d dropped to his knees without a second thought. Like he hadn’t been able to resist the offered dick… and he hadn’t. He didn’t even have the excuse that he’d been drinking.

He’d come out to a stranger.

He pushed his anger and frustration into the weights. Sure, it was Tuesday, and many of the guys took half the day off. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He wanted to adjust to his new training program, and he wanted to get some extra practice with the long snapper, Hulme.

What had happened to his vow of no drinking and no hook ups?

The first was intact, but the latter was in tatters.

Though was it really? They’d met in person and flirted a little. Well, Chester had flirted. He’d been awkward as fuck because he didn’t know what to do. But Chester had made it easy and let him take what he wanted.

There’d been chemistry. Not teenage lust mixed with convenience which he might have confused for being love once upon a time, but a snap of attraction and a heat he’d wanted to bask in and explore.

He should’ve stayed.

As much as he’d wanted to, he didn’t need to double down on one bad idea with another one. On the drive back to the hotel, with his dick throbbing, he’d questioned his sanity. It would’ve been much nicer to have Chester’s hand or mouth on him instead of his own hand.

The thing was, random guys had sucked him off. That was easy to get with an app and a flick of a finger. It wasn’t any harder to find someone to fuck. But he hadn’t wanted that with Chester. Which was fucking stupid because he didn’t have anything with Chester.

He didn’t even know him.

No, but he knew enough that boxes had been ticked before he even arrived at Bathtubs. Smart, successful, out. Garrett had been primed for the fall before they’d met. Shaking his hand, he thought he’d imagined the warmth in Chester’s brown eyes. He’d almost convinced himself until that comment about only lasting two minutes. The way Chester had looked at him as he’d taken a drink… That had been something else.

That is what people meant when they said there was chemistry. It was a completely different feeling—one that made his heartbeat unsteady versus the scratch the itch kind of sex he allowed himself.

He completed the reps and lay on the bench, catching his breath.

Chester knew everything.

And if he knew everything, how many other people would piece the truth together? What happened then? What would come out with the inevitable divorce?

He did not want to be part of that circus.

Nor did he want to be forced out. Not while his position was so insecure. He sat up and shook his head. He’d believed his position was secure at the Copperheads. If he hadn’t gone out for his birthday, it might’ve still been.

“Fuck.” He raked his fingers through his hair. His mind filled with memories of Chester doing the same, of watching him as he swallowed.

“Double fuck.” It was a mistake. They both knew that. Yet, he’d do it again in a heartbeat if given the chance. He liked the way Chester had let him explore and take his time. He wanted more of that, of exploring this attraction instead of burying it.

He groaned and took a drink of water.

He shouldn’t have swallowed.

It’s not as though he asked about Chesters’s history. They hadn’t discussed any of that. Having those kinds of conversations was why he found it easier to scroll through an app, arrange something, and turn up with a condom in his pocket. Everyone knew what they were getting.

But that kind of sex had become like tearing up a cereal box, pouring milk over the top, and eating that instead of the cereal. He needed more than cardboard sex and forgettable faces—assuming he even saw their faces.

Fuck, his life was sad. Yet there were a thousand people willing to take his place without needing to be asked twice. He exhaled, wiped the bench, and moved on to the next stop in his workout plan.

His life was fucking amazing.

Except for the personal side of it.

He wasn’t exactly special in that department. Plenty of guys had nothing more than a string of hookups who they met at a bar or a club. The only difference was they spent the night with a woman, and that was somehow more acceptable.

He pushed himself through the rest of the routine. Alternately chiding himself for giving in, vowing once again to push desire aside to focus on football, all the while wondering if there was a chance it could happen again.

This was why some of the other guys enjoyed going to nightclubs and being recognized. Because the girls looked at them and wanted them, and it was a rush.

He was never going to find that at the bottom of a bowl of cardboard.

Working with Hulme was the only time his mind was clear. As soon as they were done and walking off the field, all the turmoil roiled back.

It was easy on the grass. He knew what he needed to do. He could focus on it and tune everything else out.

“You alright?” Hulme gave him a nudge.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?” Hulme tossed him the ball.

Nothing he wanted to talk about with a new teammate, so he lied. “Whether to stay at the hotel or start looking for somewhere else.”

He’d given himself a month to feel out the situation with the Troopers. He didn’t want to burn through a stack of money living in the hotel, despite the cheaper long-term rate. Plus, he was used to a bit more space.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to find somewhere else. There’re some real estate agents the team uses.”

“I’ve got the list, but I don’t wanna get too settled too soon.” He tossed the ball back.

“Ah.” Hulme nodded. “Did you see how many people were here today, even though it’s an off day?”

“Yeah.” It might be a supposed day off, but guys always turned up. Some to use the weights and sauna, some to get treatment, some train, some to watch film. At the Copperheads, he always turned up on Tuesday.

“James has never participated on a Tuesday since I’ve been here.”

“You turn up?”

“I like to do my weights. Though I prefer to do them in the afternoon, so I can sleep in. I’m more than happy to do this with you.”

Garrett snorted. “Bold of you to assume I’ll be dressing for a game.”

“You will. Coach wouldn’t have brought you in otherwise.”

Garrett stopped walking. “Is there something I should know about?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you were traded because you didn’t gel with your team. Which is bullshit, because I’ve been seeing the way you train. And you’re putting your best foot forward, and all that bullshit. We all do it. But us, in special teams, it’s a small world.”

Oh fuck, what were the Copperheads saying? “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m sure you’re aware Rafe isn’t happy you’re gone. But if James were to walk, I don’t think he’d be as missed as you are.”

“Why? He does a good job.” James had a solid reputation and a decade of experience. It’s why the Troopers had signed him when they started.

“He does good enough, but he seems to think he’s great enough that he can stroll in and stroll off.”

Garrett frowned. “Meaning?”

“Until you turned up, he was… let’s call it, extremely comfortable. With you here, now he’s moving like he’s dancing on firecrackers, and he’s not happy about it.”

What the fuck had James been saying about him? “I gathered that from the little chat he had with me, but to be honest, I don’t think any of us would be happy if someone else came for our job.”

“I think it’s different for the quarterbacks. They always have a second and sometimes a third. For us, not so much. I think it was the way your trade happened mid-season.” Hulme spun the ball in his hands.

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of the way it was done, either.”

“You weren’t told ahead of time?”

“Nope. I went out for a few drinks for my birthday on Monday night, with the plan to take Tuesday off. On Wednesday, I was given the news.”

“What the fuck did you say to the coach?”

Garrett shook his head, but he couldn’t clear the instant memory of walking into the motel room and seeing Harrison lying naked on the bed. The skipped beat of his heart and the freefall of his stomach. If the wife hadn’t followed him in…

… he’d have still been fucked.

“You know what they say. Don’t get involved in another couple’s argument. After a few beers, I got stupid.” All he had to do was skip past that profile and pick a different one. But it had been close, and it had been a motel, and he’d thought the guy was passing through. He thought he was being smart.

Hulme winced. “I heard you weren’t drinking. Did you even try the gin last night?”

“The non-alcoholic version.”

“Jesus, you were at Bathtubs, and you didn’t have a drink?”

“I didn’t want to make another stupid mistake.” Apparently, it had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with his dick.

“From the look on your face, you already did.”

Garrett sucked in a breath and smiled as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Yeah, I didn’t try the gin.”

Only the owner.