The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

23. Fan Boys

23

FAN BOYS

Jason

I trace the lotus on his right biceps. The intricate black lines weave around the hard muscle, the stylized design mesmerizing to stare at as I touch him.

Beck’s lying flat on his bed, shirt off, cleaned up, jeans zipped again. I’m shirtless too, stretched out on my side where I get to enjoy the canvas of his body.

My fingertip travels under the muscle, curling around an arty petal that looks like a stencil of a flower. “I like this one.”

“Yeah?” Beck sounds a little dreamy. Coming hard will do that to a man. All my anger is pretty much gone. I think it exited my body when I shot all over us.

“I do,” I say, then I dip my face and press a kiss to the artwork.

He shivers. “Mmm. Do that again.”

I do him one better, flicking my tongue along one of the petals. “Your ink is like a direct line to my dick,” I say when I lift my face.

“Thanks for the tip,” he says with a laugh, then props his head in his hand. “But I knew that. What I want to know is why do you like it so much?”

I just shrug helplessly. “No clue. Some things you just don’t question. Why do I like ink?” I brush the pad of my thumb over the red lion on his chest, and he shifts subtly closer. “Why do great eyes do it for me?” When I hold his gaze, he trembles. “Why does stubble get me going?” When I run my thumb along his bristly jaw, he turns his chin into my hand, catching more of my touch.

“Fair enough,” he says, then he flicks his hand toward the closet, where he tossed his black button-down when we made it into his room post-sex. “I wore that shirt tonight for you.” His confession sounds like it surprises even him. Maybe he didn’t plan to tell me.

“The one you had on at the agency?”

He winces. “I wore it to make you jealous. Since it showed off my ink.”

I laugh, shaking my head in amusement. “You’re such a dick.”

“Did it work?”

I roll my eyes. “Thinking of you with someone else is all I need to get jealous. Not your fucking tattoos,” I say, then press my lips to his lotus flower again and bite.

“Yesss,” he says, murmuring his appreciation for my teeth.

I let out a low rumble. “There. I marked you.”

“Good.” He sounds... happy. Like he doesn’t want to move from his bed.

I don’t want to either, for a long, long time. I brush my fingers over the lotus once more. “What’s this ink for? I’ve kind of been dying to know.”

Beck studies me closely as if trying to read my motives. “Why?”

“You put it on your body. It’s important to you, I presume. But if it’s too personal, you don’t have to tell me,” I say casually, watching his expression for a sign. Sometimes Beck is hard to understand. One minute, I think he wants to share with me. The next, he wants to shut down.

Now, he doesn’t hesitate. “For me, it represents peace and calm,” he says, brown eyes bright and completely vulnerable. “That’s why I got it. Sometimes I need that... often , I need it,” he corrects.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he always wants to share. He just needs permission. He wants to know his truths will be handled with care.

My heart thumps a little harder as I touch his ink with new eyes, looking for the unspoken story he’s telling. He hasn’t always felt peace. He hasn’t always felt calm.

I sense he doesn’t only struggle with grief for his brother. The day I met Beck, he was vibrating with nerves at the podium. The other week on the phone, he was tense over a loss, then worried sick about the prospect of facing me in front of an audience.

I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to pressure him; I only want to understand. “Do you get nervous before games?”

He breathes out hard, then nods, looking away.

“I couldn’t tell,” I reassure him.

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s obvious.”

“I mean it. You don’t play that way,” I say. “You don’t play nervous.”

He looks back at me. “You mean it?”

“I do,” I say firmly, tapping his chest for emphasis.

Beck lifts a skeptical brow. “You watch me play?”

I roll my eyes. “Dude. Of course I watch you play. It’s called game film.”

“Well, obviously,” he says, backpedaling. “I watch game film too. I thought . . . you meant . . .”

His cheeks pinken, and I have to bust him. “You thought I watch your games like a fanboy?”

He hides his face in a pillow, muttering, “Yes.”

I crack up. This is too rich.

“Shut up,” he says into the bed.

I poke his side. “Nope. I can’t. You totally fucking forgot it’s our job to watch game film. That is adorable. What, you thought I was watching your games because I’m crushing on you? God, you’re fucking cute.”

Lifting his face, he stares at me like there’s a price on my head, and he’s the lineman who’s going to collect the bounty.

He’d be scary on defense. I hold up my hands in surrender. “Whoa.”

“Cute is your dimple. I’m not cute right now,” he hisses.

“You’re right. You’re terrifying. Are you going to charge me like a bull?”

He moves like a superhero. In a flash, he jerks my hands above my head, pins me, and straddles my chest.

Stares savagely at me.

He might have me at his mercy, but I’ve got a mouth, and I’m not afraid to use it. “You’re cute to me. And hot. And sexy,” I say, then I nod at his lips. “C’mon. Get those lips on mine. You know you want to kiss me. Especially since you like my dimple.”

He lets out a sexy sigh, then drops the grip on my wrists and kisses me, all passionate and dominating, making me wonder what else he wants to do to me in bed.

Does he want to fuck me?

Does he want me to fuck him?

I like both ideas a lot. I rock my pelvis, my cock getting half-hard again.

He swivels his hips a few times, letting me know he’s down for another round. But maybe not quite yet, since he breaks the kiss and flops next to me once more. Works for me. I’m digging the talking too.

“I had a crush on you before I met you,” he says, and that’s Beck for you. Hitting me out of the blue with intel.

Good intel.

“That so?” My skin feels like it’s glowing. I’m all warm and hazy.

“That whole year when I was a backup, I did. Before I got the starting job, I looked you up online, checked out your pictures, watched your games. I had a big crush on you. Then I met you.”

I snort. “And that pretty much ruined it.”

He shakes his head. “No, it didn’t. Not one bit.”

Now my heart glows too.

Beck is so much more dangerous than I ever imagined. I should have seen the warning signs—stopping to steal a moment with him outside the gym, calling him on the phone after games, making declarations about not dating anyone else.

But if I’m playing detective, I need to go back further. I liked Beck the first night he came over a year ago, and those feelings have only grown.

I’ve been ignoring boundaries ever since he showed up at my house last month.

Now, I’m just giving in to what my heart wants despite what my head says.

And my heart wants him.

I turn on my side, lift a hand, and finger a strand of his dark brown hair. “Like I said, you’re fearless.”

“I had to learn to be. I used to panic real bad before games, Jason,” he says, swallowing roughly as he serves up a difficult truth.

“When was that?” I ask softly.

“In high school. I used to throw up before I played. My nerves were a mess.”

“Oh shit, that’s so hard,” I say, aching for what he went through as a teenage athlete. “But you don’t anymore?”

“No. I can manage it now. I do meditation and breathing exercises before every game now. A lot of times before interviews too,” he admits.

“Playing on a national stage is tough, and I’m glad you found something that works for you,” I say, sympathetic.

“Do you ever get nervous?”

When we talked at my house about nerves when it came to guys, I answered him truthfully. I give him the same candor now. “Not about playing. I probably should, but I don’t. I can tune out the world,” I say, and maybe that makes me lucky. But I do understand fear. I have my own. “If I’m afraid of anything, it’s getting hurt. Like a career-ending injury. Or a season-ending one,” I say, shuddering involuntarily. “I fucking love this game. So much. It’s like a part of my soul. That sounds crazy.”

He smiles. “Not to me.”

“You get it. You get me,” I say. I could stop there. With anyone else, I would. But now, I peel back another layer. I swallow and answer the full scope of the question. “I’m afraid in other ways too. I was with this guy on and off for a couple of years.” Beck’s eyes flicker with excitement. Like he’s been dying to know my story. “Wyatt was my college boyfriend,” I explain. “We were together when I was in school, but after graduation, he got a job in New York, and I was drafted here. We both figured being apart would be too hard, so we split.”

“Did you miss him?”

I missed his exuberance. I missed his passion. I missed all the things we had in common. We used to go for long runs together and work out together. We played golf. I loved all that. “I did,” I admit, but then I grimace, dragging a hand along the back of my neck. “But I made some bad choices. I missed him a lot. Missed the companionship. Missed the closeness, you know?”

He nods, urging me to keep going.

“And I thought all that missing meant I needed to try harder. I convinced him to give us another shot.”

Beck’s expression falters, flickering between anger—toward Wyatt, I presume—and maybe feeling sorry for me. “So what happened?”

I blow out a long stream of air, wishing I hadn’t given so much of myself to my ex. “We got back together a few years ago. Did the whole long-distance thing. He worked at a venture firm, but he started getting enough time off to come to all my games. At first, it was cool. He was a great, supportive boyfriend. I think I was too. But soon, he started asking me to fly out mid-week to see him.”

Beck frowns, immediately seeing the problem. “But there’s practice mid-week.”

“Exactly. Or he’d want to see me on Sunday night. Every week, it escalated. He wanted more and more. He asked for more. I tried. He said I wasn’t a great boyfriend since I couldn’t give it to him.” I grit my teeth and shovel a hand through my hair. “I should shut up. No one wants to hear about exes.”

He touches my shoulder. “I do.”

That’s it. Two firm, clear words. They say everything. Beck wants to know me.

“Wyatt and I split more than two years ago, but the night he ended it shocked me. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. I couldn’t make it to his work event, and he got pissed. He said he was always there for me, but I never was for him. And that’s when he said when you quit football, look me up .”

Beck cringes. “That’s awful.”

“It’s not like football is everything, but it is my job,” I say with residual frustration.

“And your passion,” he adds.

“Imagine if I told him not to do venture shit or whatever. That would be awful. But he had no problem giving me an ultimatum. It was basically... the NFL or him.”

Beck sighs sympathetically. “For what it’s worth, I think you chose wisely.”

I smile. “Me too. Football doesn’t give you ultimatums. Football doesn’t lie to you. Football just says let’s play .”

“I don’t think I’ve ever not loved football,” Beck says wistfully as he stares at the ceiling. “When I’m out there, it all feels... like it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Same here. But it’s hard to have this job and sustain a relationship, don’t you think?” It’s a question, but I’m pretty sure I’m protecting myself too. I already feel such a pull toward Beck; I’ve got to do something or say something to make sure I don’t topple completely. This is my feeble attempt at erecting a wall.

“I don’t actually know, though I get your meaning,” he says. “I haven’t been with anyone since Rachel.”

“Your college girlfriend?”

“She’s pretty much my only serious relationship. I haven’t even kissed anyone since... last year in your house,” he says.

This man lights me up with each revelation. I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale him. I want to kiss him everywhere. And I want to get inside him really soon. “There was no one else for me either,” I say, giving him a little piece of my heart too.

His lips twitch in a grin. He tries so hard to fight it, and I just want to wipe it off with my mouth. But I also want to know the rest of the story on his body. I slide my finger from the lotus over to the mythical lion on his chest. “This is for your brother? Griffin?”

“Yes.”

I journey to the sunbursts on his shoulder, set against a blue sky. “And this?”

“It just reminds me to breathe,” he says. An easy answer for a complicated person.

I smile, loving the simplicity. Loving, too, the way he’s learned how to manage. “Like, you look at the sky, you take a breath, you soak in the sun, and everything’s going to be okay?”

His expression is gentle but wise. “Exactly.”

My pulse gallops, fueled by new emotions rushing through me. His ink is even sexier now that I know what’s behind it. Now that I see the windows into his soul.

I shift closer, cup his face with one hand, and savor a few risky seconds looking into his eyes. Dangerous thoughts race through my head.

Let’s do this tomorrow.

Come over next week.

Do you feel this too ?

He has to hear the wild drumbeat of my heart. But I hope he can’t. I’m not ready for him to know what he’s doing to me.

“You have such great eyes,” I say, then I shut myself up with a kiss, swallowing all the words that could hurt me.

He could hurt me.

We kiss for a long time until I’m aware of the clock, the way it’s ticking closer to decisions.

When we come up for air, he makes all the decisions I want when he says, “You wanna spend the night?”

I smile. “I do. But can we watch a show too?”

“Yes, Jason,” he says, then mutters, “You do too have a crush on me.”

Only it’s so much more than a crush.

We strip down to boxers and take care of the unfinished business of watching Unfinished Business.

Finally, I catch up on the missed episodes, but when Jamie and Zoe fight in the stairwell, I flip Jude’s character the bird. “No way,” I shout at the screen.

Beck nudges me. “That’s just how it goes. They have to break them up to get them back together.”

“Thanks. I didn’t realize how stories worked,” I say drily.

We finish another episode, and I sigh in relief when Jude’s character starts to make up with his love interest.

The season’s not over, but as a yawn takes hold of me, I’m pretty sure my night is. Beck closes his laptop, sets it on the nightstand, then slides under the covers. “You gonna go for a ten in the cuddling event this time?”

“Fuck yes, I am,” I say. “Turn the other way.”

He complies, and I wrap an arm around his chest, drawing a deep inhale of his neck. Sparks shoot down my spine. “Mmm. I’m getting horny again,” I whisper.

“Me too,” he says, pushing his ass against my cock.

I groan, dirty images flickering through my mind.

I’m about to ask Beck what he’s in the mood for when he clears his throat. “Do you like to top? Or to bottom?”

I’d been hoping he’d ask. “I like to top,” I say, then brush my lips to his ear. “And I like to bottom.”

He moans, but he says nothing. That’s okay. It’s my turn to ask. “What do you think you want?”

“I want both too,” he says.

The man knows his mind. “How long have you been planning to tell me that?”

Beck pushes his firm ass against my hard-on again. “Hmm. I’d have to say... since before I met you,” he says, then laughs.

I laugh too. “Good to know. But we’re not doing it tonight.”

“I figured. I mean, I get that it takes prep and stuff. I have researched sex, Jason.”

Of course, he has. “Does your research involve articles or porn?”

He shifts around and meets my eyes. “Both. I’ve read a lot and watched a lot.”

I go fishing. “You ever watch something and think of me?”

“Seriously? You think I haven’t? Ask me something hard, McKay.”

I slide a hand down to his cock, and grip it. “Maybe I’ll suck on something hard instead, Cafferty.”

“Maybe I will too,” he says, all fiery as he throws down another wish.

Far be it from me to deny him.

A few minutes later, we’re naked again, his face between my thighs, mine between his, blowing each other and chasing another first.

It’s his first sixty-nine with a dude.

But it’s my first with a guy I’m falling for—falling hard and fast.

When we’re finished, he drifts asleep in seconds next to me. As promised, I curl around him. But I don’t conk out yet. I’m too busy figuring out how to stop risking everything and how to keep living dangerously at the same time.

I can’t continue messing around with the Renegades’ quarterback. But I can’t get him out of my system either.