SAWYER #2
“Atompunk. It’s criminally under-appreciated. It’s got all the analog beauty and all the futuristic optimism.” Noah was obviously into it. I looked over my shoulder to where his posters were. They seemed retro futuristic, too.
What the hell was I doing? He was passionate about these weird and wild things and I was teaching him how to hide that. I inhaled and held that breath for a few moments, then looked into his eyes. “What’s your goal here?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” he asked. He had a way of parting his lips in surprise just after he’d licked them, so the lower one glistened with wetness. And those breathtaking green eyes watched me intently.
I exhaled. “I’m not gonna pretend I know anything about dating,” I admitted. “I’m a fisherman, if anything. I know how to reel them in, but I don’t know how to keep them.”
“So?” He cocked his head a little like a confused puppy.
“So, if that’s what you’re looking for, then maybe I’m not holding up my end of the bargain very well. I can’t give you tips on how to make someone fall in love with you.” That was a trick I had never learned.
“Fall in love?” Noah’s voice turned squeaky. “I don’t…erm…” He cleared his throat and lowered the volume on the speaker at a really epic bit of his atompunk thingy. “How about I master tossing the hook into the pond, first, before we worry about, um…this metaphor got away from me.”
“Choking on the bone?” I suggested and cackled to myself while Noah’s cheeks turned red and lips pressed tight. He rolled his eyes at my dirty sense of humor.
A moment later, he lowered the volume some more, then gestured with his head at my duffel. “Got your notebook?”
“You bet,” I said. “I found your note yesterday.”
“Did it help you memorize the forces?” he asked.
“Which forces?” I played dumb. “I liked the doodles.” While he snorted and shook his head dismissively, I grabbed my duffel and tossed it into my lap, then unzipped it to find the textbook, pen, and notebook for the lessons.
I left a clean uniform in my locker and filled the duffel with my sweaty one.
I had been stupid enough to pile up the garments over the textbook, so I had to rummage through them now.
The stink of sweat wasn’t too terrible, but the real kicker was the moment when something hard dropped onto the floor under the desk and we both looked.
Not that I was easily embarrassed, but Noah was for both of us.
His face burst into flames when his gaze landed on my well-worn jockstrap with a hard, plastic cup.
“Um…you dropped…” He pointed at it and looked away, biting his lip.
I chuckled to brush it off, but the temperature of the room was abruptly increasing.
Dropping jockstraps, no matter how unsexy they were in their purpose, around hot nerds at the height of after-practice horniness was a sure way to make stupid decisions.
And the stupidest decisions were always signed by Sawyer Price.
I grabbed my jockstrap and laughed harder.
“This old thing?” I held one elastic strap and swung the whole piece of gear around.
“It saved my junk more times than you could imagine. Nothing can get through this. Check it out.” And for some blindingly stupid reason, I tossed my worn jockstrap right at my physics tutor’s horrified face.
He caught the plastic part with both hands. “Ohmyfuck.” His eyebrows curved hard into a huge frown as he tossed the jockstrap right back at me.
Whatever Golden Retriever existed somewhere in my genealogy, his instincts kicked in and I caught the strap, then tossed it back, my monkey brain assuming this was just a game of softball.
“Fuck.” Noah grabbed the jockstrap, then dropped it into his lap, then lifted it, then dropped it again. I laughed for the lack of anything else to say and watched as he carefully picked it up and frowned while examining it. “You wear this?” he asked, his voice jumping up by an octave.
“Yep. Keeps me from losing my best qualities.” I shrugged guilelessly and bit my lip. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice of reason was squealing in excruciating shame. This was definitely one way of dealing with a potentially awkward situation. Dial it the fuck up.
“But you wear it over something, right?” The look he gave me was almost pleading.
I bit my lip apologetically. “Er, it depends. Some guys do. Paxton, Riley, Sebastian. They wear compression shorts under the strap. Me? I don’t bother with shorts at all. I like to be nimble.”
“Oh god,” he whimpered and handed the jockstrap back to me.
I released him from the torment and took the plastic cup in my hand then stuffed it back inside my duffel. For the lack of any words that would make this easier, I laughed. And to my surprise, Noah laughed too. Strangled and high-pitched, yes, but it was laughter nonetheless.
He grew smaller when he pressed his thighs together and slouched a little more. “So, um, jockstraps aside, do you have your books?”
“Oh, right. Yes.” I dug through my duffel and found what we needed. Dog-eared and ever so slightly carrying my after-practice scents, the stuff was in a pretty good condition, I thought.
“Okay. Let’s dive in.” And, as he moved to the wooden chair next to the soft desk chair I had occupied, I found myself checking him out.
Noah, however much that kept surprising me, was seriously a piece of eye candy.
My gaze followed his tucked shirt and found the irresistible bulge that made my mouth water.
Except, as my heart sped, I noticed his bulge had grown bigger.
Right. Maybe don’t throw your dirty jockstrap at a guy you’re coaching on how to score a guy, I told myself as I found some energy to look away. Oh, but it was hard. Both the object of my desire and the act of looking aside. It was hard as fuck.