Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
KOBE
Coach Tiller has the look of a man who doesn’t buy into bullshit. Surprisingly, he’s also covered in ink. Last time I took in a game, to be honest, I paid the man no mind at all—my focus was too intent on Malik and the fact that I was wearing his number for that.
By the way he’s got his eyebrow quirked and his arms crossed, revealing two sleeves of ink that have probably been there a good ten or fifteen years, it’s hard not to notice he’s a good-looking guy. But I don’t even fight the pull Malik has on me.
Everything about Malik, from his sweet humor to the slight twang he has and the way he lit up during the pregame warm-ups when our gazes collided does it for me.
Over the past two weeks, I’ve been scraping every spare moment of my day talking and texting and getting to know everything about him. I’ll be honest, it’s not the ideal time for me to even think about a serious relationship. Life’s manic, and so is trying to set up the second shop that Paulie greenlighted after I finally spoke to him about it a week or so ago.
But none of that stops me.
Beyond hours of conversation and a few stolen, heated kisses, there’s a lot to discover about Malik, and I want that. Desperately. Maybe even frighteningly so.
How the fuck a guy I barely know can already be so far under my skin is something I should be shitting a brick about. I’m pretty damn sure there’s something wrong with me and how much time I spend thinking about the guy. But here I am. Watching Malik now as whatever he planned to say to his coach so he doesn’t have to jump on the team bus backfires.
I’m at the edge of the court, the small stadium already practically empty. After the final buzzer went and the away team—Malik and my brother’s team—won, it didn’t take long for the fans to grumble and clear out. I fight to not step forward and intervene, see if I can come up with some sort of bullshit excuse that’s not me simply saying to his coach that I plan to spend the next few hours with Malik underneath me before I finally get the chance to put my needle to his virgin skin.
Hell, my dick twinges just thinking about the latter, let alone the idea of him under me, so it’s best I stop thinking how hot and tight he’s going to feel before I humiliate myself.
My lips twitch when Malik’s gaze darts to mine before confusion has me stilling. He’s looking at me like…. Hell, that’s definitely an “oh shit” expression. I look to his right. His coach’s assessing eyes are on me, and I can’t make out what he’s saying, but whatever it is, he peers back at Malik, his phone in hand, and seems to ask a question.
How the fuck I feel like a damn kid in this situation is both annoying and confusing. But I need to get my head out of my ass and find out what the hell is going on. With a crack of my neck, I head their way, hoping my shitkicker boots don’t create scuffs. That’ll be just what I need—being run off and cussed out for ruining a court.
As I draw nearer, I meet Malik’s gaze. His flush is instant. I drink in the shade, wondering if he’ll blush as sexily when he’s underneath me. Trying to banish the thought is hard—a little like my overeager cock—but I keep myself in check as I tug my lips into a smile, finally saying, “Hey, we all good here?”
“Hey, Kobe.” Malik’s eyes go wide. “Yeah, all good.” He side-eyes his coach, and I follow his gaze, but it quickly snags on his neck and the ink there. A cogged skull. I recognize the inkwork immediately. It’s as familiar to me as my own.
“No shit.” I make eye contact with Coach Tiller. “That looks like Paulie’s work.”
An easy smile appears on the coach’s face, and he extends his arm to me. I shake his hand as he says, “Yeah, Paulie at Black Vein.” He tilts his head at me. “Kobe, right?”
“Yeah.”
Coach Tiller’s handshake is firm, the kind that says I’ve seen some shit , and his smirk has just enough edge to tell me he knows exactly what’s going on here. He crosses his arms again, the motion making the falcon inked on his bicep flex like it might take flight.
“Paulie taught you, didn’t he?” his coach asks, his tone casual, but there’s a knowing gleam in his eye.
“Yep. Still works at the original shop, though we’re branching out,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the conversation and not on how Malik’s shifting uncomfortably next to him, his gaze flicking between us. “Small world, huh?”
Coach’s smirk widens. “Small world. And now you’re here to put ink on one of my star players, huh?”
“Lucky enough to be the first,” I say smoothly, my grin sharp as I slide my hand to Malik’s hip and tug him closer. The move is as deliberate as it is instinctive. I want Coach Tiller—and anyone else for that matter—to know exactly what my intentions are.
Malik flushes again, a deeper red now, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand brushes mine, almost tentative, like he’s still testing the waters of this thing between us.
Coach’s gaze flickers to the spot where my fingers rest, and for a second, I think he’s going to comment. Instead, he shrugs and lets out a low chuckle. “Well, Malik’s an adult. He’s earned his free time. Just make sure he doesn’t come back with any, uh… regrettable ink.”
“Regrettable?” I arch a brow, feigning offense. “Come on, Coach, give me some credit. No Live, Laugh, Love on my watch. Malik’s in good hands.”
“I bet he is,” Coach says with a smirk so sharp, it’s practically a wink before clapping Malik on the shoulder. “Be ready for film review Monday. Don’t make me regret this.”
“Yes, sir,” Malik says, his voice even, though his ears are red as hell.
With that, Coach gives us a final once-over before turning and walking toward the locker room, leaving me and Malik alone on the emptying court.
The second he’s out of sight, Malik lets out a breath and glances at me, his expression somewhere between mortified and amused. “Could you not flirt with my coach?”
“Flirt?” I drawl, my lips tugging into a slow, deliberate grin. “That wasn’t flirting. That was just me staking my claim.”
Malik huffs a laugh, but he doesn’t move away when I step closer, my hand still resting on his hip. “You know, he was this close to ripping into me for trying to bail on the bus. Then you showed up with your boots and your cocky smile and….” He trails off, shaking his head.
“And?” I prompt, leaning in just enough to make his breath hitch.
“And made it really hard to focus on anything except….” He bites his lip, looking away briefly before meeting my gaze again. “You.”
Damn, if I don’t love the way he says that. Like I’m something he’s been waiting for and still isn’t quite sure he deserves.
“Good,” I murmur, finally closing the small distance between us and brushing my lips against his. It’s not a heated kiss, but it’s not shy either. It’s the kind that says I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, and I’m pretty sure he knows it.
When we break apart, Malik’s grinning like he just hit a game-winning three-pointer. “You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”
I shrug, already walking with him toward the lockers. “Probably. But you like it.”
He laughs, soft and genuine, before ducking into the locker room to change. When he comes back out a few minutes later, his duffel slung over one shoulder and his eyes bright, I can’t resist.
This time, I kiss him like I wanted to back on the court—slow, deep, and with no confusion about what I’m thinking.
When we finally pull apart, he’s flushed and grinning again, and I know tonight’s going to be exactly what we’ve both been waiting for.
I feel guilty that Malik settles for a drive-through, though as he inhales the two burgers and puts away practically a gallon of soda, I’m reminded that he’s likely burned a gazillion calories. When he pats his stomach, I offer him a grin, continuing to make my way to my apartment. In this moment, he reminds me of Jackson. And not in a freaky-ass way.
“You needed that, huh?”
He catches my eye before I pay full attention to the road ahead, a grin tilting his lips high. “During the season, it’s the only time I can get away with putting a shit ton of crap that’s not good for me in my body. Mikey has us on an eating plan.”
I think he’s aiming for disgruntled, but I hear the affection in his tone. I also know that Mikey is the team captain. He also dominated in tonight’s game. Sure, it was a team effort, but Mikey was responsible for over half of tonight’s points.
“Jackson said Mikey’s likely to enter the drafts next year.”
He bobs his head, the streetlighting catching the strong cut of his jaw, making it a struggle to concentrate fully. Fuck, he’s pretty. That he’s all packed muscles and hard lines doesn’t do a thing to keep his long lashes or fuller bottom lip from capturing my attention. And yeah, while muscle tends to scream masculinity, there’s something about his features that highlight a soft vulnerability.
I wonder what he’ll think if I tell him he’s pretty as hell and I want him to sit on my face. Swallowing hard, I tune into what Malik’s saying about Mikey, trying to get the blood rushing to my cock to change direction.
“…a League champion, as one of his dads kinda helped shape his future.” He chuckles. It’s light and full of affection. “Plus, have you seen his mad skills on the court? I think he could probably shoot hoops when he was still crawling and in diapers.”
“Passion and skill make for a pretty unbeatable duo,” I say, glancing over to find Malik’s full attention fixed on me. It’s dark in the car, but the glow from the dashboard lights catches the gleam in his eyes and the slight tilt of his lips.
He shifts again, resting his elbow on the door and his chin on the back of his hand, and I swear the air between us thickens. “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” His voice is low, a little gravelly from the soda he’s just downed, but there’s an edge to it that has my pulse quickening.
I keep my focus on the road, though it’s a struggle not to let my mind wander. “What do you mean?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he means.
“Your tattoos,” he says, and for a second, I think I’ve read too much into it. Then he continues, his words slower, more deliberate. “The shop. The way you talk about it… I can hear how much it matters to you. The skill it takes to be good at something like that, and the passion to turn it into something bigger? It’s not just work to you, is it?”
His words land heavy, like he’s not just talking about my career but about something much deeper—something sitting right there, unspoken, between us.
I risk another glance at him, and it’s like his gaze pierces straight through me. There’s heat there, a question, and something else that makes it hard to catch my breath.
“Passion doesn’t mean much without someone to share it with,” I say softly, surprising even myself with the honesty. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, forcing my attention back to the road.
Malik exhales a soft laugh, but there’s no teasing in it. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. “Guess that’s true.”
The weight of his words settles between us, a live wire sparking in the small space. My breathing picks up, but I force myself to focus, especially as we’re only a few blocks from my place. Still, the air feels like it’s pressing down on us, charged and heavy with everything unsaid.
“So…,” Malik finally says, his voice lighter, but it doesn’t quite break the tension. “We’re not working on the tattoo tonight, right?”
I glance at him, guilt tugging at me. “Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve got to be exhausted. Between classes, the travel, and the game, I wouldn’t blame you for crashing the second we get in.”
He chuckles, but it’s softer this time, and I catch the way his hand flexes against his thigh. “Yeah, I’m tired,” he admits, his tone hesitant. “But… I don’t think sleeping is at the top of my list.”
The words hit like a sucker punch, stealing what little air I have left. I grip the wheel tighter, trying to keep my focus as the tension between us crackles, sharp and electric.
“What is at the top of your list?” I ask, my voice low. My pulse is in my throat, and when I glance at him, I see him swallow hard.
He hesitates, his jaw working like he’s trying to find the right words. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Sharing a bed with you.”
My foot nearly slips off the gas pedal, but I manage to keep the car steady even as my breathing goes completely haywire. “Yeah?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the heat in his tone. “It’s… I mean, it’s not just about sleeping, but yeah. I want to. With you.”
The words light a fire under my skin, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands steady. “You’ve got no idea how much I’ve thought about that,” I admit, my voice rough.
Malik laughs softly, a little breathless, and I can hear the nerves and excitement mingling in his tone. “I think I’ve got an idea,” he says, shifting in his seat again.
I don’t say anything else, too focused on making sure we don’t crash, but the second I pull into my apartment complex and cut the engine, I finally let myself turn to him fully.
His eyes are on me, dark and full of heat, and before I can think better of it, I lean over, cupping his jaw and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s not rushed or frantic, but it’s full of promise, and when he sighs against my mouth, I know tonight is going to be everything I’ve been imagining—and then some.