Chapter 2
ETHAN
Jett is extra pissy today, and I can’t help but poke the bear. No, not a bear, he’s more like a startled deer with sad eyes. Only, this deer has porcupine quills too. I snort at that image. That’s way too many animal metaphors at once. I must be experiencing sunstroke or something.
Still, I’ve never met anyone who could say so much with one look.
But Jett isn’t irritated the way he usually is when I’m around. No, it’s more than that. He’s furious. And I don’t think it’s because of me, but because of that Renner asshole he’s dating. Now I’m really curious. I mean, I want to know more about Jett anyway.
Why? He’s the only person I’ve met on campus who I haven’t become friends with.
I know, the fuck? Everyone loves me. Everyone.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. Everyone knows me by reputation—I throw a sick party, I’m a loyal friend, and I’m a stellar lay. Oh, and I’m great at hockey, of course. I’m popular, so sue me. And I try to find something good in everyone I meet, which means I get along with almost everyone.
Except this blond cowboy from Nevada.
Pretty boy with a near-perfect GPA and a drawl that hits right in the balls. I mean, if I were into deep, raspy voices. Which I’m not. It’s just that I haven’t fucked in over two weeks, so I’m backed up, and it’s making me extra horny.
I watch Jett as he stalks off, and those black nylon shorts he’s wearing don’t leave anything to the imagination.
The guy has killer quads that are the envy of every athlete.
You don’t get muscles like that from anything less than pushing yourself to your limit.
But it’s his ass that snags all the attention, and not only mine, but several students’ who’ve now gathered to watch us play.
He struts down the grassy field like it’s a college runway, his ass cheeks bouncing with every step, high and round and way cuter than most hockey butts, mine included.
God, I should’ve worn a hat today because I really am hallucinating…
“Ean, you gonna stand there and stare at Jett’s ass or are we actually going to play this fucking soccer game?”
I turn and offer my teammate Silas my favorite gesture, a finger that always comes in first place.
“I wasn’t staring at his ass; I was wondering how his thighs would feel wrapped around my head.”
Silas’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. Shit.
“I mean, someone else’s head. Not mine. In a non-sexual way. You know, because he’s got legs like a wrestler slash assassin slash superhero. He’d crush your skull with one hard squeeze.”
Silas shakes his head and starts to walk past me.
“Get some water, you’re dehydrated and making no sense. As usual.”
“Fuck you, Si.”
He pats my head in retaliation, which drives me nuts. No one touches my hair except me or the woman I’m having sex with. Either way, touching the hair is a privilege. And when I think about the possibility of having to shave it all off, I get chills even though it’s a warm evening.
No way. Fuck that. We’re going to win, and Jett’s going to be the one in shock.
I try to imagine him with a shaved head, and damn it all, he’s still fucking pretty. Stuck up, know-it-all bastard.
Instead of thinking about him, I follow Silas and gather with my Cougar teammates to finish our warmup.
Maddox is standing in front of the net, his hands on his hips, looking like he’s ready for battle.
Mad is our goalie on the ice and today is no different.
The intense scowl he’s known for is still in place, so I assume it’s going to be business as usual.
“Are you sure you’re okay in net?” Kayden asks Maddox. “Blocking a soccer ball is way harder than it looks.”
Maddox gives his boyfriend a gloved finger, and Kayden laughs in response.
“It’s not nearly as hard as blocking a puck. And we’ve been practicing all summer, so I’m more than ready,” Maddox replies with a smirk. “In fact, if hockey doesn’t work out, I think I’ve got another option in professional sports.”
I admire the cockiness, but give up hockey for soccer? There are very few things I don’t joke about and that’s one of them.
“Don’t even go there,” Kayden replies, shaking his head. “Take it back.”
Maddox crooks his finger and urges Kayden to come closer.
“Like I’d ever give up hockey,” Maddox insists.
Kayden leans down and silences Maddox with a long kiss, and the rest of the guys start whistling and clapping. When the awesome twosome is done sucking face, I see that Maddox is wearing a genuine smile. Seeing him like that is as weird as my earlier preoccupation with Jett.
Snap out of it.
Dane, our captain, along with Axel and Jace, two of our best forwards, gather around the net. We’re joined by the rest of the Cougars—Silas, Finn, Colin, Sean, and Bates, who’s a new addition to our roster this fall. Maddox leans down and grabs the nearest soccer ball.
“But I will say that I can’t stand these tiny gloves,” Maddox grumbles.
“I feel like I’m a magician or something.
Then there’s the cleats, which have no give, and the fact that I’m not wearing ten pounds of protective gear.
And the size of this net is ridiculous. I mean, how high am I gonna have to jump? ”
“So, my original question stands,” Kayden continues with a cheeky grin. “Are you good in net?”
“Of course I’m good.” Maddox nods. “Bring it on.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I chime in. “What about you, Dane?”
“What about me?” our captain returns.
“You’re the only one playing against his boyfriend,” I reply and give him a knowing look. “Don’t let Jackson’s sexy body distract you.”
Dane uses his middle finger to scratch his chin in response.
“As if,” Dane scoffs and narrows his eyes. “Sexy?”
“You know what I mean,” I huff. “He’s wearing those tiny shorts, like Jett. Don’t let it ruin your concentration.”
“I think I can manage to control myself for one game,” Dane insists. “You worry about yourself.”
I ignore that comment and clap my hands.
“Alright guys, let’s do this!” I call out. “Let’s kick some Crew ass and show them who the best athletes on this campus are!”
We pump each other up like we do on a regular hockey game day, and then it’s time to head for the center of the field to get this game started.
By the time we signal for the Crew to join us, the sidelines are packed with students ready to watch us play.
We’ve been practicing for this game, but for some reason I’m nervous as hell.
This is only for fun, a friendly competition, something to brag about at parties.
No one’s future career is riding on it, and yet with every second that ticks closer to the start, my nerves are so bad I’m all but jumping up and down like I’m on a trampoline instead of grass.
The guys are used to my ADHD, but it seems that today, even medication can’t stop my spiral.
Why am I so on edge?
Okay, I hate losing, and the thought of possibly, maybe, having to cut my hair even more. But still. It’s hair, it’ll grow back.
What am I saying? We’re gonna win.
I repeat that mantra in my head and roll my shoulders.
“Let’s go already!” I shout, and the sound carries across the field.
When the Crew, headed by Jett, stalks over, my confidence begins to waver.
It’s so unlike me that I place a hand to my forehead and check to make sure I don’t have a fever.
The Cougars are fit, but these rowing guys take it to the next level.
They carry themselves with innate grace, like they’re…
well, like they’re moving through water.
Hockey players, on the other hand, are rough and tumble. At least on the soccer field.
Jett’s determined gaze is so fired up that I know this isn’t going to be an easy game, despite the casual bet.
Whatever’s riding him, it’s fuelling his competitive spark, and he’s taking this a lot more seriously than I anticipated.
His teammates, on the other hand, seem relaxed.
All of them are smiling at us as we shake hands.
Everyone except him.
“Coin toss for the kickoff. Do you want heads or tails?” I offer Jett when he meets me at center circle.
“Heads.”
“No surprise there, mister three-point-eight GPA.”
“It’s four,” he snarks back. “Toss it already.”
“I’ll do it.”
The voice belongs to Silas’s younger brother, Josiah, who volunteered to be our referee. My hand is sweaty, but I manage to reach into my pocket and pass the coin to him. He flips it, and I hold my breath as I wait for the drop.
Heads. Fuck.
“Dammit,” I mutter.
“You’re so freaking easy,” Jett murmurs.
“Yeah, and? You got a problem with casual sex?” I quip.
“Of course not.” Jett rolls his eyes. “My issue is annoying fuckboys who make every conversation about their dick. Stop talking and start playing.”
Jett’s angry demand has me flushing hot. Fuck, I am coming down with something.
I ignore the chuckles from my teammates and back away to take my position, all the while staring at Jett as he prepares for the kick off. That thunderous expression is back on his face and he’s looking at the ball as if he’s going to destroy it.
Like Maddox, I feel oddly vulnerable without all my hockey gear. There’s nothing out here to protect me—except my cup—and if Jett’s legs are any indication, that ball is going to fly fast and hard.
And hopefully not at my dick.
Jett winds up and goes for it, launching the ball so far down the field it’s only a few feet away from Maddox. The game’s on and everyone leaps into action. Only, no one’s slamming into each other, and running this huge-ass field is not as easy as it looks.
And what the hell… Hudson and Jett are already pushing into our zone.
Please, God, not a goal already.
Thankfully, Silas is nearby to intercept them, and he quickly passes the ball to Finn, who’s fast as fuck and starts bringing it up.
Until Hudson makes his move, his footwork even faster than our scrappy defenseman. Finn loses control of the ball and Hudson takes off with it. He drives it back down and we’re defending our zone again.
Ten minutes of this back and forth goes by, and finally I get possession of the ball.
But it’s not a breakaway. I get cornered by Jackson, so I fire the ball to Axel, who takes it the rest of the way and makes his play.
Archie’s in net for the Crew, and when he leaps to block the shot, it doesn’t matter. The ball hits the crossbar.
No goal. Not even close.
But we don’t let up.
Twenty minutes in—nearly halftime—and I charge forward along with Dane, and deke in and out of the Crew’s defenders, Jackson and Hudson. Both guys are just as fast, and quickly block my way. Dane somehow manages to snag the ball back and he’s off.
Until Jett appears, outmaneuvring our captain and snatching the ball away like he plays this game every day.
Shit, the Crew has possession of the ball again.
I’m a good runner, not the fastest, but I have endurance. Jett, on the other hand, is like a fucking rocket, and no matter how I try, I can’t catch up to him. And our defense is surrounded by the Crew’s midfielders, Iggy and Wyatt.
Jett pushes it, hard, until he gets an opening. When he moves, he moves to strike. Maddox leaps into the left corner to block the shot, but the ball whizzes past him and slams into the back of the net.
1–0 Crew
“Fuck!” I shout in frustration as the whistle blows.
And I’m not the only one. Maddox lies on the grass and slams his hand on the ground while Kayden jogs over to speak to his boyfriend.
I’m not close enough to hear what’s being said—I can hardly hear anything over the pounding of my heart—but obviously it calms Maddox down and he takes Kayden’s offered hand and gets back up.
“We got this!” I shout out. “Come on, we’ve still got time on the clock!”
Jett runs by and his teammates offer him high fives and cheers.
He returns their smiles and suddenly looks over his shoulder.
When our gazes clash, I’m helpless to look anywhere else.
I swear he could burn this entire field to the ground with the fire in those green eyes of his.
It’s a look that gets in my head more than I care to admit.
This doesn’t feel like a game. Jett’s on a mission to eviscerate us.
Me in particular.
I clear my throat and spit on the ground as a distraction. Yeah, it’s gross, but that’s the point. I can’t let this guy get the better of me—or my team. No one gets in my head that way.
“It’s only one goal,” I taunt him as I wipe the sweat and spit off my face. “We’re not done yet.”
He turns around and lets out another wicked smile.
“One is all it takes.” Jett rubs his hands together and lets out a husky laugh. “Man, I can’t wait to get my hands on your hair.”
Without pause, I look away.
The thought of him touching me is… uh, what the fuck?
I don’t know why it happens, but my balls tighten.
If I didn’t have a cup on, I’d be reaching down to adjust myself.
It’s not uncommon for guys to get hard when playing sports, adrenaline needs somewhere to go, but still, what’s going on with me?
It has nothing to do with him; it’s a reaction to stress.
And maybe a concern that he’s going to knee me. I’m tempted to reach down to protect myself, never mind adjust.
Come on, Ethan, focus.
Unlike hockey, the clock doesn’t stop in soccer for any reason until the half is over. So there’s no time to waste. We’ve still got five minutes until we break.
Josiah blows his whistle and the play resumes.
I shove Jett’s comment—and my weird reaction—to the back of my mind where it belongs.
We play our best, but when the five minutes are up, the Crew’s still ahead 1–0.
Thank fuck we get a break because my legs are burning and my lungs too.
It feels like I’ve already run a marathon, and we still have forty-five minutes to go.
Kudos to the guys who play this for a living, because soccer ain’t easy.
We rehydrate and regroup. I chat with everyone, but my eyes keep wandering across the field.
I notice that Jett is standing with Archie, Jackson, and Hudson, the foursome huddled together.
Jett’s looking more upset than angry, swiping at his eyes, and suddenly his friends reach out and hug him. What’s going on there?
Jett’s gaze suddenly snaps up, and I follow his line of vision. Ugh, his boyfriend Renner has arrived.
“I said I don’t want to talk to you!”
I can hear Jett’s voice clear across the field.
“Leave me alone!”
But Renner’s not moving. Well, he moves, but he’s taking a step forward and reaching for Jett. He looks angry as fuck and starts shouting back.
Before I know it, I’m running again—to the other side of the field.
And that’s when the game really kicks off.