Chapter 5
nico
The bellman handed me a card. “It’s good to have you at the Four Seasons, Mr. Rossi. Call that number and ask for Ronnie if you need anything. If I’m off duty, someone else will take care of you right away.”
“Thanks, Ronnie. I appreciate your help.” I walked him to the door and slipped him a twenty. “Take care and have a great day.”
He hesitated, then turned back. “I hate to ask, but you’re one of my favorite players. Would you mind signing something for me?”
I smiled because that was the reflex, the version of me everyone expected. “Sure. Do you have anything?”
He patted his pockets and shrugged. “Guess not.”
“No problem. There’s probably paper in the desk.”
I signed a piece of hotel stationery—To my good friend Ronnie. Best wishes, Nico Rossi #19. When I handed it over, his grin was blinding.
“Thanks again,” he said, giving me a quick salute before heading out.
As the door shut behind him, I lost my smile. Being someone’s favorite player was easy. Getting through the next forty-eight hours would not be.
I moved clothes from my suitcase to the closet, then looked around the room. Clean lines, blond wood flooring, and afternoon light streaming in through a wide window. It was nice in a temporary way, like everything else in my life right now.
After changing into sweatpants and a hoodie, I stretched out on the king-size bed with my phone. Marissa’s schedule waited in my email inbox, unopened.
I checked the time and realized Packy’s flight should’ve already landed.
The thought made me uneasy. We’d spent years perfecting our mutual contempt, and now we were supposed to work side by side, smiling for cameras.
That was a tall order. Still, since there was no way out, we’d have to make it work.
I opened the messaging app, then closed it. I’d text him in an hour, once he’d had time to get to the hotel. Someone had to take the first step, and I knew he wouldn’t do it.
When I finally opened Marissa’s schedule, I groaned as I scrolled through it. It would be a long two days.
“Goddammit,” I said, dropping my phone onto the bed. “Fucking Packy.”
The part of Marissa’s story about us being college friends wasn’t a lie. We’d been roommates at rookie camp, then lived together in the dorm for two years. Since we had a lot in common, it hadn’t taken us long to get close.
I smiled despite myself, remembering the night I scored my first NCAA goal.
It was a Wednesday game, and when the guys promised we’d celebrate over the weekend, Packy decided that wasn’t good enough.
He came back to the room with a six-pack of beer he definitely hadn’t gotten legally, grinning like a real badass.
When the bottles were empty, we walked down to the bay and sat on the rocks, watching moonlight ripple across the water. We talked about hockey, classes, and girls we’d hooked up with. Normal stuff, considering I thought I was bi back then.
The air grew colder as the night wore on. When he moved his leg and pressed it against mine, my heart stuttered. I didn’t react because we were good friends, and I didn’t want to risk messing that up.
Then he slipped an arm around my back and pulled me closer. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” he said. “I’m glad they paired us up.”
I turned my head, and for a moment, there was nothing but us. His breath brushed my cheek. He licked his lips, and the space between us tightened. Neither of us moved.
After a few seconds, he looked away but left his arm where it was.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had too,” I said, unsure of what had just happened. Had he expected me to do something?
My phone buzzed, bringing me back to the present. Maybe Packy had arrived. I glanced at the screen long enough to see it was only a reminder to charge my earbuds. Shit.
Rolling onto my back, I let out a long breath.
The vivid memory had me hard, and though I tried to let the thoughts go, tension hummed beneath my skin.
I couldn’t forget Packy’s gentle laughter and soft words, the ghost of his arm around me.
My dick was heavy, throbbing against the worn fabric of my sweatpants.
I shoved them down and over my feet, then lay back and spread my legs.
My cock stood straight, the flushed head already slick.
I teased myself, dragging a fingertip from the base to the tip.
As I circled the crown, a tiny bead of precum oozed from the slit.
I swiped the warm, silky fluid away with my thumb and wrapped my hand around my shaft. The pleasure made me gasp.
The first few strokes were slow and loose, making me even harder.
The wet slide of my hand seemed loud in the quiet room, and I jerked faster as I tried to remember the face of the bartender I’d picked up in Chicago the week before.
Blond hair, blue eyes, hung like a horse.
I groaned when I remembered his hands on me, how he’d licked my abs before venturing lower.
He’d taken me all in, his mouth warm and wet.
His ass was perfect too, squeezing me as I sank into him. Holy fuck, it was so good.
Suddenly, I was no longer in the Four Seasons.
The air is thick with a musky smell, half sweat, half hormones. I’m in bed, pressed against the cinderblock wall while I jerk off. All at once, the door bangs open as Pack runs in from the shower, dressed only in a towel slung so low his pubes are on display.
He stops in his tracks as soon as he sees what I’m doing. “Fuck, dude, I’m sorry. Forgot my…” In one quick motion, he swipes his deodorant off a shelf and heads back to the door.
He glances back before he leaves. Although I’ve pulled the sheet over myself, the outline of my hard dick is still visible. While he stares and licks his lips, it starts throbbing.
“Shit,” he says. “I’m really sorry. Be back in ten.”
The dorm room dissolved around me, and I was back in Atlanta. Letting my cock go, I banged my fist against the bed. “Goddamn fucking shit. That guy is poison.”
Despite the hate trying to take over my mind, my dick wouldn’t go down. I reached for it again and squeezed, summoning the bartender up from my memory. He’d been loud, yelling while I fucked him, begging me to go faster, give it to him harder.
“God, yes,” he’d yelled. “Love the way a jock fucks me.”
The memory of him faded, but I was still jerking off. I squeezed my balls with my free hand. A jolt of pleasure-pain shot up my spine as more precum leaked out.
“Fuck yes,” I whispered. “So good.”
The bartender was back, but he’d changed. Now his hair was brown, his eyes gray with a flash of amber. He was fucking me, which hadn’t happened, and I was moaning like I loved taking a dick.
I stroked faster. Letting my balls go, I moved my fingers over the sensitive skin behind my sac to my hole.
Circling the rim made me gasp. As I pressed a finger inside, I grunted, slowing my jerking hand until the initial sting gave way to a deep, spreading pleasure.
I crooked my finger and found it, a hard little ball. My vision blurred.
“You’re gonna make me come,” I whispered. “Fuck me.”
The tingling started deep inside, then coiled in my balls before I gave a raw, helpless cry. My back arched, and I grunted harshly with each heavy spurt of cum. The first one striped my cheek, but the rest landed in hot, thick ropes on my stomach and chest.
When the shooting stopped, I collapsed back onto the mattress, totally spent. The air was cool against my sweat-slicked skin, and I gasped for air. His name escaped before I realized what I was saying.
“Pack.”
I closed my eyes and whimpered.
What the fuck just happened?
Sometime later, my phone buzzed, dragging me out of sleep. I blinked at the screen and almost fell off the bed. It was eight-thirty. I’d been dead to the world for three hours, and Packy had been busy.
PACKY: I’m finally here. Plane trouble. Sat in Charlotte for four damn hours.
He’d sent that an hour ago. Then, thirty minutes later:
PACKY: Earth to Nico. I know you’re dumb, but you know how to look at your screen, right?
And now:
PACKY: We have to communicate, Nico. If not, we may as well go home and tell Marissa we really can’t do this.
Christ. The man was one text away from live-tweeting his emotional breakdown, and I snickered while typing a reply.
NICO: Don’t get your panties in a twist. I was asleep. Glad you made it safely.
NICO: Been here a while. Did you eat?
Why the hell had I sent that? What would be next? I’d ask if he brought a sweater?
PACKY: Don’t know about you, but I don’t wear panties. And my very masculine boxers are not in a twist. They’re playing their supporting role perfectly.
PACKY: When you ignored me, I ordered room service.
Jesus. Had he wanted company?
NICO: I’d hate for your heroic underwear to suffer. Sorry I missed your texts. I’ll try to be a better girlfriend next time. For now, I’ll order room service too.
PACKY: We’re due at the school at 11:30 tomorrow. Breakfast at nine? We’ll make a game plan.
Breakfast with him? My stomach already didn’t like mornings, and I hoped seeing him over bacon and eggs wouldn’t make it revolt.
NICO: Fine. Restaurant downstairs?
PACKY: Yep. See you then.
I almost put the phone down, but thought better of it. If we didn’t at least pretend to start on the right foot, this mission would go up in flames. I sent another message.
NICO: See you. Sleep well.
No response. Fuck him. He was probably too busy giving his boxers a pep talk.