8. Felix
FELIX
T he idea gnaws at me for days like a persistent itch I can’t scratch. Julian’s story doesn’t add up, no matter how I try to piece it together. A sporting goods store? He says it’s family-owned, yet he’s never mentioned its name, never once shared a story about customers, coworkers, or even the mundane parts of working retail. It’s like a placeholder excuse he keeps hoping I won’t question too much.
But I do question it—because something about it feels wrong. Forced. Manufactured.
By the time I decide to look into it, I’ve convinced myself it’s not about prying into his life. It’s about clearing up my own doubts. If I just confirm the store exists, I can let it go. Right?
I start simple, opening my laptop in the corner of the campus library. It’s quiet, save for the occasional shuffling of papers or muffled coughs, the perfect setting to investigate without distraction. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I type: sporting goods stores in Montcove . A list of results appears almost instantly.
A few chain stores pop up first—names I already know. Then there’s a smattering of smaller, independent shops, most with basic websites or Yelp pages. I scan the list, my eyes narrowing as I go. None of them mention being family-owned or even remotely tied to the Greco name. The Greco family seems to own a lot of land: construction sites, empty plots, etc., but no sporting goods stores.
Still, I’m not ready to give up. I try again, this time searching for Greco family-owned sporting goods . Nothing. I add local , then independent . The results get smaller and smaller until it’s clear that no such store exists.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the screen. My chest tightens. The lie is undeniable now, glaring back at me in bold, empty search results.
It doesn’t make sense. Why lie about something as simple as a job? If he didn’t want to tell me, he could have said so. He didn’t have to make up a story. What’s the point? The weight of the realization settles over me, cold and heavy. Julian’s been lying to me this whole time, and whatever he’s hiding—it’s bigger than just a job.
My phone buzzes on the desk.
Julian: Sorry for the last minute text, but I can’t make it tonight. Got work after practice. But I’ll make it up to you. ;)
It’s the same excuse he’s used a dozen times before, and each time, I’ve let it slide. Not tonight.
Tonight, I need answers.
After his practice ends, I wait near the parking lot, straddling my bike. The floodlights from the field cast long shadows, and the faint echo of cleats on asphalt carries in the cool evening air. I spot him before he sees me as he jogs toward his sleek black car, gym bag slung over one shoulder.
Before I can follow him, a voice startles me.
“Felix, right?”
I turn to see Cole Andrews, one of Julian’s teammates, leaning against a lamppost. His brown hair catches the light, and his casual smirk tells me he’s been watching me for a while.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone light but laced with curiosity.
“Just...leaving,” I say, gripping the handlebars of my bike.
Cole tilts his head, his smirk widening. “You sure? Because it kinda looks like you’re waiting for Julian.”
I roll my eyes and try to brush past him, but he steps in my way.
“So, you and Julian, huh?” he says, folding his arms. “Didn’t think you were his type.”
I freeze, my pulse quickening. “We’re not...anything.”
Cole raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure. So you’re just here for the scenery?”
I don’t answer, slipping around him before he can stop me. Behind me, I hear him laugh softly.
“Good luck, man,” he calls out, his voice fading as I pedal away. “He has a trail of broken hearts behind him.”
Julian’s car pulls out of the lot, and I follow at a safe distance. My bike tires hum against the pavement and the cool night air bites at my skin. He takes a winding route through the city, weaving through streets I don’t know well, before finally turning onto a narrow road that leads to the industrial district.
I stop at the corner, watching as his car pulls up to a large warehouse. It’s massive, with corrugated metal walls and no visible signage. A few dim lights glow near the entrance, and the lot is nearly empty except for Julian’s car and a few unmarked vans.
He gets out, his movements quick and purposeful, and disappears through a side door.
I stay where I am, my heart pounding. The idea of going inside crosses my mind, but the thought of being caught stops me cold. Whatever’s happening here, it’s not something Julian wants me to see—and I’m not sure I want to know.
Instead, I linger in the shadows, the distant hum of machinery filling the silence. I don’t leave until his car pulls out of the lot an hour later, headlights slicing through the darkness.
???
The tutoring room is quiet, the hum of the library’s overhead lights the only sound between us. Julian sits across from me, his chair tilted back on two legs as he lazily spins a pen between his fingers. His nonchalance is infuriating, especially when I’m here to help him.
“Can you focus for five minutes?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intended.
Julian smirks, leaning forward just enough to let the chair’s front legs hit the floor. “I’m focused,” he says. “You were saying something about formulas?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “About how you’re failing this class because you keep skipping assignments.”
“Life’s complicated, Felix.”
“That’s not an excuse,” I snap back. “And you know it.”
Julian’s smile falters, just for a second, before his mask slips back into place. “You’ve got me there, baby.”
I slam my book shut, the sound echoing in the room. “You know what? I’m tired of this. One minute you’re charming your way out of every situation, and the next you’re dodging simple questions. Like, I don’t know, where you even work ?”
Julian stiffens, the easygoing air around him evaporating. “I told you. At my family’s sporting goods store.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” I say, crossing my arms. “But you’re never specific. No details, no stories. It’s like you’re afraid to slip up.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Julian says, his voice low and dangerous.
“Then tell me the truth for once.”
The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife. Julian’s jaw clenches, his eyes hard as he stares at me across the table.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he says finally.
“No, you don’t,” I admit as I stand up. “But don’t expect me to sit here and pretend you’re not hiding something from me.”
Julian shoots up from his chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. “Why do you care so much?” he demands, stepping closer.
“Because I—” I stop myself, the words catching in my throat.
His expression softens, his eyes searching mine. “Because you what?”
The air shifts between us, and the argument melts into something charged and electric. Julian is close now, his gaze flicking to my lips before returning to my eyes.
“Julian,” I warn, though my voice lacks conviction.
“Felix,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us.
His lips are on mine before I can think to pull away, and the rest of the world falls away. His hands cup my face, his touch firm and insistent, and I can’t help but respond, my fingers clutching the front of his shirt.
The kiss deepens as all the frustration and tension of the past few weeks spills out between us. His tongue slides against mine and I pull him closer. Julian’s hand slips down to my crotch, rubbing my hardening bulge through my pants. I groan into his lips, trying to stay in my right mind. My heart races and my mind is clouded with the feel of him—his heat, his scent, his desperation.
Somehow, we end up pressed against the wall, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Julian’s hands are under my shirt, his fingers tracing fire along my skin.
“See? You like me,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire.
My control snaps.
I push him down to his knees. “I can’t fucking deal with your mouth anymore.”
His eyes flash with surprise, as if he’s never been one to take orders before. But I don’t wait for him to protest. I unzip my jeans, watching his face flush. I pinch his cheeks to get him to open his mouth before shoving my cock against his tongue. The feel of his mouth on me sends a jolt through my dick.
I lace my fingers through his golden hair and grip tightly. “Fuck, Jules.”
Julian only hesitates for half a second before moving his head. Shit, this feels too good. Julian’s fingertips dig into my thighs as he continues to choke down my shaft. His eyes have defiant tears in them as he glares up at me.
But I can see his hand rubbing against his own bulge.
Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this. Anybody could walk in and see us like this. I could lose my tutoring job.
Julian gently sucks the head of my cock, his tongue tracing the seam.
What was I thinking about?
It’s too much for me to bear. I yank Julian up from his knees, my dick still dripping with his saliva. I need to be inside of him.
A frenzy comes over me as I tug off his jacket and throw it to his feet. My hands find the hem of his shirt and pull it upward. He lifts his arms, letting me strip it off.
That’s when I see them—the bruises.
They bloom dark and angry across his ribs and sides, a stark contrast to his golden skin. Some are faint, others fresh, and all of them scream of violence. My stomach twists.
“What the hell?” I breathe, my fingers brushing one of the bruises lightly.
Julian flinches and steps back. “It’s nothing. It’s from football, is all,” he says quickly, reaching for his shirt.
“Don’t do that,” I say sharply. “Don’t pretend this is nothing.” I turn around and begin to fix my clothing.
He grabs my hand, pulling me to face him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me!” I snap. “Who did this to you?”
But it feels like I already know the answer. His lies, the drugs, the bruises? My mind rattles with the thought that I was right about him…about his family.
Julian’s jaw tightens, his eyes darting away. “Just drop it, Felix.”
“Drop it?” I repeat. “You’re standing here covered in bruises, and you want me to just drop it ?”
He doesn’t answer.
The silence between us stretches, heavy and suffocating.
“Fine,” I say finally, stepping back because now things are messy.
I’m not supposed to be fucking my number one suspect. I got carried away.
“Felix, wait?—”
But I’m already at the door, my heart pounding as I turn the handle.
“Let me help you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper—one last plea.
Julian doesn’t respond, and I don’t wait for him to. The door closes behind me with a quiet click, leaving him alone in the silence.