Chapter 21 Griffin
Griffin
The guys are being absolute rowdy fucks like we didn’t just spend three hours getting the shit kicked out of us before pulling off a win by sheer willpower.
And yeah, okay, I’d normally be in the thick of it, shotgunning a beer with Mack under the table while pretending I’m listening to Coach talk about discipline and focus but tonight?
Tonight I can’t be assed.
I can’t focus on a single goddamn thing except for the fact that Jacob is sitting two seats away from me.
Definitely close enough for me to hear that deep-ass, sinfully smooth voice of his every time he opens his mouth.
He laughs at something Hughie says and I swear to God it’s like the sound short-circuits something in my fucking brain because now I’m just imagining how his mouth looked last night when it wasn’t saying anything at all.
Just open and moaning against mine.
And that school-issued polo? Fuck me, I didn’t know khaki and polyester could look hot, but here we are. It hugs his arms too well and clings to his chest just enough to make me think about peeling it off, and now I’m fully spiraling at a team dinner.
I think I’m supposed to be nervous. Or confused. Or, like, re-evaluating my entire fucking identity right now. I’ve spent my entire life crushing on girls, dating girls, sleeping with girls, jerking off to girls. You name it, if it had tits and a smile, I was in.
Not once did I ever think I’d be into a guy. I never even paused on the idea.
But Jacob? Yeah. He fucks all of that sideways.
He’s just so fucking pretty, and I mean that in the most unholy, pants-tightening, what-the-actual-fuck kind of way. Last night wasn’t just a slip or a curious kiss. I’m pretty sure I stopped thinking altogether the moment I had him against that hotel room door.
And now I’m half-hard at team dinner, with our trainer sitting a stone’s throw away, probably smelling like that citrusy shampoo he uses that I definitely wasn’t burying my face into last night.
Kill me.
“You good, man?”
Mack’s voice yanks me back to earth and I turn toward him so fast my neck actually cracks a little. For one terrifying second, I think he’s going to call me out because he knows I’m sitting here bricked up like a desperate teen.
But no. He’s just got that smug-ass grin, leaning back in his chair like a lazy cat who knows way too much.
I clear my throat and force a laugh. “Yeah, dude. Just tired.”
“I bet you’re tired,” he drawls with a shit eating smirk. “I don’t know who you were with, but you didn’t come back to the room last night, and let me tell you, I’m not mad about it. Had the whole space to myself. Some quality ‘me’ time, if you know what I mean.”
He winks.
Jesus.
Gross.
“You better not have touched my bed,” I grumble, turning back to my food and trying to will my erection into the goddamn void.
He chuckles and goes back to devouring his food.
All I can do is sit there and wait for this dinner to be fucking over so I can do something other than sit here pretending I’m not falling apart at the seams over a guy.
Hughie pushes back from the table with that same calm, quiet energy he always has. He grabs his water, stretches his long-ass arms over his head, and mutters, “Alright, I’m out. Early night.”
A few guys snort, and one of the freshman goes, “Goalies always gotta do their weird goalie rituals. You gonna go meditate in a bathtub of ice again, Hugh?”
“Yup,” Hughie deadpans, already walking off. “With your mom.”
The table explodes with laughter that echoes around the room, and even Coach lets out a chuckle like he’s used to the bullshit at this point.
But me? I’m barely hearing it. My brain’s lighting the fuck up because Hughie leaving means I can leave. And if I leave, I can find Jacob. And if I find Jacob-
Well, I don’t really know what the hell I’m gonna say. Or do. But I know I want to see him. I need to.
So I don’t even wait for the conversation to die down. I stand up too, muttering some vague excuse as I stretch my back, grabbing my half-full soda and taking a lazy sip just to keep my hands from doing something dumb like reaching for Jacob across the table.
That’s when I glance at him.
And holy fuck.
He’s already looking at me. For half a second, we just stare at each other like we’re caught in this weird little bubble, this secret tension no one else at the table knows about.
And then he blinks, cheeks flushing that insane shade of pink that makes me want to shove a chair out of the way and just grab him.
Instead of continuing to stare at the team trainer like an absolute stalker, I leave the room. I already know I need to find a way to get Jacob alone again but I don’t really know how. Or the best way. I was lucky last night because I hadn’t really been expecting anything other than us talking.
But now, knowing that I want him so fucking bad, it feels a little more tense. The idea of just showing up at his room and knocking feels a little more…I don’t know, suspicious, even it really fucking shouldn’t.
I jab the elevator button like it personally pissed me off. I don't even fucking know why I’m this pissed. Maybe because I want something, and it’s not here, not in my hands, not under me, not wrapped around me moaning my name.
The doors slide open and I stalk inside, slamming the button for my floor like that’s gonna make the damn thing move faster. I lean back against the cool metal wall, head thudding once with a hollow clang, and I’m about to stew in my own frustration when-
Jacob fucking steps in.
Right before the doors close.
Great. Just fucking great.
“Hi,” he breathes out, soft and low like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
His eyes drag slowly down my body, past the tight stretch of my t-shirt over my chest, the veins down my arms, my thighs in these stupid athletic shorts that cling just enough to show I’m not exactly lacking.
And yeah, I’m getting hard.
Again.
Fuck me.
It’s like I’m watching from outside myself. One second I’m sulking in a metal box, the next I’ve gone full hard-on in record time. My brain tries to shout something about public space and other people’s eyeballs, but my body’s already moving. My body doesn’t give a shit.
I push into his space, close enough he’s got nowhere to go, his back pressed against the wall, his breath catching. That little hitch in his throat? That gets me grinning.
I want him rattled. I want him squirming. I want him so hard it hurts.
I let my eyes drift over him, that sharp jaw, those stupidly pretty lips, the way his chest rises like he’s trying to play it cool but can’t.
“Hi,” I murmur back, lips twitching in a smirk, because fuck, his gaze is locked right on my mouth like he’s already imagining it on him.
The elevator hums beneath us, just the two of us in this tight little metal box with no escape and no witnesses.
I lean in and kiss him.
It’s not a sloppy or rushed kiss like last night.
I kiss him like I know exactly what I want and how to take it, like I’ve been waiting for the green light and now I’m flooring it.
My mouth meets his like muscle memory, like gravity’s been pulling us here all along and this is just physics finally catching up.
His lips part, soft and eager, and it’s this perfect fucking mess of heat and pressure. The quiet little sigh he lets out that goes straight to my dick. He shifts slightly and his own hardness presses against my thigh.
And when I finally pull back, because yeah, someone’s gonna need this elevator eventually and I can’t exactly bend him over the handrail, I’m breathing like I just ran suicides.
My stomach does that stupid flip it only ever does when I think about his mouth.
And in the back of my head, underneath all the noise and the need and the muscle-memory lust, I hear this one dumbass thought:
Fuck. I’m so screwed.
Even if it ruins every good decision I ever made in my life.
Which is so not helpful right now. I mean, I came here to talk.
TALK. That’s all.
Like a responsible human being. Not throw him against a wall and lick the inside of his mouth like a feral animal with no shame.
But now he’s looking at me, flushed and breathing fast and fuck me, even more beautiful than I remember. And I swear to God, the elevator doors can’t open fast enough.
So when the ding sounds and the doors part, we don’t even speak. We just move.
I follow him down the hallway, so goddamn aware of the heat radiating off his skin like it’s calling me back in. My hands curl into fists because if they don’t, I’ll reach out and grab his hip or lace our fingers together or some equally deranged shit.
We get to his door and he swipes the card. I’m so keyed up I nearly offer to carry him over the threshold, wedding-style, which…again, unhelpful.
He opens it and steps inside with me following without question.
The door closes behind me with a soft click, and the silence that follows is deafening.
I exhale, slow and hard, running a hand through my hair like that’ll do anything to cool the fire under my skin.
“We should talk,” I say, even though what I really want to do is pin him against the bed and kiss him until my lips forget what air tastes like.
Jacob nods once, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"I don’t know how to do this,” I say slowly, my voice low.
Jacob’s watching me with those big, impossibly patient eyes, nodding but then he asks, “Do what, exactly?”
I let out a sigh and drag a hand over my face, tugging at my hair for a second like it’ll help untangle the mess in my chest. “I just... this is all new. All of it. I don’t really know what I’m doing here, with this... with you.”
He nods again, slower this time, like he's processing it. And then he says, “And you have a girlfriend.”
That hits me like a slap to the face and I jerk back instinctively, heart kicking up because fuck, no.
“No, I don’t,” I say quickly, and Jacob’s mouth parts in surprise, a little breath leaving him like maybe I just knocked the wind out of him too.