Chapter 3
HARRY
After a celebratory meal at the local pancake and waffle establishment where the team carb loads while Darius makes a face at my Cobb salad with low-fat dressing on the side, we finally arrive at the Vacation Inn.
We aren’t vacationing, and it barely resembles an inn, so I don’t have high hopes for a luxury spa or mints on my pillow.
Darius heads to the counter to check us in, while I hang back in what I think is supposed to be a lobby with the boys and the few parents who have joined us.
Everything is mustard yellow or some horrid shade of brown, but these ten-year-old boys don’t seem to care about such things.
Filled with elation from the tie that ensured the Sharks’ continued participation in the tournament, and having indulged in heaps of pancakes and an assortment of sweet desserts for dinner, they’re a content, albeit rowdy, group.
The school reserves rooms with two queen beds, and three to four boys will be in each.
The few parents that drove separately will provide help.
Darius and I will share a room, and I’ve brought my eye mask and noise-canceling headphones to give myself some semblance of privacy from him making straight guy noises in the other bed.
After the wink, embrace, and too-close-for-comfort encounter at the rink, I ponder splurging for my own room, but then I remember the forty-seven dollars in my checking account and realize the two beds will have to suffice.
“All set,” Darius says, walking over to join us. He hands me a paper with the room numbers listed and a stack of key cards.
“I’ll take the left, you take the right, and we’ll meet back in our room.” He winks, and no, sir, we will be having none of that.
After I make sure the eight boys assigned to me are settled in their two rooms, I head to the end of the hallway to 309. The door is ajar, and when I walk in, I’m smacked in the face by the king-sized bed resting in the middle of the poorly appointed room.
“Yeah, so they only had four doubles and a single, and I figured it made more sense for us to take this room than ask four boys to share a bed. You’re cool with that, right?”
Without unzipping it, Darius pulls his Sharks hoodie over his head, the T-shirt underneath coming off with it . . . and within two minutes, we’re sharing a bed and he’s shirtless.
“Um. Sure.”
Darius Hill, who reminds me of the boys in middle school who called me a fairy before I knew I was one, stands half-naked before me.
His chest, firm but not overly muscular, with only a dusting of soft brown hair that matches the longest strands on top of his buzzed head, taunts me.
The movement in my khakis alarms me because I’m not supposed to be here.
And yet, somehow I find myself in a distant state, far from home, with an almost undressed Coach Hill.
“Cool. I’m going to take a quick shower. You don’t need to wait up.”
He turns around and pulls his pants and underwear off in one fell swoop before adding, “Unless you want.”
His ass, like two perfect globes, sways back and forth as he heads into the yellow-and-tan bathroom. What is it with the Vacation Inn and earth tones?
Okay—we’re sharing this bed. He’s naked—you kind of need to be for a shower.
I give myself a quick sniff. I’m clean enough.
I did little but sit on a bus and then a bench.
I casually throw my bag onto the worn-out chair near the old desk, and its creaking echoes through the room.
Knowing we’d be sharing a room, I brought pajamas.
There’s no way I’m sleeping in my usual undershirt and boxer briefs in the same room as Coach Darius Hill, let alone the same bed.
Maybe I should’ve rented a suit of armor—and a chastity belt.
You know, just in case my evening plans involved a jousting tournament or attempting to keep my quickly growing erection hidden.
Removing my books, clothes for tomorrow, and toiletry bag, I procure my pj’s from the bottom of my small duffel.
It’s fine. I can put some of the extra pillows I spied in the closet in between us and hug the edge of the bed.
I’m guessing Darius will be asleep in minutes, and I’ll just pop my headphones in and listen to the Moby Dick audiobook.
Or maybe another classic would be a better choice.
I quickly undress down to my underwear and pop on the soft poly-cotton blend shirt. As I’m pulling the pants on, I hear Darius from behind me.
“Oh, he’s got fancy underwear. Very nice.”
I take a deep inhale, turn around, and glare. My heart races, and I try to ignore the fiery heat crawling up my neck like a rogue flame, daring me to surrender.
“These are Old Navy. They’re not fancy. Or expensive.”
And then I realize he’s only wearing a towel.
A hotel towel. It’s small, thin, and doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
I can see nearly everything beneath the flimsy excuse for a cover-up.
If this were a decent establishment, they’d be large, plush, and not allow the outline of his cock to be so clear. Fuck my life.
“I said they’re nice. Learn to take a compliment, Harry.”
His use of my first name—for the first time ever—pushes the heat from my face back down my torso and right to my groin. I quickly pull my pajama pants up.
“Did you want to shower?”
“No, I’m good. Still fresh and clean.”
I give a feeble smile.
“Well, the bathroom is all yours. I’m ready to hit the hay.”
And then Darius walks around to the other side of the bed and throws his towel on the chair like yesterday’s news.
He’s a blur as he dives under the covers, frantically arranging the pillows behind his head. With his hands propped up, his biceps tense, and his armpits exposed, every muscle screams for attention. Dear God, what am I supposed to do now?
As I brush my teeth, I go over the situation in my head. Darius Hill is straight. Or I thought he was—is. Darius Hill is an asshole who torments me and attempts to make my life hell at school. He’s also incredibly sexy. And naked. And in the bed we’re about to share for the night.
I can do this. I worked in an ice cream store as a teenager and barely ate anything.
After a few months, I wasn’t even hungry for ice cream.
And they had the best mint chip—not those tiny flakes of chocolate, but giant, full-sized chips.
If I can resist the allure of minty, chocolaty-sweet frozen dessert, I can resist spending a night in bed with a PE teacher-slash-hockey coach who I’m almost certain doesn’t even like men.
With a steeling breath, I open the door and march to my side of the bed.
I avoid making eye contact as I crawl under the covers and turn my body away from him, quickly securing my eye mask in place.
I’m like a horse with blinders—out of sight, out of mind.
Take that, clean, naked man emanating heat a mere two feet away.
“You good if I turn the lights off?”
I’ve never heard Darius’s voice so soft. It’s like the bus ride, intense game, and hot shower somehow put a damper on his volume. He almost sounds . . . sweet.
“Mm-hmm.”
Maybe if I keep my communication to wordless affirmations, he’ll doze off and leave me alone. I hear the light click and begin counting breaths, hoping sleep will come.
“Thanks again for coming,” he whispers. “It meant a lot to the boys.”
“Yup,” I say. The boys. The only reason I’m here.
Technically, it’s a word, but only one—no more.
“And me.”
I hear some rustling and the sheets shifting, but I stay as still as a fly caught in a spider’s web.
It’s quiet for a minute, only the sound of our breathing and my heart pounding against my ribcage in my ears.
And then, Darius speaks.
“Listen, Harry, I know you think I’m a Neanderthal jerk—and, well, you’re not completely wrong.
I don’t mean to be so gruff with you. I swear I’m not a complete asshole.
” He shifts, and there’s a gentle tug at the sheets.
“It’s just a cover. I hope you can forgive me.
No hard feelings. Anyway, thanks again for coming. ”
“A cover for what?”
Darius takes a few slow, deep breaths, making me uncertain if he’ll respond. However, his soft voice eventually breaks the silence.
“Have you ever seen one of the boys teasing a girl in class? Making jokes. Doing all he can to make her miserable?”
I’m not positive, but it sounds like he’s on his back, facing the ceiling. His shoulder can’t be more than six inches from me. The warmth from his skin almost reaches my back.
“Yeah. Victor is horrible to Rebecca Norwood. I’ve had to chat with him about it. Twice.”
“Same. The teasing in PE can be brutal.” He takes a deep sigh. “Why do you think he does it?”
I flip over to face him, and tug my eye mask off. “He likes her. Obviously.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I understand what Darius is trying to tell me. Or I think I do.
“Wait, so you’re telling me you have the maturity of a ten-year-old boy?”
He shrugs, sticks his tongue out, and makes a slow fart noise. This doesn’t bode well for me.
When he finishes with the raspberry, I say, “But you’re straight.”
“Says who?”
The bright lights of the parking lot creep through the drawn curtain enough so I can make out his silhouette—he’s still staring at the ceiling.
“You’re the PE teacher. You love sports. You coach hockey, and you . . . yell—all the time. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you without a baseball hat until ten minutes ago when you got naked in front of me.”
“So you make assumptions about people based on societal norms about things like clothes and sports. Got it.”
“Well, didn’t you assume I’m gay because I teach English and co-direct the musical every year?”
“No, Harry. I didn’t. I knew you were gay because the first time you ate in the teacher’s lounge, you and Christine had an entire conversation about which Marvel character you’d like to fuck, and you, not surprisingly, picked Wolverine.”
“That doesn’t make me gay. Most straight guys would do Wolverine.”
He lets out a small laugh, and how the hell did I miss this about him?
“You’re not wrong, but it was a pretty good indicator.”
“And who would yours be?” I ask.
I’m on the edge of a cliff, waiting to jump, as I watch his lips and wait for his answer.
“That’s a no-brainer. Spiderman. But mostly for Peter Parker. I like someone smart. Someone who reads lots of books. A real nerd. That’s hot as fuck.”
“Really?” I’m up on one elbow now. “Not Iceman? You literally coach ice hockey.” He’s quiet, so I lie on my back next to him, keeping those few precious inches between us. “Seemed like an obvious choice.”
“Nope.” Now Darius props himself up on an elbow, facing me. As his warm, minty breath grazes my chin, I can’t help but feel a surge of anticipation, causing my pajama pants to tighten. “I’m always going for the geek.”
And with that, Darius brushes the curls away from my forehead and moves his face closer. He’s watching me, and while I’m not sure what’s unfolding, I’m strangely at ease with it.