Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Colton’s jersey reappears at our front door the next day, a reminder from last night.
I can still taste him on my tongue despite brushing my teeth.
My throat is sore from the fucking he gave it.
Paulie is the one who found it and brought it to me. It’s wrapped in a plastic bag, but he knows it’s something from the guy I’m into. Or mostly dislike…I think.
I take it from him and shove it under my bed. But as I get ready, I can sense it. Feel it. I pull it out and yank the jersey free, pushing the fabric up to my face and inhaling.
It smells fresh. Like he washed it.
This is even worse because now I know what his detergent smells like.
I inhale it again before stuffing it under my pillow. I’ll figure out what to do about it later.
But later only brings me to a low point. I lie in bed and press my face into it while I jack off, thinking about the throat-fucking he gave me. I think about the way he shook and moaned. I should have just thrown the jersey away, but here I am, humping my fist while I imagine him standing over me.
This is becoming a problem.
After I come, I shove the jersey back under my pillow and then wipe my mess off on a discarded t-shirt. When I’m done, I make my way to the bathroom and wash my hands. Shame slithers through me, but more than that, excitement lingers there. Right on the periphery. Warning me, reminding me.
I desperately want to never do that again. Only I do. It’s a lie I’m telling myself.
It’s not working.
“You skipping class?” Paulie asks me as I linger in the kitchen, trying to decide what to do with myself.
“Shit. No. Am I late?”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “I mean, I think so. You have your international marketing class right now, right?”
“Shit,” I murmur, stuffing my phone in my pocket and moving to my room to grab my bag. “I am late. See you when I get back?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs and then waves as I dart out the door.
I make it to class ten minutes late, but luckily, this professor is cool and doesn’t call me out on it.
I sneak in the back and sit down quietly, pulling my laptop out and listening to the lecture.
I make notes when needed, but mostly just take it in.
This is interesting stuff. I wouldn’t mind going into international marketing long-term.
The idea of adapting different marketing strategies to different cultures is fascinating.
Not that I’ve ever left the United States because I can’t really afford it, but fuck, I want to.
The professor shifts gears slightly, pausing his lecture and announcing that he has a guest speaker who was able to attend today. The chief marketing officer for Cavanaugh Freight, Samuel Manning.
I sit a little straighter in my chair. This guy must work at Colton’s stepdad’s company, or Colton’s company. I have no idea the role he plays in all of this. I just know the whole family is rich.
I watch as the well-dressed man, who only looks to be in his mid-forties, moves to the podium and adjusts the microphone that is snapped onto his collar.
Then he begins to speak, and it’s enthralling, I’ll give him that.
He has a commanding presence. I hope to be like that one day.
I just have no idea where I’ll be in twenty years.
Some would look at me and think that I want to play sports for the rest of my life, but I have no desire to play rugby professionally. I might join an intramural team for fun after I graduate, but what I really want to do is have enough money to buy a house and maybe start a family.
And travel.
I want to fucking travel.
We just couldn’t afford to do things like that growing up. Things I’m sure Colton has done plenty of.
My mind wanders to him, the way he kissed me the other night, the pictures he has of me on his phone. My face heats, and my heart rate picks up.
Shit. He’s not going to show those to anyone, right? He said he wouldn’t. And if he did, it would implicate him as well.
Not that I think there’s anything wrong with being gay, or bi, or whatever else people are. I just don’t know who I am yet. And I don’t want people to know before I know myself.
The only thing I do know is that I like kissing him. And letting him touch my dick.
The slideshow behind Samuel shuts off, and he offers to answer any questions people may have. I want to linger behind, but I’m overheating. I need to step outside where it’s cool, where I can breathe.
I shove my laptop into my bag and jog outside, leaning up against the wall and gulping down some air.
As I stand there, fanning my face, a few people come up to me, chattering about classes and practice.
They don’t seem to notice the stress I’m currently under.
However, talking with them brings me back to reality, and my anxious hot flash ends.
That is until I’m left to watch Samuel Manning make his way out of the lecture hall, pulling out his phone and texting quickly. His eyes dart around, and I push away from the wall I was lounging against to watch him more closely.
What’s he doing? Who is he messaging?
Suddenly, Colton appears around the corner and grins, walking up to Samuel and hugging him. The embrace goes on for a little too long, which gives me pause, and when they pull apart, Samuel pats Colton on the cheek. Fondly. A little too fondly.
If you ask me.
Not that anyone is asking.
No one gives a shit about my opinion on this.
I watch as they lean in together to talk, and it looks a little too intimate.
I should not be feeling this ugly jealousy rising up inside of me. Colton told me he’s not gay, that he’s never been with another man. But the way Samuel is looking at him affectionately makes me wonder.
It makes me glower.
Piercing eyes meet mine over Samuel’s shoulder, and his lips twitch.
He’s caught me staring. He knows the look on my face is bitter and envious.
I glance away and grab my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder and moving toward the door. I need to walk past them to get to my next class, but as I stride forward, I feel his gaze on me.
Tracking me. Waiting.
“Myles,” he calls out, his voice taunting, knowing.
I turn my eyes toward him and feel my cheeks pinken.
“What?” I growl.
His grin widens, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as he does.
“Come here. I want to introduce you to a friend.”
I don’t want to meet his friend. But I can’t say that, so I approach them, feeling Samuel’s eyes on me as well—assessing, analyzing.
“This is Myles Witkoff, the star rugby player on campus. Myles, this is Samuel Manning. He works for my dad’s company.”
“Yeah,” I reply, adjusting my bag on my shoulder and holding out my hand. “You were just giving a guest lecture in my international marketing class.”
His eyebrows rise as he shakes my hand. “Ah, so you heard that then?”
“Yep.”
He cocks his head, his neatly styled hair falling slightly over his forehead.
“What did you think?”
“Interesting. You seem to know what you’re doing.”
Colton lets out a small giggle, and Samuel’s lips twitch upward. “Seems I do. You a business major?”
“Yeah.”
“No professional sports, then?” he asks.
“No. Don’t plan on it.”
He watches me. They both do. I haven’t admitted this to many people. They’re some of the only ones who know. “Well, let me know if you’re interested in an interview in the future. That is, if you’re interested in marketing.”
I nod, excitement blooming within me, and Colton bites his bottom lip, making my cheeks flare.
“Learning all sorts of things about my new friend, aren’t I?” Colton asks, and I glower at him.
“I have to go to class. It was nice to meet you, Samuel.” He nods, and then I turn and walk away, hearing Colton call after me.
“See you later, Witkoff.”
Don’t plan on it, I think. I’m going to burn that jersey when I get home. I refuse to fall for this again.
Unknown Number:
Come over.
I stare down at my phone, not wanting to add his contact information, but knowing who it is all the same.
Unknown Number:
Wear the jersey.
I toss my phone aside, my hand moving under my pillow where the jersey lives now.
I pull it out and stuff it over my face, my hand snaking down to my dick and tugging on it.
Unknown Number:
I know you’re reading this. Come. Over.
I stare at my phone and inhale the scent of his jersey once more.
Me:
No. Go away.
My phone rings a second later, and I roll my eyes. It’s him. He’s fucking calling me.
I tell myself to refuse the call, but end up answering, listening to his sultry voice on the other end.
“Come over, Witkoff. I want to kiss you again.”
I feel my breathing pick up. “Fuck you. I’m busy.”
“You aren’t. It’s late. I know your bedtime is eight. Come over.”
I huff, and he laughs. “Come on. I want to touch your dick again, watch you come. And then I want to kiss you until I can’t anymore.”
I close my eyes and squeeze my dick harder.
Would it really be so bad to show up at his place in the middle of the night so he can get me off? Would it really make me weak?
“Come on. I can call you a ride. It’ll bring you right here. To me.”
“Why do you want this? Want me?” I hear myself asking.
“I don’t know. I just do. I’m calling you a ride. Be downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
I don’t ask how he knows where I live. He obviously does because he’s sent that jersey over a few times now. He must have friends in the admissions and records department. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had them all wrapped around his sexy fingers.
The phone is silent in my ear, and I realize he’s hung up on me. I toss it aside and rub at my face. I really shouldn’t go over there. This is just a disaster waiting to happen.
But still, I roll up, stuff his jersey into a bag, and walk downstairs. A moment later, there’s a black car idling at the curb. When I approach, a man steps out and opens the passenger door for me.
“Myles Witkoff?”
“Yes.”
“Right this way, sir.”