Chapter 1
Chapter One
Nico believed he could charm his way out of anything until he became a professional football player.
The shades were drawn and the lights dimmed out of an abundance of caution.
Ever since Nico was signed in the first round of the draft, everyone accommodated him.
Everyone but head coach Carson White, who sat on the other side of the desk, tapping his fingers on the arm of a leather chair.
White’s brows were in a constant state of being furrowed and his expression never changed, not that Nico ever noticed anyway.
It had been nine days since Nico charged headfirst into the defensive line.
Nine days since the lights went out in Columbus, so to speak.
Escaped the pocket, just to run about two yards too far, but too far was far too subjective.
It’d been ingrained into Nico since he first started playing football that games were won a yard at a time, that every inch counted.
Nico wasn’t exactly a size queen, but he was prone to agree. And so he ran those two extra yards, secured the first down, and made his way to the blue medical tent.
“Your eyes are dilated,” Coach White said from across the desk. His posture was relaxed, a stark betrayal of the way the words simmered from his lips. “They weren’t dilated yesterday. So either you’re on drugs or—”
“I tripped when I was getting out of bed this morning and banged my head on the nightstand.”
Nico was good at three things—football, getting what he wanted, and lying.
He’d certainly hit his head on something, but it was the wall of the shower after failing to line up a blue rubber dildo with his hole. One of the most embarrassing things to happen to him, and there was nobody around to watch it happen. A fever flushed in his cheeks.
White stared at Nico, like he knew he was lying. Like he knew the whole-ass dildo-shaped truth.
Nico squirmed in his seat.
“You’re a professional football player, so forgive me for finding it hard to believe that story of yours.”
Nico forced a smile. “I’ve worked extremely hard to overcome my klutzy nature.”
“Concussions aren’t a joke. The league takes this very seriously.”
“Rookie mistake.” Nico waved his hand to the side. “It won’t happen again.“
“Before we drafted you, we had this exact conversation. There’s a huge difference between college football and the big leagues. The defense doesn’t hold back. Your opponents are stronger. They’re heavier. And when the division is on the line, which is every game, the enemy plays to kill.”
Nico squinted as a hollow ringing sound stretched through his skull. He pinched and shook the middle of his ear in a desperate attempt at relief.
“Running straight into the enemy isn’t a rookie mistake,” White continued, narrowing his eyes on the rookie.
“It’s a stupid one. You’re great on your feet.
You have the potential to be the next Allen or Jackson, but the difference between them and you is they know when to run out of bounds to avoid getting hit.
You’re not just risking your life out there.
You’re risking the careers of everyone who depends on you.
Your fellow players. Your coaches. The Cobras have a pedigree, one I have upheld for over a decade.
You have all the physical attributes to be one of the greats.
You’re built like you were bred in a lab specifically for this game.
You got the same arm as all the greats. The only thing you’re missing is common sense. ”
Nico dragged his palms over his face and sighed. “You’re benching me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” White scowled. “I’m going to bench the promising second-round draft pick for a washed up thirty-seven year old, third-string quarterback who should have retired three years ago.” He rolled his chair back and stood up. “This is what I’m talking about when I say you lack common sense.”
White braced a hand on the rookie’s shoulder and Nico breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m not benching you, but I am strongly considering bringing in some outside help.”
The devil came in the shape of comparison, and in the eyes of the whole world over, Nico couldn’t measure up to the legendary quarterback Nico was brought in to replace. Not yet. But he’d show them.
Eventually.
Just as soon as he could escape the remnants of a migraine that lingered at the front of his skull, the pounding ticking down like a winding clock.
White excused Nico, and he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He lowered a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to block out the bright overhead lighting of the walkway.
He walk-jogged away from White’s office, towards the elevators, and when he rounded a sharp corner, he ran straight into another person.
“Watch your step,” Nico barked quicker than he could see who he was barking at.
He swallowed a gulp.
It was Cooper fucking Callahan, dressed in a quarter-zip hoodie, grey sweatpants, and a backwards Cobras hat. A tad shorter in person than he appeared on TV and still a tad taller than Nico himself.
Nico felt Cooper’s glare through his sunglasses, as if he was a peasant.
“I’m your biggest fan,” Nico said, and uh, that was a half-truth.
“Thanks,” Cooper said flatly, apparently jaded from too many compliments in his life.
That’ll never be me, Nico thought as he smiled at his elder. “Is this our meet-cute?”
“I don’t know what that is and I’m too afraid to ask.”
The man clearly didn’t read much.
“Good luck with the headache,” Cooper said as he grinned and walked away.
Nico angled his body against the corner and watched as Cooper Callahan entered Coach White’s office at the end of the hall, closing the door behind him.
Nico stood alone with his thoughts, That man needs to get laid,
I need to get laid.
And then he watched the door a moment longer, and for what fucking reason?
On his way out of the facility, Nico dropped into the locker room where the team was in various states of undress after the post-practice showering ritual.
He took a good look at his game-day jersey hanging in his stall, the number 11 stitched in red over white fabric.
It was the only jersey hanging in the locker room as the rest of the team was packed and ready to head out in the morning.
He took a seat in front of his jersey and waited for the others to notice him.
The quarterback was the star of the team. The guy the rest of the team doesn’t work without. The guy who should be noticed, but sometimes Nico felt invisible. Thus was the curse of being drafted onto a team where the legendary quarterback entered a very early retirement.
“Yo, Rook,” Matteo Reyes shouted from across the room, tucking in the corner of a black towel around his waist. “What’s with the sour face?”
Matteo was tall, conventionally handsome, and suave. A ladies man on the streets and an absolute maniac on the field. He was the closest thing Nico had to a friend on the team.
“Turn that frown upside down,” Matteo said as he approached, taking a seat beside him.
Nico turned to him and flashed a smile—a smile his mother once warned would break the hearts of a million girls. “Cheese.”
Matteo leaned over, brushing his shoulder against Nico’s. He nodded towards Jensen Fuller, the thirty-seven year old backup quarterback who looked rougher than his years with grey stubble for a beard. “Who do you think is going to break a bone first this weekend? Fuller or Schneider?”
Nico dropped his head with a laugh. The Portland Pioneers had a notably great defense, but the offense was missing firepower as it leaned on an aging quarterback.
“Can you imagine if the game aired in prime-time? They’d be calling it the Uncle Bowl for years to come.”
Jensen pulled a sweater over his head and stepped to the gossiping boys. “Don’t forget I have a championship under my belt from my days in Seattle.” He elbowed Matteo. “Meanwhile, you’re out here dropping slant passes.”
Matteo grumbled under his breath.
Nico raised a fist to bump Jensen’s. “Good luck out there on Sunday, but not too much luck. Don’t want to be out of a job.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”Jensen shook his head.
“This is my last season. I only stuck around for the payday when it became clear Callahan was never coming back. Now they got you, so it’s time for some other sorry arse to come in next year to take the reins every time you decide to headbutt a brute. ”
Jensen slung his bag over his shoulder and left, tossing a peace sign over his shoulder on the way out.
Nico and Matteo were the last out of the locker room, and when they exited the front doors of the training facility, the sun was already setting.
Nico flipped the sunglasses to the top of his head. “I ran into Cooper Callahan upstairs.”
“No shit? The sonofabitch couldn’t even come say hi?”
“He didn’t seem like the friendliest guy.”
“He’s just one of those guys you have to get to know.” Matteo shook his head. “The problem is getting to know him is like taking a test you’re not prepped for.”
“But you know him well?”
Matteo shook his head again. “You can never quite reach Cooper Callahan. It’s like he’s right there, but always so far away. We played together for two years and had great chemistry on the field, but off the field? Forget about it.”
“So the accident didn’t turn him into an asshole?”
Matteo turned to him with a disapproving glare. “Deep down, I think he blames himself. That car accident broke something in him.”
“Like he went crazy?”
“No, I mean like we were all at the hospital after the crash. Callahan was beat up pretty bad, had a few surgeries, but I’ve seen guys come back from much worse after a stint on IR.
But what the hell do I know? I’m not the doctor who signed off on letting him out of his contract without penalty.
” Matteo gestured to the black SUV pulled up to the curb of the training facility. “Your chariot awaits, princess.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“See you on the other side of Portland.”
At the turn of midnight, Nico lay awake, staring at the still ceiling fan.
His feet nudged the cotton top sheet bunched at the foot of a bed too short for his long frame.
To the left of the bed, the shades hung over the floor-to-ceiling windows were open, showing off the unimpressive Columbus skyline from the vantage point of the twenty-second floor.
Nico wasn’t fond of the dark. It was a fear instilled into him at a young age that he hadn’t been able to shake. But just as he could see out the windows, he imagined others could see in.
He climbed out of bed, his bare feet gliding along the cool hardwood floors as his erect cock throbbed in his white Calvins.
He pulled the shades to a close and bounced back into bed, laying sideways.
He reached into his underwear and palmed his hard cock with one hand while he grabbed his phone with the other.
He hung his head backwards off the edge of the bed, and aimed the phone at the oversized mirror that adorned the adjacent wall.
Opened up the camera.
Clicked record.
The flash lit up the room, the reflection on the mirror bounced the light back onto the bed and exposed Nico’s bare chest. He watched himself in the mirror.
Watched as he drew a finger to his lips.
Watched as that same hand trailed a path down the length of his throat, over a forest of rough stubble.
Watched as he caressed a path down his bare chest, smooth and muscular.
Taunting. Teasing. Gaze unwavering as he stared straight into the camera and the mirror.
He zoomed in a little as he bucked his hips upward, forcing the bulge constricted by Calvins into view.
The video honed in on the rough strokes, his knuckles testing the elasticity of the fabric.
He gave himself a few rough strokes more and palmed the head of his cock against his inner thigh.
Applied just enough pressure that he swore he could feel his heart beating through his dick.
Little Nico liked being watched almost as Nico did.
His cock cried for release, precum leaking through white cotton.
But this wasn’t about release. It was about putting on a show for a one-person audience.
A way to not feel so alone, to pretend to have someone to send the video to.
He shifted to his knees and held the camera over his shoulder.
Aimed it squarely at his ass, where the shadows of the crack wasn’t quite titillating enough.
He bent forward just enough so he was able to pull the underwear down the curve of his muscular ass.
Just enough to catch a peek of the tiny rabbit foot tattoo on the right cheek.
He cocked his head over his shoulder and blew a kiss at the camera.
When he was done with his little one-man show, he put his phone back onto the nightstand and nestled his head into the comfort of a four-hundred dollar pillow.
The most comfortable pillow in the world and it still wasn’t enough to ease him to sleep. His mind raced, replaying the memories of the last week and a half. Replaying the memories of the day.
The scolding
The camaraderie.
Meeting Cooper fucking Callahan.
His cock twitched.
The stress of not being good enough.
The dull ache of disappointment in himself he’d never outwardly show.
Nothing a good fuck couldn’t fix.
Most of the time, one good pounding a month would suffice, but tonight was the second night in a row he needed something.
He needed release, and so he called upon one of the only three men he’d ever been intimate with.
Their names were Cole, Hugh, and Triton, but he could only choose one.
And they all lived in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.
Zach was clear with veins etched into the glass.
Hugh was a flesh-like and smooth recreation of some forgotten porn star’s cock.
As for Triton, he was in time-out for the mishap in the shower the previous night.
That night, he chose Hugh.
And that night, he wasn’t quite so lonely.