Chapter 18 Luc
EIGHTEEN
LUC
As much as Jesse insists he’s going to be fine, I don’t like the idea of leaving him here alone all day. I’m not going to be back until this afternoon, and then I’ll have to leave again for a team dinner later tonight.
Him showing up here was a surprise I never could have seen coming, so I had zero expectations for how long he’d stay.
While the risk of getting caught is pretty terrifying, I love having him here.
I slept better last night than I have in weeks.
I had some initial soreness this morning, but it was nothing a little tongue massage in the shower couldn’t take care of.
“You’re going to be late,” Jesse mumbles against my lips, smiling and doing nothing to actually deter me from stripping down and fucking him into the mattress again. He’s still fully naked from the shower, pressed against me and making it impossible to leave.
“Yeah, I’m going,” I say, not moving from where I have him pinned to the door. “I’m going right now.”
Instead, I lift him by the backs of his thighs and wrap his legs around my hips and rock into him, dry fucking him through my gym gear. He leans his head back against the door, exposing his throat to me. I latch on and suck.
Jesse hisses out my name and writhes. We’re both panting, time and responsibility long forgotten. My cock is throbbing against his ass, and I’m moments away from taking it out and going into a rut. The only thing that stops me is not wanting to hurt him.
That, and the banging on the other side of the door.
“Yo, Martín! You up?”
Every curse word I can conjure leaves my lips in a string of frustrated whispers. Jesse scrambles down and runs to hide in the bathroom while I tuck my aching boner into my waistband and consider swapping my shirt out for something more loose. But AJ is incessantly banging on the door.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” I quickly reach for my bag and pull the door open just enough for my body to pass through.
“Are you sick?”
“What? No. Why?”
“You’re ten minutes late. You’re never late. Everyone’s worried that you weren’t the first person down for the team breakfast.”
Shit. This is what I get for being overly responsible. “Well, I’m coming now.”
Like he has a sixth sense for bullshit, AJ leans in and tries to peer into my room. I shoo him away and step out into the hallway, only to pause.
“Shit. Hold on, I forgot my watch.”
Not giving him a chance to step into the room with me, I shut the door in his face. When I turn around, Jesse is there, wrapping his arms around me and pressing a kiss to my mouth. He licks at my smile, and I groan, pulling away.
“Psst!” Jesse gets my attention before I open the door again and tosses my watch to me. I catch it, then take three long, quick steps to wrap my arm around his lower back and pull him into me again for a deeper kiss.
I finally manage to leave the room, hoping the feverish flush living on my skin isn’t too noticeable, but considering the way AJ keeps looking at me like he’s confused, concerned, or both, I don’t think I’m so lucky.
The morning creeps by. The team breakfast is awkward, with everyone sending me strange looks.
The longer it goes on, the more I’m convinced everyone heard me getting fucked last night.
I can’t decide if it’s worse for them to think I was in there doing something to myself to cause those sounds, or if it’s worth the trouble I’d get into if they knew I had somebody in my room.
When Langley, one of the team trainers, taps me on the shoulder, I nearly jump to my feet and confess everything, but he only takes me into the hallway to check my temperature.
“Any fatigue, lightheadedness, head or body aches, or sore throat?” He asks, making a relieved face when my temperature registers as normal.
“No, sir. I just forgot to set my alarm and slept in a little later than usual.” I cringe, realizing that I’m probably over-explaining and making it worse. “I’m sorry for being late,” I add on, because I can’t help myself.
“It’s no biggie, Luc, really. As long as you get here before the bus leaves, no one’s going to have a problem. It’s just unusual for you and you’re looking a little…”
“Flustered?” I supply for him and nod. “Just embarrassed.”
Langley smiles and thumps me on the shoulder. “You’re alright, kid. Go finish your breakfast.”
Shortly after, we load a bus and head to the Falcon’s stadium to do a walkthrough and very light scrimmage. Then we head back to the hotel for a catered lunch and film session to review game strategy. It’s really only about six hours total, but it feels like it drags on forever.
Finally, we’re on our own. Normally I’d have a treatment with one of the massage therapists, but I opt to cancel my time slot in favor of a nap. Which is to say, I feign a headache so I can get out of socializing for the rest of the day and head back to my room.
I smile at the faint strumming of a guitar that can barely be heard through the door. If anyone heard it, it could easily be blamed on a television, so I don’t worry too much about anyone overhearing.
“Don’t stop,” I tell Jesse when I enter the room.
He’s sitting on a bench seat in front of the window overlooking downtown Atlanta, wearing the same pair of sweatpants he borrowed from me last night and a wide, boxy black t-shirt cut into a crop-top.
He grins up at me when I walk over to brush a gentle kiss against his lips.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I pull my shoes off and settle back against the headboard to watch Jesse as he casts more spells on me.
Stealing time in a world that won’t wait,
Two hearts beating together.
If these moments are all we get,
I’ll cherish them forever.
No spotlight, no crowd, just you and me,
Hiding quietly in plain sight.
The world keeps turning endlessly,
But I’m yours tonight.
The morning’s gonna come too fast,
Sunlight bleeding through the blinds.
Love like this was made to last,
So let’s keep stealing time.
The song is slow and heartfelt, almost folksy compared to the music Lest Is Moore typically plays.
He bends the strings of the guitar like he’s bending them to his will, making their notes sound as raw as his voice.
The verses repeat, with refrains about stealing time woven throughout, until eventually the last notes reverberate quietly into the silent room.
I blink back at Jesse like I’m seeing him for the first time again.
Even though he looks so different from how he did back then, it’s like having the echo of past Jesse blended with the current version.
It reminds me just how impossible it is that we’ve found each other again, and how his voice and the way he strums his guitar can bring me back to that night so thoroughly.
“Is that the same guitar?” I ask, looking at the faded black acoustic.
Jesse nods. “This is my favorite instrument to write with. She always helps me find inspiration in the wildest places.”
“Oh, really? Like where?”
“Busking on street corners in disguise, in the middle of some woods I wandered into once when our tour bus got a flat. On a beach, where I found a bonfire and sang the corniest song I could think of to get this guy’s attention.” He grins widely.
“You had it before you started playing, but I’ll admit to being a little impressed.”
“Only a little?” He pouts.
“Well, until you played Rage,” I laugh. “Do you ever wonder how things might have been different if we–”
“I did. But not anymore,” Jesse says, putting his guitar down gently and walking over to the bed, crawling up to put his face in front of mine.
His green eyes look back and forth between mine intently.
“All the what ifs drove me so far out of my mind that I lost myself. I was lucky enough to get a second chance to make up for walking out that morning, and I’m not going to take a single breath for granted.
” He smiles against my lips and kisses me softly, humming that ridiculous song.
“Can you stay again tonight?” I whisper, pulling him closer so he’s straddling my lap and kissing up the column of his neck.
“Don’t you have a team dinner or something?”
“Yeah, but I’ve got this terrible headache…”
Sweat pours down my face under my helmet. Too much sweat considering this is a night game in the middle of fall. My nerves are the most likely culprit, but I’m trying to keep my head in the game.
I blame Jesse. Or I’d like to blame Jesse, but I’m the one that begged him to stay last night. I should know better than to assume I’d have any sort of willpower. How could I waste all those hours sleeping when I don’t know how long it’ll be before I see him next?
Of course, he waited until morning to surprise me with the news that he’d be at today’s game.
I thought he was out of his mind, but he just petted me like a silly, but very pretty dog and told me not to worry so much.
No one would notice he’s even there, and even if they did, it’s not like they’d have reason to draw any sort of connection between the two of us.
I’ll give him credit for the second point, but did he forget who he is?
He's Jesse fucking Moore. He’s basically this generation’s version of Mick Jagger.
Of course he was spotted right away, sitting up in the owner’s box, and wearing my goddamn jersey for fuck’s sake!
I’m going to kill him.
Every time he jumps up and cheers–usually when I’m part of a big play, considering he knows little to nothing about football–I can see my number 14 emblazoned boldly across his chest. My only saving grace, and the silver lining to the smile, is that more of my jerseys have been sold lately.
I didn’t even know I had merch before I accidentally hit the viral pages for something so stupid. Yes, I’m still salty.
I’m having a lot of conflicting feelings and nerves about his audacity. I’m on edge. Every time they show Jesse on screen, they pan to me like they’re hoping for a reaction. Never again, bastards.
On the other hand, there is a not insignificant part of me that kind of loves seeing him in my number. Now just imagine him wearing a cropped version of it, with a pair of black lace–
“Martín!”
Shit.
Fucking Jesse. I scowl up at the owner’s box before I settle into my stance, focusing on the Falcons’ quarterback across the line.
We’re at fourth and five and getting too close to the red zone for comfort.
So far, this game has been neck-and-neck.
If we don’t keep them from driving forward, we’ll basically be handing the game over to them.
This drive is our chance to stop them in their tracks and hand the game back over to our offense.
Head in the game. Head in the game. Don’t look at Jesse. Keep your head in the game.
The ball snaps, and the line shifts. Dez explodes off the edge, and AJ rushes the guard, putting pressure on the quarterback right away.
His eyes shift downfield, shoulders twisting to find his window.
I check the field, but my eyes are drawn up, Jesse’s face is blown up on the halo board, his attention riveted on the field. On me.
My pulse stutters, a sudden flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach at the thought of him watching me. Here, in person.
A receiver bursts off the line, the movement pulling me out of my momentary distraction.
My hesitation almost costs us, but I recover quickly.
I drop my weight, launch myself off the turf, and drive my shoulder into the oncoming receiver.
A sharp twinge of pain lances down my arm, but I grit my teeth and shove, forcing him back and cutting off his lane.
Meanwhile, AJ and Dez take advantage of the scramble and crash the pocket to sack the quarterback.
The stadium explodes, not just from our sideline whooping or the Cyclones’ fans screaming their lungs out in enemy territory, or even from the wall of boos raining down from the Falcons’ fans.
It’s the music.
Typically, music plays for the home team victories, and very rarely for the visiting team. It’s not even one of our fight songs. The stadium DJ drops a Lest Is Moore track right in the middle of a hard-hitting chorus, bass shaking the whole damn place.
My breath catches, and I look up at the screen to see Jesse pumping his fist and cheering, my name on his back while his voice reverberates through the stadium.
The crowd has lost the plot, even the Falcons’ fans are getting into the song, thousands of strangers singing along while my teammates whoop and slam helmets against pads.
I meet AJ and Dez on our way off the field to congratulate them on a great play. AJ jumps on my back, putting weight on my shoulder, and I wince. Once he’s bounced over to celebrate with another teammate, I shake it out and roll my shoulder. It’s nothing, just a tweak.
When I take a seat on the bench to drink some water, my eyes gravitate back up to the halo screen around the stadium. Jesse is still up there celebrating, singing along with the crowd and raising his arms in the air, hyping up the crowd like he’s part of the team.
Like he’s mine.