Chapter 4 #2
Something about a handsome stalker calling me photogenic makes my twisted heart skitter. My devious mind runs wild with everything I could do with Connor, his muscles, and a camera.
Day one of Coach Connor’s training camp exercises my patience as much as my body.
Apparently, he has a former teammate who went pro last year, and the fucker forwarded Connor a training regimen that might actually kill me.
Even the preliminary stretches have my muscles screaming.
After that, it’s a shit ton of burpees, an ass amount of lunges, then Connor busts out a stack of orange cones from his gym bag and we do footwork drills for an hour straight.
At every interval, I’m hyper-aware that I can march off this field any time I want. Call it quits on this whole charade and submit myself to being the underachiever my dad will think I am regardless.
The macho side of me can’t quit, though.
Can’t blink in the face of a damn Google Drive spreadsheet that Connor printed onto actual leaves of paper and stuck to an actual clipboard.
Dude looks bona fide. I love it too much to let him down.
Then there’s the egomaniac in me that wants to show Connor how strong, fast, and overall invincible I am.
He murmurs curse words under his breath while I show him how many push-ups I can do, and I hope that means he’s impressed.
“Let’s see what you got, blondie,” I heave on haggard breaths as I hoist myself up onto legs Connor calls coltish. Fuck that. I’m a motherfucking beast.
He tosses his adorable clipboard onto the grass, hikes the legs of his shorts dangerously high on his thighs, and drops into formation.
I think I’m supposed to be counting, since Connor counted me off, but I’m too entranced by the contortion of his body flexing and pulsing with each down-up motion.
His muscle tee reveals the backs of his shoulders, and my eyes start there, trailing down the sweat stain that ends at the small of his back, above his firm, clenching ass.
Fuck.
“Alright, bud, that’s enough.” I lean down and slap his shoulder. “You proved your point. You’re the man.”
He stops and cranes his neck to flutter his pale eyelashes at me before bunny hopping to his feet. “Cool down run?”
“Don’t you wanna take my picture while I’m still hot?”
Connor glances toward the sky. “Guess we better. Before it gets dark.” Then he jets off to where we left our bags, giving me time to adjust myself.
Connor fiddles with his camera long enough that I get antsy and saunter up. I’m about to ask him about the different lenses when he casually asks, “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Seeing?” My smirk is all humor and intrigue now.
“Dating…”
“No,” I scoff. “I’ve never dated. Not yet, anyway.”
“Why not yet?”
“I dunno. Haven’t met anyone I wanna fuck yet who’s single and doesn’t annoy the shit out of me.
Seems to always be one or the other. They’re taken and only want me for sex, or they’re insufferable so I only want them for sex.
” Then there are the guys like Kaden who think I’m insufferable and only want me for sex, but I don’t mention that part.
Connor’s head turns up from where he’s sitting on the lowest bleacher bench, camera case on his lap. He looks like a puppy, brand new to the world and fascinated by every word out of my mouth. “Thought maybe you and that guy, Randy—”
I snort, laughing so hard I clutch my side. “Randy?! Are you kidding?”
“What?” he laughs with me. “You two seem tight, and you’ve got such similar personalities.”
“Exactly. Jeez, you think I wanna deal with two of me? Anyone will tell you I’m more than enough. Besides, I’ve slept over at that guy’s place enough to know what his personal hygiene is like, and it’s gnarly.”
Connor’s not gnarly, though. Connor is clean with his Oral-B, his Old Spice, and the fold lines in his tees.
“I have zero interest in Randy,” I assure him. “I did have a little crush on our team captain, Lyle. He’s not my type, but it gets me kinda hot when he’s bossy.”
The shock on Connor’s face is precious. If he asks me what my type is, I’ll tell him to look in a mirror. Instead, he asks, “You never tried anything with him?”
“Nah. I save all my slutty banter for you.”
“Good.”
My brows hit the top of my head as Connor’s face turns red.
“I meant, like…it’s good not to get involved with anyone on your team,” he says, hiding his blushing face from me under the guise of scrubbing dust out of a crevice on his camera.
“I have friends who did that. It worked out for them but could’ve easily gone the other way, and everyone found out eventually. It was really awkward.”
While he’s setting himself up nicely for prime teasing, I decide to have mercy on him. “Yeah, I’ve got enough drama in my life without going after a teammate.” Like trying not to go after my sister’s boyfriend.
“Do any of your teammates know you’re gay?”
“It’s not really any of their business. I’m not a closet case. I just don’t broadcast it, and it’s not like any of them have ever asked.”
“Does anyone know?” He looks at me now like I’m the saddest kitten at the pound. I wouldn’t mind it so much if I thought he’d unlock the cage and adopt me, but since that’s never going to happen…
“Sure. The dudes who’ve sucked my dick know.
And you, but only because I offered to suck your dick.
” Talking about this flusters me more than I want it to.
Part of me thinks that the more I talk about dick sucking, the curiouser Connor will become.
But his uneasy grimace makes me want to sink through the ground.
I quickly add, “Which was humiliating, so I’d rather not talk about it anymore. ”
“Didn’t think you could feel humiliation.”
“I still lock the doors when I take a dump, so I do have some shame.”
Connor’s throaty laugh signals an end to this topic, and I’m grateful when the photoshoot begins.
I don’t know what Connor’s planning with these photos, but I’ve already had fantasies of my body in high-def, filling a wall of a ritzy gallery.
Not sure that’s Connor’s jam—art galleries—but he’d look killer in a suit, or one of those Steve Jobs turtlenecks.
Whatever the purpose, I just pretend I’m a cover model for Nike and do what Connor tells me.
“I’m sorry if this is weird,” he says between shots.
“It’s all good.”
“Do you mind if I come to your next match?”
I look down and find Connor’s camera lowered to his lap, and he’s staring at something in the middle of my body. Is it the bulge in my shorts or something as innocuous as the scar on my forehead? “Whatever.”
He puts his camera aside and climbs to his feet. “You’re playing Las Vegas next, right? You been studying their film?”
“Nah, I like to be surprised. Makes the match more interesting.”
That’s got Connor grinning and shaking his head like I’m off my rocker. “Let me know when you’re free, and we’ll go over some film together. I think you guys stand a chance. Just have to make sure you capitalize on their weak points.”
What are your weak points, Connor?
“I’m free tonight,” I say.
A blond eyebrow quirks. “Good deal.”
I should’ve thought this through, though, because spending significant amounts of time in the common areas of my house is asking for trouble.
We post up in the living room after showers and devouring an obscene amount of Chinese food. It’s all very bro-y, other than that we’re in my dad’s personal museum. I keep checking the décor for hidden cameras.
“You see number 17 there?” Connor points toward the TV. “He’s foul-prone with a temper.”
“Sounds like my kinda guy.” Try as I might to pay attention to this boring ass match, it’s hard when I’m in constant anticipation of Artie coming home and catching me on his posh sectional.
Or worse, Thalia coming home and draping herself all over Connor like she owns him.
I’ve already resigned myself that he’s off-limits, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stick around for the PDA.
In the end, it’s Artie who comes through the front door first, leading with his booming voice yammering into his iPhone.
I laser in on the TV, hoping he won’t notice me.
No such luck.
After chomping a goodbye into his phone and tossing his briefcase onto the dining table, he zeros in on me. I hate the way he makes me sweat, but I’ve known this man all my life, and I know what ticks him off. Me being the big one.
“What’s this?” he asks, deceptively casual.
“Watching porn, obviously,” I announce.
Connor quickly corrects me. “We’re, uh, just going over some game film to prep for Dane’s next match.”
“Nice to see you finally studying something,” Dad says, clearly directed at me. “Would have helped if you had done this over the summer instead of screwing around for three months.”
I check the time on my phone, slap my knee, then hop to my feet. “Welp, this has been fun, but it’s time for me to jet.”
“To where?” Connor asks, rightfully puzzled.
Artie's pronounced scoff nearly snaps me, but I keep it together and give Connor the first excuse that pops into my brain. “Party.”
“On a Sunday night?”
“It’s a Bible study party. Gotta cleanse my impure soul for the upcoming week.” I’m already heading for the door, reaching for my car keys on the wall hook.
Before I slip out the door, I hear Artie tell Connor, clear as day, “Solid effort, but an old dog is easier to train than that kid.”
Seething, I slam the front door shut and bleep my Beemer unlocked.
Thankfully, there actually is a party going on tonight.
There’s usually one going on somewhere, and I carry a mental catalogue of them all for times like these, when I need some place to go after a quick escape.
Looks like I’ll be chilling at Darius Howard’s place tonight, and there are a lot worse places to hang.
I shoot a text to Randy and a couple of other guys, hoping they’ll roll up too. Then I hit the engine button and shift into drive.
Maybe if I were braver, I could’ve stuck around, told my dad to stuff it, and let myself enjoy being schooled by Connor all night. But running away has always been easier than defending my existence. Hopefully, one day I won’t have to do either. Oh, what a sweet life that’ll be.
I ease my foot off the brake just as a figure crosses my right headlight.
I slam back down on the pedal.
The harsh thumping of my heart feels like panic, and I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I grip my steering wheel—as hard as I dig my foot down onto the brake pad. My heart beats torturously, almost as bad as the visions behind my eyelids that make them well up with tears.
The gentle tap on my window snaps my eyes open, and I shift back into park at the same time I click my seatbelt. I push my door open so fast, it nearly knocks Connor on his ass.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I shout as I slam the door shut. “I could’ve killed you.”
Instead of apologizing, Connor asks if I’m okay.
“What do you think, dumbass? First, you almost drown right in front of me, and now you’re jumping in front of moving cars?”
“I didn’t jump, and you weren’t moving. You need to relax, dude.” He touches my elbow, and his hand is ice cold against my heated skin.
“Fuck off.” I swat his arm and turn my back to him so he can’t watch me grind the backs of my wrists into my eyes like that’ll shut off the waterworks.
Behind me, Connor finally apologizes, but it only makes me feel more pathetic. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says. For scaring me.
“I wasn’t scared. I’m pissed off.”
“Because of your dad?”
“Because of you.” I whip my head over my shoulder and see that same dumb look on his face. “Because you’re a fucking moron.”
I’m back to wiping wetness from my cheeks when Connor softly mutters, “I’m sorry for being a moron, then.”
As soon as I’ve built up enough aggravation to overpower my anxiety, I’m able to roll my eyes without them leaking. “Don’t be sorry. Just stop being stupid.”
“You know what…I don’t even care anymore, man.”
The jackhammer in my chest sinks to my gut as Connor rounds my car and heads back up the driveway. I can’t even appreciate how tight his jeans are when I’m sweating profusely in my own.
“Connor!” I call out, leaning over the roof of my car to reduce some of the many inches he’s putting between us.
He halts and turns. Sour expression and folded arms.
“I’m sorry,” I say, too awkward to sound convincing, so I keep going until I mean it. “You were right. I was pissed at my dad, and you scared me. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
But you’re still an idiot.
“S’cool.” His face stays dull, but at least he’s walking toward me now instead of away. “I just came out here to see if you’d wanna finish the game film in my room, away from your dad. But if you’d rather go out partying on a school night, have fun.”
A school night? Even when Connor’s annoyed with me, he says the cutest things. Even when I’m annoyed with him, his voice hits the dopamine button inside my brain. As much as I adore the idea of cuddling up with Connor on his bed, the fact it’s also Thalia’s bed gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“Don’t think my sister would like me being in there.”
“Your room then.”
My room? As in…my room? Now my heart rate’s going nuts for a different reason, and my biggest hurdle is keeping the villainous grin off my face.
It doesn’t work.
“Actually,” Connor chuckles, “never mind. Bad idea.”
“Wait. It’s on your phone, right?” I ask, remembering Connor was stream-casting the footage onto Artie’s sixty-five inch. “Let’s just watch it here.”
“In the driveway?”
“Sure. I’ll put the AC on.”
When we’re both sharing cool air in the front seats of my car, Connor props his phone on my dash and taps play on the same match we were watching before Artie interrupted us with his assholery.
I push my seat back for more legroom and spread my knees.
I recline a couple notches, too, mostly because the angle gives me more clearance to stare at Connor’s profile without getting caught.
His nose is sun-pinked, his bottom lip is chapped, and there’s a cluster of tiny zits along his temple, but not even Connor’s flaws can dissuade my stubborn longing. They make it worse. They make me want to tell him how hot he is.
A few minutes into the match’s second half, Connor glances sideways. The speed with which I crack my attention toward his phone gives me whiplash.
“I don’t like your dad, you know,” Connor murmurs. “When I’m nice to him, it’s only to be cordial. I don’t like him, and I don’t like how he treats you. I think you deserve a lot better.”
For most of my life, I’ve wanted someone—anyone—to say those words to me. Now that they’re here, dancing in the air with my purposeful breaths, I wish Connor had kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t know the whole story. If he did, he’d probably think I do deserve it.