Chapter 19 Ben
BEN
The second I let myself into the house, Nate comes rushing out from the living room and crushes me in a hug.
“Oof.”
“Sorry!” He pulls away, brushing his hand over my jacket where he’s rumpled it. “I missed you.”
Usually a hug from Nate would kill me. Knowing he only means it in a friendly way, while the smell of his cologne and the tickle of his hair against my nose would send me into a tailspin. This time, however, I barely notice his cologne. And his hair tickling my nose just makes me want to sneeze.
“How was it?” he asks. “Not too terrible I hope.”
I know he’s probably asking me how my parents were, but all I can think about is Elias kneeling between my legs in the pool house.
“What happened?”
“Huh?”
“You’re blushing.” Nate gently pokes my cheek. “Did something happen between you and Elias?”
Guys are walking around the first floor of the house as always. Nate pulls me into the corner where we hang coats and whisper shouts, “What happened?”
I take a deep breath. I don’t even have to lie anymore. Or, no wait, I do. My heart sinks. Elias and I are not really dating. Just hooking up—no-strings attached. He’s leaving as soon as a pro coach comes along.
“Did he do something? Ben?”
“No.” I shake my head, pulling myself together. “Let’s go to my room, I can put my things away and we’ll have a modicum of privacy.”
Nate reluctantly agrees, helping me carry my bags up the stairs. When we reach my room, he crosses his arms and watches me sternly as I rest my racket bag against the wall.
“So …” I take a deep breath, excited to share this news with my best friend, but also … a little nervous now the moment is actually here.
“I lost my virginity.”
Nate’s eyes widen, his eyebrows shooting up.
“Ben!”
I can see his excitement is hindered by something. Maybe the fact he doesn’t wholly approve of Elias for me. I want to just tell him the truth, but I can’t stand the thought of the disappointment on his face when he finds out I’ve been lying to him.
He unfolds his arms and starts to cross the room and then stops. He looks lost, like he doesn't know what to do with himself.
“Tell me everything,” he says finally.
I wrinkle my nose. “Everything?” My face heats up again.
As much as I’m sure Nate wouldn’t judge me, I’m still not sure I need to share every little detail of my sex life with anyone other than the person I’m having sex with.
Oh my gosh, that sounds so weird—the person I’m having sex with. I’m having sex! With someone.
“Or … whatever you want to tell me.”
I slump onto the bed and look down at my hands with a nervous smile. “It was … he was … really patient.”
When I look up, Nate’s nodding, still frowning, but that’s okay.
“It was …” I roll my lips to keep in the goofy smile, but it doesn’t work. Finally, Nate mirrors my expression.
“It’s really good, right?”
“Oh my God, the best!”
Unable to contain his excitement any longer, and obviously allowing it to overtake any apprehension he may be feeling over Elias, he moves closer and shakes me by the shoulders. I flop back when he lets me go, feeling his weight sink down next to me on the bed.
“So, what did you do? You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want, it’s just cool to get to talk about this with you now.”
“Are you asking if I topped or bottomed?”
When I glance at Nate, he’s blushing. He nods.
“I’ve always known I wanted to bottom. It just looked like it feels so good … it does feel good.”
“I know.”
We look at each other and laugh. I love being able to share this with him.
“You like that?”
“Mm,” Nate nods, frowning seriously. “But I also like to top, too.”
I nod. “I’m not sure I’d like that, or Elias would want to.”
“I still can’t believe you lost your virginity to Elias.”
“Why?” My defenses threaten to come up, but I warn them to relax.
“I don’t know, I just didn’t picture him for you. I guess I was wrong about what kind of guy you should be with.”
No, you probably weren’t wrong. Elias isn’t Mr. Right. He’s just Mr. Right Now.
I shrug instead of telling the truth.
“You can’t help who you fall for, right?” Nate nudges me.
“I didn’t say I was in love with the guy!”
“Okay.” Nate holds his hands up. “But it’s really hard not to fall for someone who does that to you.” He laughs, rolling himself up off the bed.
He leaves me with an uneasy feeling after those words. I’m not in love with Elias. It doesn’t matter how good he is in bed or how easily he gives me exactly what I want. It’s just sex. The relationship is not real.
So why does my heart pound so hard when he texts, thanking me for the past few days? Did he have as much fun as I did?
I reply with my usual barrage of emojis, telling him I can’t wait to kick Harvard’s butts with him. God, it feels good to have a boyfriend. Even if it is a fake one.
I try to prepare for the moment I see Elias in front of everyone after what happened, but I still don’t think anything can prepare me when I walk into the locker room and our eyes meet.
At least he has his clothes on.
I can feel Nate’s eyes on us as Elias stands up to greet me. He’s smiling, but it’s not his usual cocky grin. He looks almost … shy?
I don’t know what to do so I just say hi and take a seat. While my back’s turned, looking for my sports socks, my phone buzzes with a message.
I’d kiss you hello, but I don’t think that would be appropriate in the locker room.
My heart soars as I reply.
Agreed. Let’s keep it professional.
There’s a little snort behind me and I turn around to find Elias laughing as he looks at his phone.
I made him laugh. Nate catches the exchange and shares a conspiratorial smile with me.
My mood drops. It’s going to suck when Elias leaves and Nate thinks we broke up.
He’s going to want to comfort me. And you know what? I think I’m going to need comforting.
Coach Sanchez comes in and gets us riled up—for the upcoming match, but also for Indian Wells.
“I’m proud of you guys, you work hard and you look out for each other.
” He glances around the room, his gaze landing on where Elias is sitting on the bench, lacing up his tennis shoes.
“You really go above and beyond, put the extra hours in and bring the passion and enthusiasm this sport deserves. You should be proud of yourselves. The school’s lucky to have you gentlemen representing it today and next week in California.
” Coach almost looks misty-eyed. “Now,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Time to go out there and show Harvard why we’re the best team in the Ivy League. ”
Cheers go up at that comment. Hell yeah. We may not have the best hockey or football or lacrosse team in the league, but we do have the highest ranked tennis team in the Ivy. That at least is something to be proud of.
Elias and I are up first. I worry our rhythm might have been thrown off by all the … you know … sex … but as soon as we start to play, it’s clear we’re perfectly in-sync.
We’ve been practicing non-verbal communication, signals and whatnot, ever since that first extra practice session with Coach Sanchez, but there’s something else helping us wipe the floor with Harvard’s best doubles matchup out there. Something that runs deeper than practice.
There’s this ingrained trust running through our partnership now. We don’t bump into each other anymore. No one misses the ball because we assume the other’s going to get to it. It’s like we’re inside each other’s heads. We’re playing full clutch, from beginning to end, and it’s magic.
We barely even notice the scoreboard until it’s announced that we demolished our opponents, serving them a bagel in the first set (6-0) and a breadstick in the second (6-1). Nice.
Our celebration is muted compared to how I’m sure we’d like to celebrate. But I think we’d give something away this time if Elias tried to pick me up and hug me.
I can feel him inches away as we watch Nate and Archer go out to play for the second doubles point.
The knowledge that his body is so close has little electric currents zipping over the surface of my skin.
My fingers twitch of their own accord until they graze the side of his hand.
Surprised at myself for being so reckless, I gape at him with wide eyes, but he just flashes me a cheeky wink and my face floods with heat.
Nate and Archer come through a nail-biting tie-break to win the second doubles point and it’s Elias’ turn to play his singles match against Harvard’s second highest ranked player.
I’m always nervous when one of my teammates go out to play a match.
Nate especially. But watching Elias step onto the court has my heart in my throat.
I’ve never been this nervous watching someone else play tennis before.
What’s wrong with me? I guess I’ve seen behind Elias’ cocky exterior and know how much this means to him.
I realize I’m biting my nails when I catch Nate eying me with concern.
Turns out I had no reason to stress. Elias is on fire.
He puts a masterclass on for his opponent.
He’s all over the court. His long limbs reaching every ball.
He’s fast, agile, powerful with his serve.
If we had one of those machines that tell you the speed of your serve I’m sure Elias’ would be showing well over 110mp right now.
He’s quiet when he plays. But as he gets tired in the second set, a grunt comes out when he serves. The sound sends a tingle deep into my stomach, makes me self-consciously adjust my shorts.
His eyes are on me as he walks off the court triumphant. It makes me go to jelly.
“You’re up, Harris,” he says in my ear. That’s not helping.
I take a deep breath before I step out onto the court. I’m playing Harvard’s best player, though I think now Coach has seen what a machine Elias can be, he’ll probably be sending him out against the best next time.
Right now though, it’s down to me to bring another point home for the team.
Clearing my mind, I get into position and toss the ball, remember the technique I’ve been perfecting since I was a kid.
My serve arm moves automatically, remembering the action on autopilot.
It’s muscle memory at this point. I hit the ball right in the racket’s sweet spot and send it exactly where I want it.
My opponent barely has time to flinch.
Ace.
The rest of the match goes smoothly. I win 6-2, 6-1 and celebrate courtside with my teammates. Elias’ eyes are glowing as he watches me with a big smile on his face.
He heads into the showers before I’ve even got my tennis shoes off—as usual. I hang back, not sure I’d be able to compose myself if I saw him naked and under the spray.
There’s a message waiting for me when I look at my phone:
Meet me at my dorm later. Time to celebrate for real.