Twenty-Two
Hey Jealousy
Ryan
It’s been nine months of fucking around with Spence.
Nine months since that first night in the hotel suite, since that first taste, since I let him in—literally, figuratively, in every way except the ways that matter.
A whole football season has come and gone.
Arizona made the playoffs for the first time in years, but we didn’t make it past the first round.
And honestly? I couldn’t even find it in myself to care much.
I still love the game, love everything about football—the rush, the discipline, the feeling of a ball spinning tight and perfect off my palm—but I’m bitter these days, the taste of it turning on my tongue. Because every time I lace up, I know it means more secrecy. More hiding.
Could I stop hiding and come out? Sure. Anthony would help me, I know it.
We met for lunch the other day, catching up before he married the man of his dreams. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t do it.
Only one player has come out while actively playing and their career only lasted a couple more seasons.
But like I said, I’m ready to get out, so that’s not really a factor for me.
My father is a different matter. I’ve seen him destroy people’s lives.
One time, shortly after he walked in on me blowing my best friend, I overheard him and his closest allies discussing how to deal with another senator who wasn’t toeing the line.
Two days later, that senator was splashed across headlines when an FBI raid found compromising material on his home computers.
Does my father scare me? Fuck yes, he does.
And he’s relentless with me, never letting up.
I’ve barely caught my breath after the season and he’s on me, checking in, scolding, lecturing.
“What’s the plan for life after football, Ryan?
The voters are waiting. You need to start laying groundwork if you’re going to run for my Senate seat.
We need to talk about messaging, scheduling, donors, son, you’re not getting any younger.
Are you walking a straight and narrow path? ” Emphasis on straight.
I try to tune it out, but sometimes his voice is louder in my head than the crowd on game day.
The idea of taking his seat, of climbing into that cage, wearing his mask, makes me want to jump out of my skin.
I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to keep secrets or be a tool for someone else’s war.
I don’t want to pretend I’m not one of the men my father tries to legislate out of existence.
Why would I ever want to pick up his torch? I refuse to do it.
The only thing that makes it all bearable is Spencer.
Nine months. I’ve never had sex this good, not even close.
Since that first night, he’s been a revelation for my hole.
Best dick of my life, hands down. And his mouth—my God, his mouth.
Which is where I am now, actually, getting reminded of how talented that mouth is.
Spencer’s crouched between my thighs in white tux pants, my cock buried at the back of his throat in a broom closet at the venue where Anthony and Chance are getting married.
The ceremony is literally starting any minute.
I should be standing at the end of the aisle, wedding party smile on my face, but instead I’m clutching a shelf in a closet, Spencer’s lips sliding down my dick like we have all the time in the world.
“Spence, hurry up,” I panic-whisper, glancing at my phone. “You’re gonna get us in so much shit with Anthony.”
He just looks up, eyes blazing, and grabs my ass with both hands, pulling me impossibly deeper. I bite my knuckles to keep from moaning and buck my hips, shuddering as he swallows around me. A couple rough, perfect thrusts and I lose control, emptying down his throat.
Spence pulls back, stands, and swipes at the corner of his mouth with that wicked tongue. I fumble to tuck myself away and zip up my pants, adrenaline sparking through my veins. He spins me around, palms immediately back on my ass, kneading, possessive.
“No,” I hiss. “You can have my ass later. We have to get out there.”
He just bites my earlobe and squeezes harder, lips dragging against my neck.
I’m half-hard again already and cursing him for it.
I fumble for the door handle, and when it finally flies open, I tumble out into the hallway, nearly tripping over my own feet, and come face to face with Chance and his best man, Murph.
Chance looks me up and down, taking in my flushed face, the lopsided bow tie, the rumpled jacket.
His lips twitch in a way that tells me he knows exactly what just happened.
Spence saunters out of the closet a second later, cool as ever, jacket slung over his shoulder like a movie star, lips faintly red and shiny, and just walks on down the hall, not even giving a single fuck.
“Uh, it’s not what it looks like,” I blurt to Chance, feeling heat crawl up my neck.
Chance shakes his head, grinning. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Just get out there before Ant kills us all.”
I nod and scurry after Spence, doing my best not to look like I just got an expert blowjob in a janitor’s closet. Welcome to my life.
The ceremony was beautiful. Anthony and Chance’s emotional vows had everyone crying—even Spence looked a little choked up—though he’d rather die than admit it.
Spence and I rode to the reception venue together in my limo.
I had my hand on his dick the whole drive over.
Then I jumped out of the car when we arrived, leaving him hard-up.
Serves him right. I hope he takes it out on my ass later. Weddings make me horny.
The reception is in full swing, and if you’d told me a year ago that we’d be celebrating Anthony and Chance’s wedding in an upscaled roller rink…
I totally would have believed it. No one should be surprised.
And it’s as perfect as you’d expect from those two: disco balls, servers wearing all white to match the wedding party, flowers in spray-painted skate boots, and the food—I mean, c’mon, it’s Anthony.
I’m sitting at a table with Spence, Jen, Lexi, and Murph.
Jen and Lexi are both very preggers. Anthony and Chance are over the moon that both inseminations took.
And a mere few weeks apart. Speaking of the grooms…
they’re off making the rounds, beaming like it’s the happiest day of their lives.
Because it is. Murph flew in from Boston.
He and Chance grew up together. I’ve met him a couple of times before.
The guy’s gorgeous—masculine but pretty, hair close-cropped, full sleeve tattoos, ink winding up his neck.
The art’s almost as striking as his face.
I could’ve sworn I caught him checking out my ass earlier, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.
We’re all sipping champagne, laughing at something Lexi said, when Jen leans over, voice carrying across the table. “Hey Butters, you should sign something for Murph while he’s in town. Not everyone gets to hang out with a two-time champion quarterback.”
I give Murph my brightest grin. “Yeah, man. I’d love to.” I can’t help the little thrill of attention, even if it’s just a signature.
Then the hair on the back of my neck stands up straight. I turn, and sure enough: Spence is glaring at me, jaw tight, lips pressed together in a hard line.
Suddenly I’m squirming in my seat, half nervous and half turned on by the way he looks at me, all possessive and dangerous. “Uh. Sure,” I mumble to Murph, flatly, conscious of Spence’s eyes. “Maybe later.” I try to sound nonchalant and hope I don’t come off as a total douche.
In the time I’ve been banging buds with Spence, there’s one thing I’ve picked up on.
Spence pretends he doesn’t care, acts all cold and detached, but the second anyone even looks my way—especially someone as hot as Murph—his claws come out.
Most of the time, it gets me going. I love that he wants me, needs to remind the world I’m his plaything… for now.
But sometimes it just makes me feel, I don’t know, really fucking hollow. Like I’m still hiding, still playing by somebody else’s rules. I should be on top of the world. Instead, I feel like I’m living someone else’s life, a guest star in a role I never auditioned for.
My thoughts must be written all over my face, because suddenly there’s a gentle tap on my shoe under the table. I look up, and Spence is watching me, something soft and almost worried behind the steel in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice low enough that only I can hear.
I clear my throat, forcing a smile. “Yeah, totally good, bro.”
Spence rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not. You haven’t called me ‘bro’ in months.”
I drop my eyes to my palms in my lap. My chest aches.
The music, the laughter, all the happiness in the room feels like it’s happening in another world, one I don’t have a membership to.
Spence taps my foot with his again, insistent this time.
I lift my head, and he says, “Let’s go for a walk.
I saw a park not far behind the roller rink. ”
I nod, eager for air. “Yeah, okay.”
He stands first, smoothing his tux, already slipping back into his armor—cool, cutting, always a little distant. I follow, hoping maybe this is the night I finally find the words for everything I’ve been holding inside.
We weave through the rink, Spence’s shoulders squared, his walk all purpose, tux fitting so perfectly over his broad frame that I can’t help but stare at his ass as I follow him. He’s laser-focused, cutting through the crowd. My heart slams a little harder than it should.