Falling for His Football Teammate

1

Remy

I’m walking down the crowded hallway of Hawthorne Hall, the main dorm on the sprawling campus of Westbridge University.

The place is buzzing with the usual midday chaos…

guys shouting about lunch plans, doors slamming, someone blasting music from an open room, but all I can focus on is the phone pressed to my ear and the uncomfortable tightness in my jeans.

"I miss you so much, baby," Hannah says, her voice soft and a little breathless, like she's been crying again.

I force a smile into my words, even though she can't see it. "Yeah, you too, Han."

It's not entirely a lie, but it's not the truth either.

This past month without her has been... peaceful.

I didn't realize how much she pulled at me constantly…

texts every hour, demands to hang out even when I had practice or just wanted to crash with the guys, and the clingy way she'd wrap around me like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go.

As selfish as it sounds, I've loved the freedom.

Hanging with the team after workouts, grabbing late-night food without explaining myself, and actually relaxing in my room alone.

Westbridge has one of the top football programs in the Big Ten, and being a wide receiver on the Wolverines means my schedule is packed…

morning classes, film sessions, and practice…

but without Hannah here, it's all felt manageable, enjoyable, even.

What I do miss, though, is the sex. God, do I miss that.

We've been together since senior year of high school, and it was almost every day…

quickies in her car, long nights in my bed, her moaning my name like she couldn't get enough.

A whole month without it now, and I'm losing my mind.

Just the way she's breathless a little on the phone right now, that needy edge to her voice, reminds me of how she sounds when I'm inside her, and fuck…

it's enough to make me hard right here in the hallway.

How messed up is that? Getting a boner from my girlfriend's sad voice while she's three states away dealing with her mom's cancer.

I pick up my pace, weaving past a group of girls laughing by the vending machines, praying no one glances down and notices the obvious bulge straining against my jeans. My face burns as I keep my backpack slung low in front of me, trying to play it casual.

"Oh, I've got to go, babe," Hannah says suddenly. "Mom's nurse is here. Talk soon?"

"Yeah…" I mutter, but she's already hanging up.

I sigh with relief as the call ends, shoving my phone into my pocket.

Finally at my door, room 312, I fumble for my key, push inside, and slam the door behind me.

I lean against it for a second as the quiet of the room washes over me.

I drop my backpack by the door with a thud and kick off my sneakers, letting them thump against the wall.

The ache between my legs is throbbing now, insistent, demanding release.

I've jerked off every single night this month, sometimes twice, and it's just not cutting it anymore.

It's not the same. I'm not some sex addict or anything, but going from daily to nothing cold turkey has me wound so tight I can barely think straight.

◆◆◆

I flick my eyes up from the fridge, where I have been staring blankly at the near-empty shelves for way too long, and catch Cole stepping out of the bathroom with nothing but a white towel knotted low around his hips.

Water droplets still cling to the ridges of his chest and shoulders, sliding down the deep cuts of muscle we’ve both earned from endless hours in the weight room.

It’s nothing I’ve not seen a thousand times before; we’ve been changing in locker rooms together since we were kids, showering after practices, crashing in the same bed at away games when hotels screwed up reservations.

But right now, with the ache pounding between my legs, the sight of all that bare skin hits differently.

“Hey, man,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Cole grins and slaps my back as he passes, the wet smack of his palm loud in the quiet room. “Hey. You good?”

“Yeah, why?” I straighten up, having grabbed absolutely nothing from the fridge, because we are useless nineteen-year-old guys who keep forgetting to go grocery shopping. I shut the door with a little more force than necessary.

Cole leans against the counter, arms crossed, towel riding dangerously low. “You look a bit… I don’t know… pale and sweaty.”

I let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Okay… can I be honest with you?”

He shrugs, water still dripping from the ends of his dark hair onto his collarbone. “Yeah, you know you can.”

I do know that. Cole has been my best friend since elementary school…

same classes, same teams, same everything.

We went to the same high school, committed to Westbridge together, and when they told us we could room together it felt natural.

He’s the one who introduced me to Hannah; her family and his had been friends forever, and the second she saw me she started flirting like her life depended on it.

Cole just laughed and said I would thank him later.

I don’t know what I’d without him. He's always been the steady one, even after the train crash that took both his parents when we were fifteen. I remember sitting with him in the hospital waiting room that night, watching him go completely still when the doctor came out. Football became everything for him after that… his outlet, his escape, his way of proving he was still here. I watched him turn grief into pure talent, and he dragged me right along with him. But right now, standing in our tiny dorm kitchen with a painful hard-on, that I’ve been fighting all day, none of that history makes this any less embarrassing.

“Dude,” I mutter, “I’m so fucking horny.”

Cole stares at me for half a second, and then he bursts out laughing… head thrown back, the full deep sound that always fills the room.

I narrow my eyes at him. “It’s not funny, man.”

I gesture down at my crotch, where the evidence is pretty damn obvious through my jeans. His gaze follows the motion, and he only laughs harder, bracing one hand on the counter like he needs the support.

It takes him a minute to calm down, wiping at his eyes. “Oh man… that’s brilliant. Poor guy finally knows what it feels like to not have sex every day, like the majority of us.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “Please. You’re the quarterback. People throw themselves at you.”

He sobers a little, shrugging. “Alright, fair enough. But you know I’m taking college seriously. I don’t want to fuck this up. I was given a scholarship, Remy… I literally cannot afford tuition if I lose it.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh, the fight going out of me. “Just don’t fucking laugh at me. This is physically painful.”

For a second something twisted and desperate flickers through my mind…

ask him, ask Cole if you can use him, just this once, just to take the edge off.

We’re both built the same, both guys, both starving for touch in different ways.

He’d probably say no, but maybe… heat floods my face, and I clear my throat hard, ashamed of how low I’ve sunk to even think it.

I turn away before he can read anything in my expression and stalk over to the couch, flopping down onto the sagging cushions.

I throw an arm over my eyes, willing my body to calm the hell down.

This is ridiculous now… is this even normal?

Cole drops onto the couch beside me, the cushions dipping under his weight, and without hesitation he reaches over and plants his warm palm on my knee.

“Alright, my guy,” he says, voice low and steady like he’s talking me down from some injury on the field.

“What’ll help? Name it. You want to go out, get distracted?

Hit the gym and burn some energy, even though I literally just showered? Or grab some food?”

I let out a short laugh, mostly because the way he says, “name it,” hits me like he’d actually do anything I asked, no questions. But there’s no way he means that. Still, the words hang there, tempting, and my pulse kicks harder.

“What’s funny?” he asks, grinning that easy, familiar grin we’ve shared since we were eight years old.

“Name it?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

He shrugs, the motion making the towel shift slightly against his hips. “Yeah, of course. You’re my best friend. What’ll help?”

Jesus Christ. The rational part of my brain screams that this could ruin everything we’ve built over the years, but the rest of me is delirious, throbbing, and desperate.

I drag in a breath. “Alright,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. “Let me… use you… for a release.”

Cole stares at me, unblinking, like he’s waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, he lets out an awkward, disbelieving laugh. “Uh… what?”

He pulls his hand back from my knee fast, like the skin there suddenly burns. I shrug, letting him see I’m completely serious.

Cole stands up abruptly, shaking his head. “Dude… okay, I know I said name it, but like… I’m not gay. I’m not sucking your dick or whatever.”

He scoffs, turning away, and heads toward his bedroom door.

I stand too, running a frustrated hand through my hair before following him. “Come on, man. If you help me out, I won’t go find some cheap fuck and cheat on Hannah. I don’t want to cheat on her.”

He stops in the middle of his room and turns back, laughing sharply. “You’re fucked in the head for one. For two… you do realize using me would be cheating on her?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I insist, stepping closer. “You’re my best friend. It’s literally just for release… no feelings involved, and it’s not like it’ll happen again.”

Cole throws his hands up. “How are you making me feel like the weird one for saying no?”

I take another step toward him, closing the distance until I can feel the heat coming off his freshly showered skin.