Chapter 6
Thayer
“Ash, this is important–”
“Are you into me?” he asked simply, half sitting up on his elbows in frustration.
“No!” I said firmly–too quickly–widening my eyes at him and his sudden outburst.
“Cool–problem solved,” he huffed, dropping back down flat on the ground. “Unless this is some roundabout way of telling me you were getting off from last week, then all that matters to me is if you can help with this. Gay, straight, furry–whatever–doesn’t matter to me.”
It couldn’t be that simple for him.
I was willing to accept that times had changed and tolerances had shifted in some ways, especially for college kids, but not this much.
This was a seemingly very straight man, acting far too cool about that information–he was just in pain.
He wanted the pain to stop.
I could make the pain stop–my value outweighed his discomfort.
Ash settled uncomfortably, wincing a little when my hands made tentative contact with his knee. I moved slowly, carefully, massaging the muscles along his thigh.
My thoughts needed to stay clinical and technical, focused on the way my hands moved and which muscles were being worked. I tuned out any noises he made, ignored the tension forming in his shorts, and just massaged away all the pain he was in.
“You said this will–mm–heal, right?” he panted out, his body flinching and arching slightly while I worked.
“Eventually,” I hummed, laser-focused on my own hands and not his sweaty skin or damn-near pornographic moans between words.
“The problem is it gets overworked, even when you’re not playing–you’re walking on it, standing with it.
It’s a hard one to heal. It’s storing up tension–this just forces it to release. ”
“It’s good,” he breathed, head tilted back and eyes shut again.
I was done.
The massage was done–I could stop touching him now…
But I didn’t.
I was screaming at myself to stop and just take a step back from the kid, but my hands kept working–they started again. They went back down to his knee, making their way up again, and working more of those pretty sounds from him–nope.
My hands quickly released him, earning a soft whine from Ash in protest, but acceptance as he sat up, slowly. I sat back on my feet, hands on my legs again, breathing through whatever lack of control I was facing when it came to this kid.
Because that was what he was–a kid.
Ash was barely twenty-one–he’d been in college his whole adult life and was thirteen years younger than me. There were countless moral reasons not to go there with him, but thirteen years apart?
What would we even talk about?
What would we even have in common?
At the very best, Ash would be a really hot hookup, but then where would that leave me?
Fired–for sure–and just a gross feeling. I would be that guy–I mean, imagine if Ash was a girl. If he were a twenty-one-year-old cheerleader and I were his thirty-four-year-old coach, it would be gross.
It would be a misuse of power and access to the highest degree.
Not to mention, Ash was apparently straight. He had a girlfriend, so he was unavailable anyway, and what the hell was I even thinking?
It wouldn’t matter if he was gayer than a two-dollar bill and throwing himself at me–it was not going to happen.
“You need to tell me the next time it hurts–don’t just try to work it out yourself,” I finally said, coming back to my senses as we both stood up. He readjusted slightly, clearly trying to hide his erection based on the shade of red his face still was. “You have your phone on you?”
“Of course,” he huffed, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out, unlocking it to hand to me.
Because, of course, he had his phone attached to him–he was twenty-one. He’d die if he missed the newest Instagram trend or live updates of his friends' days via Twitter.
Still, I took his phone and created a new contact with my number in it. I’d already given it to Tommy and Jordy, but our polar silence over the last week didn’t leave a lot of room for contact exchanges.
“Call me when it starts to hurt–don’t try to come find me–”
“I just,” he mumbled, taking his phone back awkwardly as his face reheated. He paused for a second, working out what he wanted to say while avoiding my eyes suddenly. “I don’t want you to do it anywhere else.”
Ash looked around, offering a rare moment of actual vulnerability that I could not misuse right now. I’d found a crack in his armor, which meant I had an in, but I needed to nurture it and not exploit it.
God knows how many cracks that kid had to seal up from people exploiting them.
The training rooms, along with being private, closed-off rooms, were all soundproof.
It was designed that way with players' music and weird grunting in mind, but physical therapists used it to their advantage. They’d take players to training rooms to do things they knew would sound strange or be embarrassing for them if anyone heard or saw–it was why I took Ash to one in the first place.
There was no doubt in my mind that Ash would make the sounds or have the reaction he did that day–it was normal.
And all he was asking was that it stay private.
“I’ll do what I can to keep it private, Ash,” I promised, offering him a smile. “It’s a normal reaction, and I don’t want you agitating it more by meeting me here every time it bothers you. I’ll figure it out–just text or call when it starts bothering you.”
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, nodding once at me.
And that–that was trust.
The kind you didn’t get twice from a kid like Ash.