6. Road Trip Tension
ROAD TRIP TENSION
The van rumbled along the interstate, two hours of blacktop stretching ahead under a flat gray sky.
I wedged myself against the window in the back seat, knees braced wide to claim what space I could.
Diego dropped in beside me without a word, his duffel hitting the floorboard with a dull thud.
Coach rode shotgun, earbuds in, reviewing notes on his tablet.
The promoter's guy drove, a slick-haired assistant who kept the radio low and his opinions to himself.
No one spoke much. The air felt charged anyway, thick with the leftover sweat from morning drills and the faint bite of diesel from the rigs we passed.
Diego's leg took up more room than it needed.
His knee rested heavy against the outside of my thigh from the moment the doors slammed shut.
Not a casual bump. A deliberate press that didn't ease when the van swayed around a curve or hit a pothole.
The contact burned through my sweats, the heat of his skin bleeding straight into mine.
I shifted once, pressing harder into the door panel until the handle dug into my ribs.
His knee followed, unyielding, like he was marking territory without bothering to look over.
My pulse kicked up, a steady throb that matched the tires on the asphalt.
This wasn't anything. Just two guys crammed in a vehicle, bodies too big for the space.
But the sustained pressure made my skin crawl in a way that had nothing to do with the old grudge.
It dragged my thoughts back to the shower two nights ago, his hand wrapped around me, sure and rough.
Unwanted heat stirred low in my belly now, a slow uncoiling I tried to ignore.
I wasn't some kid who popped wood from a knee brush.
I'd fucked women in bar bathrooms and hotel beds without a second thought.
This pull felt like a fault line cracking wider every time he got close, and I hated how little control I had over it.
Diego kept his eyes on the passing scenery, one arm draped along the seat back behind us.
His fingers dangled inches from my shoulder, close enough that I caught the faint scent of his soap every time he moved.
Clean, sharp, with that underlying musk that clung to him after we rolled.
My thigh muscles tightened against the contact, but I couldn't pull away without making it obvious.
The van hit a stretch of rough pavement and his knee slid higher, grinding firmer along the length of my quad.
A spark shot straight to my groin, sharp and unwelcome.
I clenched my jaw, staring out at the blurred lines of the highway until my vision swam.
*This is bullshit,* I thought. The guy who'd split my lip in Reno, who'd smirked down at me from the top position like he owned every inch of the mat.
Now his leg against mine had my body reacting like it remembered the weight of him, the way his breath had ghosted hot across my neck.
Shame twisted through the confusion, hot and sour.
My cock thickened against my thigh, half-hard and trapped by the angle of my seat.
I crossed my arms tight over my chest, willing the reaction down.
Professional. That's what this trip was.
Weigh-in, press the flesh, get back to training.
Not whatever this slow grind in the back seat was turning into.
He didn't say shit about it. Just let the contact sit there for the full two hours, his knee a constant anchor against me.
Every mile marker ticked by like a countdown I couldn't escape.
My mind spun through excuses. Old injury acting up.
Bad circulation from the long sit. Anything but the truth that his proximity had me fighting not to rock into the pressure, to chase more of that unwanted friction.
The internal war left me raw, my chest tight, like I'd taken a body shot I couldn't shake off.
By the time the van pulled into the hotel lot, my shirt clung damp to my back and my nerves felt stripped.
Coach climbed out first, stretching with a grunt. "Rooms are booked under the promotion. Get settled, then head to the scale at four. No drama." He shot us a look that said he remembered Reno too well.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the front desk alone, boots scuffing on the cheap tile.
The clerk tapped at her keyboard, printed two keys, and slid them across.
Separate rooms. Good. I needed the distance after that ride, needed walls between us so I could get my head straight before the weigh-in bullshit.
I took both cards, one for each of us, and turned toward the elevators.
The promoter's guy caught me in the lobby, all cheap suit and sharper smile.
"Change of plans, Blackburn. Reservation got adjusted.
Suite on the fifth floor. Two queens. Promotion's cutting costs where it can.
" His eyes flicked past me to where Diego stood by the vending machines, cracking open a water. "You two are big boys. Figure it out."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already walking away, phone to his ear.
The keys felt heavier now, plastic edges biting into my palm.
Shared room. One night of forced proximity after two hours of his knee owning my leg.
My stomach knotted tighter. This was the last thing I needed, another layer of contact I couldn't dodge.
Upstairs, the suite smelled like stale air freshener and carpet cleaner.
Two beds sat parallel, separated by a nightstand that might as well have been a matchstick for all the good it did.
I claimed the one closer to the window, dropping my bag on the mattress and unzipping it with more force than necessary.
Diego came in a minute later, tossing his stuff on the other bed without comment.
He stripped off his hoodie, the movement pulling his shirt up to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his waistband.
I looked away fast, busying myself with my gear.
The weigh-in went smooth enough. We stood on the scale in turn, numbers called out to the small crowd of officials and press.
Diego's eyes met mine across the room once, that focused stare from the tapes, the one that always seemed to peel back layers I didn't want exposed.
My skin prickled under it. I kept my face blank, stepped off the platform, and headed back to the room while Coach handled the rest.
Dinner was room service and silence. We ate at the small table by the window, burgers that tasted like cardboard.
Diego's foot knocked against mine under the table once.
I pulled back like I'd been burned, but the damage was done.
That brief contact echoed the van ride, sent the same unwelcome spark racing up my leg.
I finished my food standing up, then showered quick and cold, letting the water beat against my shoulders until my teeth chattered.
When I came out in sweats, he was already in bed, sheet pulled low across his hips, scrolling on his phone.
The lamp between us cast long shadows across his chest, highlighting the scars I knew by heart from our fights.
I killed the lights and stretched out on my own mattress, the sheets cool at first then warming too fast under my restless weight.
Sleep stayed out of reach. The room felt too small, the air too still.
I lay on my back, arms at my sides, listening.
Diego shifted in the next bed, the mattress creaking under him as he rolled to his side.
His breathing filled the dark, steady and deep, each exhale a reminder that he was right there.
Close enough to reach out and touch if I lost my mind.
My body wouldn't settle. The memory of his knee pressed to my thigh played on loop, the heat of it, the way it had made my cock respond despite every protest in my head.
Confusion gnawed at me, deeper now in the quiet.
I'd always known who I was. Straight. Simple.
Women in my bed, no complications. But this thing with him cracked that certainty like a bad takedown, left me scrambling for balance.
The unwanted pull sat heavy in my chest, a mix of shame and curiosity that made my skin feel too tight.
I didn't want to need the sound of him breathing.
Didn't want the way my pulse jumped every time the sheets rustled and I pictured his body turning under them.
He moved again, a low sigh escaping him that cut through the dark like a hook to the ribs.
The bedframe gave a soft groan. I stayed frozen, eyes fixed on the ceiling I couldn't see, every sense tuned to the man a few feet away.
The turmoil churned harder, questions I had no answers for pressing in until my throat felt thick.
This proximity wasn't just physical. It was unraveling pieces of me I hadn't known were loose, and I had no idea how to shove them back into place before morning came and we had to face each other again.