Chapter 10 Brooks
Moony Eyes
I’m getting good at memorizing the back of Will’s head. Sunlight cuts through the bus window, gilding the tan on his thick neck and catching on the silver chain resting there. Blond strands slip from beneath his hat, and I ache to tug them just to feel them against my fingers again.
I know exactly what those blond strands feel like between my fingers. So soft, just like those lips. God, I want to pull those noises out of him again from when our mouths fused together. Memories of the groans and deep-chested growls send a shiver down my neck, all the way to my toes.
It ended way too fast, with him leaving me there in that dark alley breathless and painfully hard.
I’m not fucking gay.
The memory of his words burn as I stare at the back of his infuriatingly beautiful head. Three days of silence. Even at practice he kept his distance, every ounce of focus funneled into his pitches. Great for the team. Brutal for my heart.
A painful jab nails me in the ribs. “Ow, fucker! What the hell was that for?”
“What’s with the moony eyes at Sinclair?” Truett grins, eyes sparkling.
“I don’t have moony eyes.”
Truett leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head with a playful smirk. “Oh yes, you do. You look exactly like this.” He bats his lashes in an exaggerated flutter, glazing his eyes over and puckering his lips into ridiculously kissy faces.
“Fuck off, Ham,” I say, fighting back a smile.
“Didn’t think Golden Boy swung that way.”
Before I can answer, the bus jerks to a stop in front of our hotel. I stand, stretching my arms overhead, careful to avoid Truett’s searching stare.
The thing is, that kiss has me reeling. How could something feel so right, yet throw me into a death spiral all at once? With Will’s silence, I can only assume he’s probably feeling the same way.
I knew of my sexuality from a young age.
It was simple, really. I liked girls just as much as I liked boys.
There were assholes growing up who would make fun of me, calling me every slur in the book.
But I was one of the lucky ones who had a support system.
Two loving parents who accepted me with no questions asked, and a little sister who’d lay out anyone who would look at me wrong.
“War? You just gonna ignore me?” Truett teases, rising from his seat.
I watch Will hustle down the steps of the bus, and I shove past my teammates to catch up to him.
I’m over the silent treatment. Patience only goes so far when it comes to unraveling the puzzle that is William Sinclair.
I need him to quit hiding and be straight with me.
We kissed—so fucking what? If he wants to pretend there’s nothing between us, then he can damn well say it to my face.
My feet hit the asphalt, and I spot him yanking his duffel from beneath the bus.
“Sinclair!” I call out.
He looks up, our eyes locking, tension sparking in the space between us. My body moves toward him before I even register the thought. His mouth parts, like he’s finally about to speak.
“William!” a deep voice booms, cutting through the moment.
By the hotel entrance stands a tall man in a sleek gray suit, a woman nearly his height clinging to his arm.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they are.
The man’s scowl is a mirror of the one Will throws me on the daily.
And the woman who has a matching set of midnight blue eyes stares at Will with unshed tears as she clutches tighter to the man’s arm.
Will’s body visibly tenses, his fists gripping the strap of his duffel so tight his knuckles blanch. I watch as he takes a deep breath, head hung low like he’s psyching himself up. I’m already walking toward him, pulled by an urgent need to comfort him.
Just as I’m about to reach out to him, he takes a few reluctant strides toward the couple, stopping in front of them without a flicker of affection.
I’m just close enough to hear a heated exchange, but too far to make out any specific words. Media press and league gossip don’t compare to seeing the elusive owner of the St. Louis Bullfrogs. Jameson Sinclair exudes power, even just in his stance.
But the way Will avoids his father’s gaze, hands on his hips like he’s ready to dip out of whatever the hell they’re talking about, says volumes.
Even I’m shocked at myself for the protective feelings surging through me.
The entire exchange has me on edge, my nerves spiking when his father leans in, face tight with barely contained anger.
The whole sight is jarring. Will’s not what you call an open book.
It’s like pulling teeth to get that man to open up.
Even at dinner with my family, he kept those walls high, hiding behind that perfect golden-boy mask.
I can’t help the small ache forming in the center of my chest when Will stomps off past his parents and through the automatic doors of the hotel.
Truett sidles up beside me, hefting my duffel onto my shoulder. “Told you. Moony eyes.” He laughs, snatching the cap off my head and ruffling my hair as he strolls past.
A smack on my ass jolts me out of my daze. “You coming, papi?” Mateo calls over his shoulder with a smirk, jerking his chin for me to follow.
Clearing my throat, physically here but all my thoughts fixed on Will, I reply, “Right behind you.”
The upside of being Will’s roommate is there will be no way he can avoid me anymore. His vow of silence ends now.
Despondent and distant, Will doesn’t notice when I enter our room as he gazes out of the large window. He’s hiding those large hands in his pockets, tension buzzing off of him like a current. He doesn’t turn until the door clicks shut behind me.
His lips twist into a frown, but I refuse to let it drag down the mood he’s set since I walked in.
“Whoa, relax, Sinclair. I know you’re thrilled to see me—just take it easy,” I tease, hands raised in mock surrender.
Nothing. Not even a hint of a smile.
“I’m not in the mood, Brooks.”
“Ah, Brooks now is it? Well, I gave you three days to sulk. Time’s up. We’re talking.”
He turns back toward the window, voice flat. “There’s not much to say.”
Sharp words press against my tongue, but then I remember the way Will’s face looked as his father leaned into him with disappointment etched in his face. How his shoulders locked tight with the weight of that exchange.
His parents showing up might not be the only reason he’s been avoiding me, but it’s sure as hell why he’s clinging so hard to this silent treatment. He lets out a slow exhale, his face tilting up toward the ceiling.
“What do you want me to say, Brooks?”
“The truth,” I quickly reply. “But I realize you might not be ready for that yet.”
His eyes snap to me at that. So it seems I’ve struck a nerve. Good.
“We’ve got a game to get ready for. Look—” He lets out a heavy breath. “I’m fine. Just let me get my head on straight, alright?”
I shrug my shoulders, saying nothing as I place my duffel down on my bed. I don’t really have anything in particular I’m looking for as I shuffle around inside my bag, the heat of Will’s gaze on me pricking my skin.
He moves in my periphery, but my eyes stay downcast on the contents of my bag.
The mattress dips, and I glance up to find Will sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows braced on his knees, chin resting against his fists as he stares at me. My heart picks up speed, thumping hard in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” Will whispers, so soft I almost miss it. “I’ve been an asshole to you.”
Drawing a steady breath, I shove my bag aside and sit beside him. The apology was unexpected. Something about Will lowering his walls and showing me just a sliver of vulnerability has me aching for more.
I hold my tongue, fucking terrified that if I say the wrong thing, he’ll clam up and shut me out again. As much as I hate to admit it, Will Sinclair has me in a goddamn chokehold. One look from the man, and I’m undone—shaken and thrilled all at once.
“I wanted to talk to you so many times . . . I just . . .” He scrubs both palms over his face. “You make me crazy.”
Our thighs press together, the warmth from our bodies emanating off our skin.
I make him crazy? Crazy good, crazy bad?
The questions rush through me so fast it makes my head spin.
Will bobs his knee up and down like a nervous tic, and I don’t know—something about that makes my lips turn up in the smallest of smiles.
I make him crazy. I make him nervous. I make him feel something.
Taking a risk, I slowly reach for his hand and lace our fingers together.
He stiffens for a split second, staring at our conjoined hands like they’re going to combust any minute.
The way we fit together, the rough callousness from his palms and the heat pulsing from his hand, feels nothing but right.
I flick my eyes up to his and watch the way his pupils dilate when I stroke my thumb gently on top of his. Deep, slow breaths. Tight jaw ticking. He’s fucking beautiful, and it takes everything in me not to lean in and claim those lips for myself again.
“Those were your parents outside the hotel,” I manage with a rough swallow of my throat.
I can tell his mood is shot to hell from whatever confrontation happened earlier. Maybe with his walls lowered, I can sneak over the threshold and get this man to soften up for me.
Will nods, his eyes fixed on our hands. I keep tracing slow circles over his thumb, grounding him to me.
“So that was Jameson Sinclair,” I say.
“The one and only.”
“You seem close.”
A sudden snort escapes him. I grin wide as he hides his mouth behind his hand, laughter spilling out anyway. God, it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.
It rumbles in his throat before breaking loose from his chest, and I can’t help laughing with him. Laughter looks sexy on Will Sinclair.
“Yeah. That man is my best friend,” Will says, still chuckling, lips curved in a way that makes it impossible to look anywhere else.
When the humor fades, his face turns almost somber, and he squeezes my hand tighter. “We’re far from close, War. Every time I see him, my vision goes red.”
Asking what happened between them or what they were even doing here in the first place is on the tip of my tongue, but I tread lightly, knowing this is the most vulnerable he’s ever been with me.
I’m not one to walk on eggshells; I sort of bulldoze my way into everything—obnoxious, loud, and at times annoying.
But for some weird reason, Will has my brain working overtime, actually considering my words before I blurt them out.
“My father was doing his usual bullshit. With our annual family gala coming up in a few months, he was griping on making sure I bring a sensible date because I have a reputation to uphold. Fucking annoying.”
“Family gala?”
Will scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah . . . It’s, uh . . . it’s something we do every year for . . .” Will stammers, struggling to get out the words that seem to be stuck in his throat.
He’s frazzled, and while usually I’d capitalize on this to make a joke, I pivot the conversation to help him out.
“And your mother?”
“My mother, well . . .” He scoffs. “She’s just as bad as he is. They’re nothing like your family, Brooks.”
Something in my heart cracks at the mention of my family. If it were my parents waiting outside my hotel, there’d be a lot of screaming, hugging, and kissing. Yes, my mom and dad still kiss me on the lips and I don’t give a fuck.
Will can’t even bring himself to look at his parents, let alone acknowledge them. No warmth. No color. No love.
I turn fully to face him, holding his eyes with genuine sincerity.
Not pity, but honesty laid bare. “You’re always welcome to my family, Sinclair.
I know I give you shit, and I’m still pissed you’ve been dodging me.
” I pause. “But shitty parents don’t erase the fact that you’ve got people who care. I care.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, and it’s almost like I’m imagining him leaning closer to me. The overwhelming scent of clove surrounds me—and holy shit.
He is leaning closer. And closer. And closer.
So close, his lips barely graze against mine, lighting every nerve on my body in a blazing trail of fire. Fuck it. Just a taste . . .
Knock, knock, knock. “Boys! Put your clothes back on! Coach needs us in the lobby in five!” Truett, my ex-best friend, shouts through the door, his snickers fading as he moves down the hall.
The moment’s doused in ice-cold water, and our hands unlink from each other. Will clears his throat, standing from the bed.
“Uh, thanks . . . War. I’m gonna use the restroom. I’ll meet you down at the lobby.”
I move to stand, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to him. “Yup. You got it.”
Will gives me a nod before nearly running to the bathroom and closing himself in.
I stare at the door, unable to stop my feet from taking me right up to the front of it. My fist lifts to knock, but before my knuckles can make contact, I put it back down.
Damn. Moony eyes.