9. Two Can Play
9
Two Can Play
Clayton
A hurricane-force wind couldn’t knock the smile off my face as I walk across the street to our hotel after rinsing off the sand in the outdoor showers.
For two reasons specifically.
One, we won our first game as partners. Despite everything, we pulled through and showed them that, as a pair, we have the potential to be unstoppable. Regardless of how much I wanted to punch him during the first set.
Two, and most importantly, Rocky hugged me… and ran .
Now, I know, I know, that doesn’t sound like something I should be excited about. But it is. Because I felt the way he lingered a moment too long in my arms. I heard the way his breath hitched right before he let go. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
So much so that he freaked out and bolted.
One by one, I’m knocking down the impenetrable bricks that are The Great Wall of Rocky.
After stopping at the front desk and collecting my room key, I step into the elevator and head up to our floor. Rocky has been back for ten minutes now, so hopefully that has given him enough time to sufficiently panic and recover so I won’t have to deal with two moody episodes in the span of one day.
A man can only take so much.
The elevator opens, and I walk down the hall, eager to see just how he plans to explain Usain bolting off of the beach. Reaching our room, I slide in the key card and push the door open after it beeps.
“Honey, I’m—” The sound of the shower running cuts off my greeting. Shrugging, I move through the room and set my bag on the floor next to the bed by the window. I take a seat on the desk chair, not wanting to sit on the bed until I can fully shower, and pull out my phone. Immediately, I see a missed call from my dad exactly ten minutes after the scrimmage ended .
Typical.
Choosing not to call him back, I busy myself by scrolling through Instagram, attempting to fight the vise that’s trying to tighten around my chest at the thought of my father’s unyielding criticism.
I’m about to make a post about today’s scrimmage when I hear a noise come from the bathroom. I pause, waiting to hear it again. A few seconds go by, and just as I’m about to go back to what I was doing, I hear it again.
1 Was that a fucking moan?
I throw my phone onto the bed and stand up out of the chair like my ass is on fire.
He is not doing what I think he’s doing. I could not get that lucky.
“Ahhh, fuck,” Rocky moans.
My eyes go wide, and my hand flies over my mouth as I try to muffle my laugh. “Holy fucking shit. He’s jacking off in the shower,” I whisper to no one but myself. “I can’t wait to give him so much shit about this when he—”
“Clay.” The sound of my name spilling from the bathroom knocks the air from my lungs for the second time today.
Did he just—did he just say Clay?
He did. Oh my god. Rockwell Campos just moaned my name while jacking off in the shower.
If I’ve ever said it before, I take it back. This is the best day of my life.
The sound of the shower turning off is the only thing that unfreezes me from my spot in the middle of the room. I frantically spin around in circles before picking up my phone and duffle, and sliding my sandals back on. Quickly, I tip-toe to the door while trying to adjust my hard-on and crack it open.
If he knows I was in here he will literally never speak to me again. No matter how much I want to throw it in his face, I have to act like I heard nothing. Just as I hear him turn the bathroom doorknob, I close the hotel room door.
Stepping out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and a pair of flushed cheeks—which I’m doing everything in my power not to stare at too long because if I do, I know my dick will bust out of my shorts—he looks at anything and everything but me, and rubs the back of his neck. “Hey, sorry I dipped out so fast, I uh—really had to shit.”
“Far be it from me to hinder your bathroom habits,” I answer, rubbing my hand across my mouth, trying to stifle the laugh sitting at the back of my throat .
“Right, well, shower’s all yours if you want it.” I watch as he walks toward the bed closest to the door.
“Yeah, I rinsed off the sand back at the beach, but I could use a good scrub.”
“Mhmm,” he answers noncommittally.
I bite the inside of my lip, finding his sudden shyness rather adorable. “Hey, after I’m done showering, do you want to go grab some dinner and celebrate the win?”
Sitting on the end of his bed, still in his towel, he reaches down and rifles through his duffle, grabbing a fresh change of clothes. “I’m actually pretty tired. You cool if we just order in and hang out here?”
He still won’t look at me.
“Rockwell?”
“Hmmm?” He pretends to search through his bag some more, even though I know he’s already grabbed what he needs.
“You good?”
“Yup. Super good. Just-just trying to find my deodorant.”
I look into the bathroom out of the corner of my eye to find his deodorant already sitting next to the sink.
You know what?
Two can play at this game .
“Right. Well”—I shoot my thumb out in the direction of the bathroom— “I’m going to shower, and then we can order some dinner.”
“Alright. Cool. Sounds great.”
Time to put on a show.
1. Talk Dirty - Daniel Di Angelo