Chapter 5
Ihate the communal showers. If my budget hadn’t already been stretched to its limit on the single room, I would’ve found a place with a private bathroom.
Instead, I got a row of shower heads on a tiled wall, everything out in the open.
The idea of running into anyone while buck naked has always been a special kind of hell for me.
But so far, I’ve had the place to myself.
I’ve figured out the dead hours, the windows when everyone’s in class or at dinner or out living their lives.
I’ve perfected the art of the stealth shower.
Until now. Trey tosses his towel over a hook and drops his toiletries on the bench. He doesn’t seem to care at all that we’re about to be naked together. Of course he doesn’t. A guy who answers his door in boxer briefs wouldn’t think twice about this.
“So I listened to you,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head. There it is. The broad chest, the cobblestone abs, dark skin gleaming under the bathroom lights. It’s hard not to stare. My drawings from the last few days are a cheap imitation. Nothing beats seeing it in person.
“Listened to me?”
“About Coach.” He pushes his sweatpants down and steps out of them. Black boxer briefs this time. Hugging every inch of him. “I went to see him yesterday.”
“Oh yeah?” I’m trying to keep my eyes on his face, I am, but they keep drifting south.
“Told him what he wanted to hear, like you said. That I’d been a hothead. That I’d work on my attitude.” He rolls his eyes. “All that crap. Laid it on thick.”
“And?”
“He ate it up. Man loves hearing he’s right.” A snort. “Said he’d sleep on it. Maybe let me suit up for practice next week.”
“That’s… that’s great.” My face is so hot I’m surprised the mirror isn’t fogging up.
“We’ll see.” He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushes them down. “So, thanks for the advice, man. For real. You said what I needed to hear.”
There’s no way to prepare for it. I’ve imagined it.
I’ve tried to capture its shape and weight through boxer briefs.
But seeing it in the flesh is beyond anything I pictured.
Even soft, it hangs heavy between his thighs like a pendulum.
Thick, with a slight curve to the left. Dark trimmed hair.
Veins that make my fingers itch to trace them.
My brain goes offline. A buffering wheel spinning behind my eyes. All I can do is stare.
“You gonna undress or you showering in your robe?” Trey tilts his head, lips curled into a smile.
“Sorry,” I hear myself say.
“Sorry for what?”
I don’t have an answer. So I turn my back and fumble with the tie on my robe. “I’m a little self-conscious,” I tell the wall. It’s the truth.
“Don’t be,” he says. “We all got the same parts, man.”
Do we, though? I don’t have the kind of body anyone would want to look at twice. All angles and pale skin and not enough muscle. And my cock is not the majestic thing hanging between Trey’s legs. But it is rapidly getting hard, and the last thing I need is for him to see that.
“You know,” Trey says, stepping under the water like this is the most natural thing in the world. And for him it probably is. He’s a football player. Locker rooms, team showers. He’s used to this. “My last neighbor was a real piece of work.”
I risk a glance over my shoulder. He’s under the spray, head tipped back, eyes closed, water streaming down his chest and over the hard planes of his stomach.
My hands are shaking so bad I can barely get the robe untied.
I let it drop, step under the showerhead at the far end of the row, and cover myself with my hand.
“How so?”
“Dude was a narc.” He squirts soap into his hands and starts lathering his chest. “Reported me for everything. Having friends over. Playing music. RA was at my door every other week.”
I watch a single drop of water trace a path down between his abs, over the curve of his stomach, to the dark hair at the base of his cock. It glides down the shaft and hangs from the tip for a second before falling to the tile.
“So I figured the walls were made of cardboard. But you didn’t even hear me, so I guess my old neighbor was just a bitch.”
Here’s my chance. To come clean. If I had even a fraction of Trey’s confidence, I’d say, Oh, I heard you.
I heard everything. I even heard you jerk off the other night.
And you know what? It was hot as hell. The thought alone makes my whole body flush.
I can’t even begin to predict how he’d react.
He could laugh it off. He could show me that intensity he talked about, and slam me into the wall.
I would be no match for him. Or he could call me a freak and never speak to me again.
And I don’t want that. I don’t want him to stop being friendly to me.
So all that comes out is, “Guess he was.”
“Anyway, I appreciate you, man. You’re chill.” He’s soaping up his arms now, muscles flexing as he works the lather into foam. “You gotta show me some of your art. For real. I’m curious.”
That can’t happen. Not with my wall looking like a shrine to him. “I told you, it’s practice stuff.”
“I don’t care. I wanna see.”
I’m angled away from him, trying to hide my cock, which is at half-mast against my thigh.
I grab the soap and start scrubbing my arms, my chest, anywhere but the one place that’s begging for attention.
The steam isn’t helping. It wraps around us like a warm cocoon, and his scent is everywhere. Musk and soap and wet skin.
“Maybe sometime,” I say.
“I bet you’re good. I can tell.”
Compliments from Trey are not helping right now. “I’m okay.”
“Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t sell yourself short. If you’re good at something, own it.”
“Sorry.”
“And stop apologizing.”
“Sor—” I bite the word off. “Right.”
He laughs, and the sound bounces off the tile. “I’m messing with you. But for real, once I started believing I was the baddest motherfucker on the field, that’s when I started playing like it. You gotta have that energy. About everything. Go after what you want.”
“I don’t think I could ever think like that.”
“Why not? You ever wanted something so bad it made you ache?” He turns to rinse his hair, and I get a full view of his back. His ass. Two round, solid globes of muscle. My cock twitches, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek.
“Y-yeah.”
“Then you know how it is. You just gotta let that feeling take over.”
Let the feeling take over. I’m not sure he’d be too happy if I did. The ache between my legs is so intense it borders on painful. I’m fully hard now, pointing straight up. This is torture. I stare at the grout lines. The water spots on the faucet. The chipped tile at eye level. Anything but him.
My erection is not going down. If anything, it’s getting harder. I need to get out of here.
I rinse off in record time, my back to him the whole time.
I barely touched my hair. I’ll have to come back later tonight, but I can’t stay in here another second.
Not with him here. Not with my body betraying me like this.
I grab my robe off the floor and pull it on, tucking my hard-on against my hip before tying it shut.
It strains against the thick terrycloth.
“Done already?” Trey asks, rinsing shampoo from his hair.
“Yeah, I’m in the middle of a drawing. Want to get back to it while the light’s still good.”
“Damn. You’re always in a hurry.” He turns off the water and reaches for his towel. “Hold up, I’ll come with you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to get out because of me,” I say. “Take your time.”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll walk back with you.”
Why is he so damn nice? Why can’t he be a jerk so I can hate him instead of wanting to drop to my knees in front of him?
Trey dries off fast, wraps the towel around his waist, letting it hang dangerously low on his hips, and scoops up his clothes.
We walk back down the hall together, flip-flops squeaking on the carpet.
My shoulders are so tense they’re practically touching my ears.
At my door, I’m fumbling with my key, hands still wet and shaking.
“Alright, well. See you around,” I say, trying to slip inside.
“Nico.” He’s right behind me, leaning against the wall next to my door, arms crossed over his bare chest. “You’re not getting out of it. I wanna see your work. Just a peek. Otherwise you’re never gonna show me.”
My stomach drops. If I let him into my room, he’ll see everything. The wall of drawings. Him, half-naked, rendered in graphite over and over. Every confused, horny, obsessive thought I’ve had over the last few days, pinned up for display.
“I…” There’s no excuse good enough. He’s been kind. He’s been open. I can’t shut him down without being an asshole. But I can’t let him in here. I can’t. A cold sweat prickles my skin. “My room’s a mess right now and?—”
“Have you seen mine? I live in a landfill.” He reaches past me and pushes the door open. “Just a quick look.”
“Wait—”
But he’s already through, those long legs carrying him into my room before I can stop him. I follow, heart hammering, dread rising in my throat.
This is where it all falls apart.