Page 11 of The Lies We Tell Ourselves

“Vieck, McCormack you need to make sure the kegs and liquor are delivered without issue.” They both gave me a thumbs up before kicking up the pace on the bikes. “Buchanan, you got the DJ sorted?”

“Yes, Cap.”

“Stevens—”

“I got the girls, Cap, no worries.” He saluted, and I nodded.

The door slammed shut behind me as I left the guys to their workout, under no illusion they would probably stop five minutes after I left. My legs and arms felt like quick-drying cement due to not having done a warm down. I slumped against the wall, my chin hitting my chest, and I heaved in a deep inhale, allowing oxygen to filter through my lungs to my aching body.

I pushed myself too hard. I knew it, and by the looks my team gave me, they did too. But I couldn’t be complacent; this year was my big chance. Coach told me the scouts would be coming to our opening game, and Dad was overjoyed when he’d heard the news. I just had to remain focused on the prize. I’d come too far to lose traction now, lost too much give up.

I carded my fingers through my sweat-slicked hair, pushing the long strands off my face and counted to ten and back again. It was one of my coping methods when I felt my anxiety levels spiking. I hated socializing, parties, and people. But tonight’s party was all any of the upperclassmen were talking about since everyone came back to campus. It was another stress, another responsibility I didn’t need but had somehow been lumbered with.

Chad “fucking” Prescott was pissed not only that he didn’t make captain his senior year, but also that he wouldn’t be the one responsible for hosting this year’s opening party. He wanted his name to be synonymous with being the king of campus, but all his sour behavior was doing was turning everyone against him, making him hate me more. It wasn’t my fault he was a shit player that only made the team because of Daddy’s money, and the threat of the money train stopping was all that held his place.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The elevator door slid open to reveal Chad in the latest gym gear circulating on TikTok, instead of the required team gear the rest of us were wearing. My feet begrudgingly carried me forward, a grimace marring my face as pain lanced through my calves with every step. Chad smirked as he shoulder-checked me out of his way, malice gleaming in his eyes. “Look like shit, Graves.” He never called me Cap or showed me an ounce of respect. “Sure you’re up to this?”

“I got this,” I grunted. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head over, Chad.” I kept walking without looking back like he desperately wanted me to. I could feel his gaze burning into my back as I stepped into the elevator and turned to face him just before the doors closed.

Chad’s hands were fisted at his sides as he stomped down the corridor to the gym. “Fucking stuck up prick.” His cursed words reached me before the silver doors obscured him from my view.

There was so much I had to get done before tonight it was ridiculous. Not only did I have to sort everything out for the party, but I still needed to collect some books from the library for my nutrition course, and I had a meeting with Coach to go over the team for our first pre-season friendly next week. Thank god I knew my way around the building with my eyes closed, because I sure as shit wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing. Before I knew it, I was standing under a scalding hot shower, washing the sweat off. I braced my hands against the tiled wall and allowed the hot water to work out the aches in my muscles.

My hand wandered down my chest, tracing the grooves in my abs before wrapping around my semi. It’d been weeks since I’d touched myself, or had any inclination to. I was a twenty-year-old red-blooded male, and even I knew my lack of drive wasn’t normal. But I just didn’t have it in me. I curled my fingers around my semi-hard shaft and gave it a tight squeeze before working my fist up and down my length with a couple of exploratory strokes. And nothing.

My inability to get hard niggled at me as I dried off and threw on some jeans, my Ravens hoodie, and shoved my feet into my boots. Maybe I could find a willing jersey chaser and get her to suck me off or fuck her ass until she screamed. Luckily, the guys didn’t question the fact I didn’t hook up much. I once told them I had a thing for older women, and that I used an app to meet local cougars desperate for the taste of a young jock. That’d earned me a round of whistles, back slaps, and “You da man, Caps.” I wasn’t naive enough to think my misdirection would last forever, so I occasionally took one of the campus sluts to bed to satisfy everyone enough to keep them off my case.

Fifteen minutes later I was in my truck, heading across town to pick up the keys for the ‘party house’ from Tristan. He was in his late twenties, graduated a few years ago, and had come into some money. Some say he got his trust fund, others say he got the money from dealing drugs. Honestly, I didn’t care how he was able to afford one of the McMansions, just that this arrangement we had with him offered us the perfect solution.

It gave us somewhere to party so our dorm didn’t get trashed, and we wouldn’t get shut down by the dean. Richard Michaelson was an asshole. He ruled Briar U with an iron fist and hated to find out any of his students were having a life beyond sports or lectures. He’d almost shut down Greek Row several years ago, thanks to one very wild night that was still talked about today. So what if ten kids ended up in hospital with alcohol poisoning? It was college—the first time most of us had the opportunity to drink and live away from our parents. It’s what we’re meant to do.

The drive passed in the blink of an eye, and before I knew it, I pulled up outside Tristan’s garage. He had a thing for classic American muscle cars and was all about restoring them. He didn’t have time for “modern atrocities.”

The bell rang as I entered the shop through the service entrance. I waved at the old lady at reception who didn’t even look up from her magazine and made my way through the garage to his office at the back. I glanced at my watch before I rapped on the closed door. I had three hours before my meeting with Coach. I hoped to god Tristan wasn’t on a call or doing whatever he did behind closed doors. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d walked in on him getting his dick sucked, and I prayed today wasn’t going to be another one of those.

“Enter,” his muted grunt came through the door. I toed it open and slipped through the gap, breathing a sigh of relief when I found him smoking a joint. “Want some?” He took a drag and offered it to me.

“Nah. I’m good.”

Tristan snorted, a thick cloud of smoke pouring from his mouth. “Fuck, I forgot you’re one of those tight-ass jocks.” I ground my teeth and bit back my retort. I didn’t want to fuck up my life. “Take a chill pill, Dillon.” He smirked. “Bet you don’t do those either, do you?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m too focused on my future.”

“Good for you, kid.” He rolled his eyes and took another drag. Tristan stubbed out the roach and pulled his drawer open. “Money?” he asked as he rooted around in it and held out his free hand.

“It’s all there,” I said as I placed the envelope in his hand. Tristan made a lot from us college kids. Two grand to rent the house for twenty four hours and five hundred for a deposit when you booked it. He was making bank, that’s for sure. Rumor had it this wasn’t the only ‘party house’ he had. Apparently, he had them all across the state near colleges.

“Take a seat.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to fuck off, but instead, I sat my ass in that chair opposite him while he counted our money. The whole dorm put in for this. Vieck acted as party treasurer and handled the money. He just gave me the envelope and I delivered it. Personally, I thought I had the worst job, but no one agreed with me. They were all jealous. One day soon they’d realize I was the one getting the short end of the stick, but until that day came to pass, I’d keep my gob shut. “Is there anything else you guys need for tonight?”

“No.”

“Still a kid of few words, aren’t you, Dillon.”

“I say what I need to.” Tristan nodded and threw the keys at me. I caught them in one hand and rose to my feet, more than ready to get out of here.

“One of my guys will be stopping by—” I froze and turned to look at Tristan as he lounged back in his chair. “You know, in case you guys need any extras.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten and back down again. I knew what he meant by extras. Even though I hated it, there wasn’t anything I could say. Tristan was a man you didn’t cross unless you had a death wish. I opened my mouth, and he smirked at me. “We won’t, but if you want to…” I shrugged.

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