Page 23 of Man On

My jaw tenses, and it's an effort to not talk some serious shit. I'm just trying to be a nice guy and he's glaring at me like I'm being unreasonable for worrying that I found him passed out like that. I decide not to fight with him, or mention that he's completely drenched in sweat and clearly not fine. When he tries to stand up, he falters and has to slump back down on the couch. I reach out to steady him.

"Whoa, okay. Maybe you should just drink the juice, yeah?" I tap the bottom of the mug with one finger. With narrowed eyes, he reluctantly sips the juice. His eyes trace over me as he drinks, and I realize I'm all but caging him in with my body. Our eyes meet.

I'm expecting anger. I'm expecting rage.

What I get instead is a slight flash of something decidedly not angry, before a pink flush spreads over his skin. I don't know how to read the expression, but I feel warm, like his blush is contagious.

Clearing my throat, I pull back to give him some space. I didn't mean to crowd him or make him uncomfortable.

"I don't like it," he says, his voice oddly small for someone so large.

"I know. I said I'd stop, I meant it.".

"But I-I think I need… something."

I nod, understanding his meaning. He needs an outlet. He needs something or someone to force him out of his head. It's not something he can do on his own, because he takes it too far and ends up like this.

"Let's get you to bed. We'll figure something out tomorrow."

He tries to shoo me away when I move to help him up.

"Shut up and let me help you." My sharp tone seems to do it for him. He allows me to pull him up and steady him as he shuffles to his room.

I hover in the doorway and watch him fall into bed, stepping into the room to turn off the light for him. His room is similar to mine, but he’s moved his bed to a different wall, making the space seem larger. It takes me a while to figure out the biggest difference in our rooms isn’t just that everything in here is neat and orderly, with very few personal items displayed. His room doesn’t have a window, which makes the room darker. Does he prefer it that way, or did he choose this room to be polite?

After opening a shopping app on my phone and picking out some items that can be delivered tomorrow, I stand in the doorway for probably too long, listening to his breaths evening out.

There's something about Lane Blakely. Something broken that I am magnetized to. Only, I can't tell if I want to fix him, or if I want to break him the rest of the way.

CHAPTER 8

LANE

The whistle blows sharply, and I launch my body across the field. I don't see anything except the tiny orange cone in front of me, until I tag it and turn, racing back to the line I started at. Again, I turn, pumping my arms and running to the next marker, a little farther across the field. The drill continues until I've stopped and turned five times, the last marker on the opposite side of the field. I push myself through the last sprint, not slowing until I've tagged the next person. I slow to a jog at the bench behind the lineup, grabbing my water bottle. It's empty again. Checking that I still have another four teammates in line ahead of me before my next round, I make my way over to the large jugs of water and refill my bottle.

Noah surprises me, appearing next to me as I down the water greedily. "You alright?"

I scowl at him. He's struggling just as much as I am today, but it's his own fault. He went out drinking instead of staying home after we lost our first official match of the season. He had to know Coach Carr was going to kick our asses at practice today. If he'd stayed home, he wouldn't be hungover, wouldn’t have missed his morning class, and I wouldn’t be strung out from getting worked up over his bullshit again last night.

Noah rolls his eyes and jogs back to get in line.

I shouldn’t be blaming him for my issues. It’s not that I don’t know my own limits, but sometimes pushing past them is the only thing that can get me out of my head. Tonight, though, I don’t have anything left in me. This has been the longest, hardest practice of my life, and all I want to do is crash.

I was wrong. Yesterday was a cakewalk compared to today.

It’s easy to forget how much better practicing in the evenings after class is, rather than the heat of the day. And Coach Carr is pushing us, determined to make sure we’re ready for Sunday’s match.

The day is a blur of sweat and exhaustion. I'm disappointed with my times and fumbling drills. I'm embarrassed by the poor impression I’m making. I can only imagine Coach is having second thoughts about recruiting me to his team.

I'd almost refused his offer, even though Harrison University has one of the best Division ? soccer programs in the NCAA. Harrison was Noah's first choice, and I wanted to get away from him and anyone else I know, but they offered me a full ride scholarship, which meant less pressure on Scott and Hannah to help put me through school. And I admit I got a sick sense of pleasure seeing the look on Noah’s face when my offer arrived—early, no less. I felt more pity for him every day he had to wait for his acceptance, but I wouldn't admit that to him. Not when he was taking so much pleasure in making me uncomfortable.

I squirm a little at the memories, taking deep breaths and begging my body not to respond. It's been months since the last time that happened, and I don't want to think about it too much.

In my peripheral, I see Noah undressing to head into the showers. I briefly glance around the room, not actually looking at anyone. Everything is kind of blurry around me, and closing in. I hate the locker room showers.

I pick up my gym bag and walk out quickly, trying not to think about whether anyone noticed I didn't shower. They're all heading over to the dining hall for dinner, and while I know I should get to know my teammates, I’m not feeling it today. I'm tired and I’m peopled out, and I don't think my mask can hold up to another few hours of interacting with other people. If I let it slip, they'll see the real me. And I can't let that happen.

The apartment is quiet and blessedly cool. I step into the shower before it’s heated up, and it refreshes my heated skin. Blindly reaching for my shampoo and lathering my hair. I open my eyes in confusion when a familiar, but unexpected smell reaches my nostrils. Noah’s all-in-one shampoo and body wash smells both spicy and soapy, and far too intoxicating. I've grabbed it instead of my shampoo.

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