Page 28 of Choke Up

"I dunno, 'cuz I might."

Elliot chuckles, nudging my arm with his affectionately. His grin is sarcastic, but there's an uncomfortable seriousness in his eyes that makes me squirm. It's probably more than obvious that my sudden dislike for Tripp Landon has everything to do with his brother, but there's no reason for him to think of it as being any more than protectiveness.

"He'll be fine," he says, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he hasn't caught on.

"You ready to go?" I ask, wanting to get the fuck out of here and get Ellis far away from a certain shortstop.

"Yeah. I'm beat, and I need to ice again before bed."

I nod and signal to Ellis that we're leaving. My hand reaches for my wallet, but Elliot stops me and tosses some bills onto the table to cover the three of us. I hate it, but I know better than to fight it. Truth is, he can afford it more than I can. Their parents aren't rich, but they're well off enough to make sure their boys have enough money in their accounts for basic expenses. And since Elliot got a full ride scholarship with a stipend, he rarely touches it. It took me many years to accept the way Elliot and his family have always shared with me, although I still struggle with accepting what feels like charity. Hell, I practically lived with them off and on since elementary school, whenever my mom needed backup because my dad didn't show up for his visitation schedule, or because she needed a break. It wasn't until I was almost in high school that I realized needing a break meant a depressive episode. The Hopes were the ones to sign me up for baseball with their sons and even bought me the equipment when Elliot and I got serious about playing.

Someday, though, Elliot and I are going to make it to the big leagues together. And not only will I be able to pay my own way and take care of my mom, but I'll be able to return every kindness his family has shown me over the years. I daydream about it sometimes, what Ethan Hope's face would look like when his "bonus son" hands him the keys to some flashy, expensive car. Or how Mama Hope, which is what Elain likes me to call her, will react when she's sent on an all-expenses-paid vacation.

Lately some of those daydreams have been tainted by what I imagine their expressions will be when they realize I've been defiling their son. Somehow, I think they'd be less offended if it were Elliot. After all, we've been attached at the hip since we were kids, it would almost seem natural. But no, I had to go for their baby. And I'm not calling him that because I agree with the way they've always coddled him. He was born smaller and spent some time in the NICU, and as a small child he was sick a lot, but he grew out of all that. He's healthy and thriving, especially now that his parents and Elliot aren't sheltering him so much. And yeah, okay, me too. Obviously, I have my own issues with wanting to protect Ellis, and maybe it used to be because I saw him as weaker, because that's how the family treated him. But that's not how I see him anymore. Now I want to protect him because I see him as mine. And that is so much worse.

We're all quiet as Elliot drives us back to campus. Ellis is in the backseat texting back and forth with someone. Probably Tripp. Or Antoni.

ELLISH: Jealous much?

Yes, I'm jealous. I'm sick with it. I hate that Tripp can flirt with him openly, and other than a few looks when they came back to the table after a long absence, no one even batted an eye at them. I hate that they might have anything in common to talk about, and that Ellis invited him to one of his pride club meetups. I hate that Antoni is so beautiful and always touching Ellis, fixing his hair and straightening his clothes and whispering in his ear. Hell, I even hate Ivy because I know he's slept in her bed a couple of times, or used her shower when his dorms were extra gross. I'm jealous of each and every friend that has grabbed his hand or eaten lunch with him or fucking made him smile and helped him become this vibrant, open, happy version of himself. Fuck. I'm jealous of fucking Johnny, because he gets to make him feel, whether through text and pictures or by throwing caution to the wind.

I thumb through our last messages from the restaurant. I know I'm playing with fire by sending messages like this, letting him know I'm there. I think he suspects I’m on the team. And I've been trying to throw him off by timing my messages just right to make sure I look busy instead of letting him catch me looking at my phone. Like when I sent those pictures during the scrimmage today, I had them queued up in my phone so all I had to do was push send before I ran out onto the field in full gear. By the time he opened them, it would have seemed impossible that it was me who sent them.

Admittedly, between the games I'm playing to cover my ass, and the mental gymnastics I've been doing to justify it all, I'm exhausted. But the way my blood rushes when I so much as think of Ellis, much less when he's in my vicinity, makes him impossible to walk away from. The smell of his hair, the taste of his sweat, the feel of his smooth skin beneath my rough palms—it's intoxicating. Addictive.

After watching Ellis flirt with Tripp all night, I'm on edge. I'm jonesing to get my hands on him, to punish him for making me feel this way. To show him the pleasure that he can't get anywhere else.

JOHNNY: I want to lick, suck, and bite your skin in every place he touched you.

ELLISH: Do it, then.

JOHNNY: I don't think I could control myself this time.

ELLISH: That picture you sent me says you don't have as much control as you think you do.

JOHNNY: Did I hurt you?

ELLISH: No.

JOHNNY: Because I was in control.

I sneak a glance at Ellis in the back seat, watching him blink at the screen, eyebrows raising.

ELLISH: I wouldn't mind seeing you lose a little of that control.

JOHNNY: We almost got caught.

ELLISH: So maybe this time we try to be less conspicuous.

ELLISH: And maybe aim most of the mess directly down my throat rather than soaking me with it? Seems like a waste of a perfectly good snack.

Ellis bites his lip, looking pleased with himself. I nearly choke, covering it up by laughing at my phone. I open a meme site and hold the screen up to a random meme I didn't even read, hoping it's as funny as I'm pretending to find it. Elliot barely glances, because he's driving, and I tell him I'll text it for later. The moment Elliot puts the car in park, I jump out of the Jeep and tell them both goodnight. When I overhear Ellis ask Elliot what I'm running off for in such a hurry, I call back at them, "I have a date!" Because two can play his little jealousy game. I need to get away before I do something truly reckless, like submit to the harebrained idea I'd had earlier today.

Sure enough, barely two minutes pass before I get another message from him.

ELLISH: I kept the blindfold.

Fucking hell. Brain Cells? What brain cells?

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