Page 17 of No More Jocks

“But that’s not something you need to worry about tonight. You have a date you need to get to.”

I looked at my watch. It was 10:50 p.m. I quickly took off my shoes, and my brother followed suit. We didn’t want to make any extra noise on those squeaky old steps. We carefully tiptoed, hoping my mother hadn’t awakened from her slumber to use the bathroom or grab a late-night snack.

When I saw her door closed, I sighed. I tiptoed through the darkness, careful not to bump into anything or make any noise. I turned on my cellphone flashlight to help guide me through the pitch-black space. I hated sleeping in the dark, but my mother insisted that all the lights be off to reduce the electric bill.

Now, after what Brandon told me, it made sense. The quick showers, the lights being off, and not wasting food were her way of cutting costs because her primary income source had dried up. Just as I was about to walk out the door, my phone flashlight hit one quote on the wall that stated,

Honor thy father and mother.

Waves of guilt washed over me, and for a few seconds, I contemplated going back upstairs and canceling the date. But I didn’t. I would not let Caleb down again, even if that meant me being grounded or forfeiting my small allowance.

I said a small prayer of forgiveness, locked the door, and headed to my brother Brandon’s car. I glanced at my watch; I was going to be late. I took out my phone to text him, but the battery was dead. No matter how hard I tried, I always fucked up.

10

CALEB

Isat in the back of the Uber, my heart thrumming with anticipation as I waited for Marcus to arrive. The leather seats were cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the late afternoon sun filtering through the tinted windows. My sister's warnings echoed in my mind like a broken record: "Don’t date a jock." I tried to shake off the nagging doubts, but they clung to me like a second skin.

Had he stood me up? The question gnawed at me, a constant tug at the back of my thoughts. I glanced at my phone again—no messages. I debated sending him a text but hesitated, not wanting to come off as the nagging gay dude, fretting over someone else's tardiness. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, even as the minutes ticked by painfully slow.

“In three more minutes, I have to pull off,” the Uber driver said, her voice brisk and businesslike. I fished out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her, hoping for just a few more minutes of waiting without being disrespectful.

“Will that cover five more minutes?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

“Fuck yeah,” she replied, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the cash. Saturday nights were the nights they made the most money, and I understood her eagerness to keep moving.

Just as I was about to give up hope, a loud knock against the passenger side’s back window jolted me upright. I looked up, and there he was—the sexiest boy in school, smiling from ear to ear. My frustration evaporated like mist in the sun, replaced by a warmth that spread through me as I took in his silhouette. He wore a snug gold sweater that hugged every muscle on his upper body, and black skinny jeans that showcased his perfect legs.

“I’m so sorry,” he said as he slid into the car beside me, his excitement palpable. “My brother stopped by. He’s in town. We started talking and got carried away with the time. I meant to call you, but my phone died.” The Uber driver handed us a charger, and I quickly plugged it in, eager for Marcus’s phone to recharge.

I wanted to scold him for being late, but the way the gold fabric clung to his form had me tongue-tied. The image of him was intoxicating, his presence sparking something deep within me.

“It’s fine,” I managed, my heart pounding. “I’m just glad you didn’t stand me up.”

He leaned in closer, our faces mere inches apart, and his intense gaze captured my breath. “I’d never do that. I’m really feeling you, Caleb.” My pulse quickened at his words, igniting a desire I had spent months trying to suppress.

His proximity made my head swim. But when I caught a glimpse of the Uber driver in the rearview mirror, eyes darting back and forth curiously, I pulled back slightly, unwilling to provide her with a front-row seat to our very private moment.

“You look and smell amazing,” he whispered, his fingers gently resting on my thigh, inching dangerously close toward my erect penis. I gasped slightly at the electric touch, shivers racing through me. His hand felt like fire against my skin, igniting a yearning that had simmered far too long and was now threatening to boil over.

Having not been intimate with anyone in months, I wrestled with the memory of my last encounter with Bradley, an experience I was still grappling with. Yet, as I glanced quickly back at our driver—oblivious and grooving to her music, earbuds firmly in place—I let myself indulge in the moment.

Suddenly, Marcus's hand slipped down my pants, sending shocks of pleasure surging through my body. My mind waged war. Here we were, throwing caution to the wind, and yet, a tiny part of me wondered about the implications. Was he not concerned about someone seeing us?

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll see us?” I whispered, heart pounding in my chest.

“She’s a twenty-something Uber driver we will probably never see again. We don’t roam in the same circles. I’m not concerned.” He leaned his lips so close to mine that I wanted to reach out and kiss him.

“Are you concerned? Because if you are, I can stop.” He pulled his hand out of my pants slightly, teasing.

“No! Please don’t stop,” I implored, my voice husky. “I like the way your hands feel on my body.” In a moment of boldness, I grabbed his hand and pushed it back down my pants, a silent plea for more.

“You enjoy how I make you feel, don’t you?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear.

“Yes,” I exhaled, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that crested with every passing second. Each kiss, each intimate caress, pulled me deeper into a whirlwind of emotions. I had vowed to keep my distance from jocks, yet here I was, entangled in a mess of contradictions.

The irony wasn't lost on me: Marcus was the one who seemed to tutor me in the delights of passion. His lips brushed over my neck, soft and tender, leaving little traces of warmth that promised hickeys come morning.

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