Page 24 of Crossed Lines

*

Groaning, I thump my head back against my pillows, staring at the spidery lines in the ceiling. Somehow, life’s gone to shit in the blink of an eye.

I came home yesterday to find the apartment empty and spent the rest of the night scrolling through social media to keep my mind off of Luke. The weird tension between us continued through our light training session this morning, and now Miller’s shooting me concerned looks. Like I’ll self-combust if I’m not directly beside Luke at all times.

Who knows, maybe she’s right. I can still taste him in my mouth and, if I close my eyes, it’s almost like he’s in my lap. Panting for it, his eyes dark with lust and bright with another emotion I was too scared to name.

But I saw it.

My cock stirs at the memory, and I roll onto my front, hips pressing into the mattress. Lifting them a little, I tug down my gray sweatpants. Delicious friction slides along my length, drawing a hiss from my lips, and I rut against the sheets, chasing sweet pleasure.

I’ve been on edge since kissing Luke at practice. Seeing him in his soccer gear—and those damn shorts—was the fucking icing on the cake. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, watching his little tongue poking out in concentration, tracing the soft furrow of his brow.

It was all I could do to focus on the ball. I wanted to sweep him up and pepper his face with kisses until his tense expression smoothed out.

Then came the fight, and I opened my stupid mouth.

The tip of my cock catches on the sheets. When I squeeze my eyes shut, Luke wells up in my mind like a ghost. Everything in my life has been about him since the day we met.

“Fuck,” I groan into the pillow. “Luke.”

The apartment walls are thin. If Luke heard me rutting against my mattress like a man possessed, muttering his name, he’d freak out. But the other side of the wall is quiet. I start my slowgrind again, picking up steam. Delirious, I lick my palm and work a hand under my body, gripping my cock tightly.

In the throes of pleasure, I allow myself to come to the realization. Somewhere along the way, I fell for Luke. Honestly, I think I’ve liked him this entire time and I was too stubborn to see it before.

My orgasm hits me like a wave, empty and unsatisfying. I know what would make it better, but that person’s currently pretending the last week hasn’t happened. To Luke, we’re just friends. Nothing more. A sticky warmth spreads under my hips. I roll onto my back, running a hand over the mess on my stomach.

It doesn’t matter what I feel about him. He’s made it expressly clear that we should be focused on soccer, and I can’t help but think he’s right. Love isn’t worth losing our friendship over.

Sometimes all love gets you is disappointment and the only person you can trust is yourself.

Luke avoiding me is only proof of that. But even as I tell myself it doesn’t matter, my heart feels heavy in my chest. A lump forms in my throat and I run my clean hand over my face, taking a deep breath to gather myself.

I still feel his absence like a missing limb.

*

“Are you stalking me?”

I snort, tugging on the waistband of my swim trunks.

“It’s a free pool, dipshit. I’m allowed here as much as you are.”

Luke rolls his eyes and ducks back into the water, probably to save himself from having to talk to me. He hasn’t been doing much of it since our last conversation in the locker room. This isthe first time I’ve seen him since morning. If you don’t count me jacking off to the memory of him an hour earlier.

To be honest, I hadn’t expected him to be here. I wanted to clear my mind before the match tomorrow and, apart from kissing Luke, swimming is the only thing that works.

My stomach clenches, but I ignore the pain curling around my heart and lower myself onto the pool edge. Luke eyes me warily, like he’s expecting an ambush.

Unfortunately for him, now that he’s here this is the perfect opportunity for one.

“What I said before—”

“It’s fine.” He grips the edge of the pool and blinks up at me through thick black lashes. “I’ve been kind of obsessed about winning. But you get it, don’t you?”

I do. I know what it’s like to have expectations placed on your shoulders. Everyone wants me to be the All-American boy, a perfect soccer captain, star striker of the Harper Harriers, soon-to-be professional player making millions on the pitch.

It’s not like I don’t want that, because I do. I haven’t worked my entire life to get to this point for nothing. But sometimes, I wish I could be something else. Someone else. The kind of guy with hobbies other than soccer, and a life outside of sports.

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