Page 6 of Crossed Lines

Something tightens in my belly, and I tear my gaze away back to the mirror. The toothbrush presses uncomfortably againstmy tongue, toothpaste smeared around my mouth, and I force myself to nod.

“Go ahead,” I say around the toothbrush, and Spencer flashes me a wicked grin. “Asshole.”

“Thanks, man.”

The sound of the towel hitting the bath mat makes my heart jump. Spencer gets in and turns on the shower, whistling as he goes through his routine.

Spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste, I grip the edges of the sink and try to breathe. Our shower has a frosted glass divider that hides most of him but I can still make out the outline of his body in the mirror.

It’s not like we haven’t done this before. One of us being in the shower while the other pisses or shaves has become common over the last three years. But somehow this is different.

I take out my razor, splash my face with water, and start scraping what little hair I have from my chin. Unlike Spencer’s manly stubble, my hair grows in curly patches that I take every opportunity to strip clean.

Silence fills the room, obnoxiously loud even with the steady fall of water. Casting around for something to say, I think back to the abysmal practice session earlier.

“My passes were trash today. Pretty sure I saw Coach facepalm whenever I got the ball.”

“Would you quit that shit?” He sounds annoyed. Probably because we’ve had this same conversation a million times since freshman year. “You’re the best attacking mid I’ve ever played with, stop pissing on your own parade.”

“Not perfect, though. Not semi-finals quality.”

Spencer turns off the shower and lingers behind the divider, quiet for a moment. My heart is beating so loudly he must be able to hear it. I lower the razor.

When he finally speaks, his voice echoes in the tiny bathroom.

“You know your dad will be proud of you no matter what.”

Something twinges in my chest, and I study the ceiling as I try to parse the warm feeling. I’m not sure I believe him, but his words always have a way of making me feel slightly less bad about myself.

“Thanks, dude.”

“Just relax, this night’s gonna be great for both of us.”

I hum, focused on catching a stubborn spot of hair on my jaw, and glance up as Spencer steps out of the shower.

Fully naked.

Oh, God.

Droplets cling to his skin, the pale color of a vanilla flower, glistening between his defined pecs and over hardened abs. One of them glides down the jut of his hip bone, trailing lower, lower…

I can’t stop myself from looking at his soft dick, hanging low between his thighs and nestled in a bed of dark brown hair. Heat floods me like an egg cracking over my head.

It feels like the pool again; long fingers stroking my leg, Spencer’s broad shoulder beneath my hand, his considerable bulk in between my thighs. Me wanting something I shouldn’t. Something I can’t have.

Spencer grabs his towel from the mat and steps closer to me, until his chest presses against my back. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

He looks almost wild, pupils wide and surrounded by a thin line of fiery ice blue. I can’t move, can’t think as we stand there for a moment, stuck in this weird limbo of saying nothing and everything at the same time.

I want him to touch me again. What would’ve happened if he stroked a little higher, over the bulge straining in my shorts?

Spencer licks his lips, and I wonder if he’s thinking about it, too. I’ve never thought about doing… that stuff with a guy, but now I can’t get the thought out of my head.

Then he reaches around me, grabs the deodorant from the small shelf below the mirror, and retreats. I watch warily as he applies it and puts it away, before clapping me on the back the way bros do. At my continued staring, he quirks an eyebrow. Even now, he’s as nonchalant and cool as ever.

“See you in ten,” he says, then leaves the bathroom. The door shuts behind him with a mocking click.

I grip the edges of the sink, curl over the basin, and take deep breaths until the half-chub in my pants dies down a bit. What the fuck is wrong with me?

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