Page 18 of Crossed Lines

Vincent Adams is our newest attacking midfielder substitute, and he’s not bad. A bit eager to be the star player on the pitch, and doesn’t listen to instructions very well, but if there’s one thing he doesn’t have it’s a confidence problem.

Spencer draws back, shaking his head. “That’s how I know you’ve lost your mind. Adams, really? If the sport was ‘most likely to suck his own dick’, maybe.”

He makes a face and despite myself, I let out a laugh. Just like that, the tension dissipates. Spencer’s able to make me laugh even when I don’t feel like it. When we lost the regular season quarter-finals last year, he impersonated every player on the opposing team until I was coughing, my sides and cheeks aching from laughter.

“Come on, you just need a few tips.” Spencer lets go of me, hands lingering around my waist a little longer than they should, before jogging over to the cones and grabbing a soccer ball. “If you position your feet like this…”

He walks me through some one-touch drills, correcting my form until I finally feel something click. When I get my first perfect run-through, elation erupts through me.

Spencer sweeps me off my feet, pressing fluttery kisses all over my face.

“See?” he says, setting me down in the middle of the pitch. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks to you.”

His grin is wicked and I barely have enough time to brace myself before he places a hand in the middle of my back and bends me backward, capturing my mouth in a sweet kiss. My whole body lights up, and I grip his shoulders, licking into his mouth like I’m trying to swallow him whole.

I feel so good I could fly, could take on the Buccaneers with both my eyes closed, but all I want to do is stay here, kissing Spencer until my lips go numb.

*

The next day passes by in a whirlwind of strength and conditioning, watching highlights of the Buccaneers' plays, and talking through every possible strategy with the team.

The match is in two days and I barely have enough time to sleep my designated eight hours a day, let alone hang out with Spencer.

We haven’t talked much since he helped me yesterday, and I can tell it’s bothering him. I’d never admit it, but it’s bothering me, too. Even without the kissing and the sex, Spencer’s my bestfriend. Not hanging out with him feels like some cosmic rift in the universe.

The only time we get to ourselves is after dinner with the other guys. Our last practice game is tomorrow, so Coach lets us off earlier than usual.

I’m sprawled on the small loveseat in front of the TV, flicking through recordings of old Buccaneers games on YouTube and commenting on their play.

Spencer groans from his spot beside me. “You already mentioned their positioning three games ago.”

“If you were paying attention, I wouldn’t have to point it out.”

“You know what? Fuck this.” The remote is swiped away from me before I can grab it.

“Hey!”

“If I see another green jersey I’ll fucking throw up.” He curls a hand over the top of my thigh, and all the breath rushes out of me at once. “You need to relax.”

“I’ve never been more relaxed.”

“Yeah?”

Spencer licks his lips and spreads his legs, the picture of languid sexuality. I feel my mouth go dry at the sight of him and instinctively lean forward into his space. His hand slides upwards, long fingers brushing against my inner thigh.

“Come to the beach with me.”

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying, shaking away the fog of lust. “What? Like right now?”

“Like right now,” he says. “Come on, Howard, up you get. It’s time to have some real fun.”

It takes me less than five minutes to shove on a cropped band T-shirt and a pair of baggy skater shorts. Spencer is waiting for me in the hallway, dressed in his usual black ripped jeans, sword earring glinting in his ear.

Outside, he ushers me into a familiar cherry red Ford Mustang that I know he doesn’t own. It’s the same car we used to get to Washington in the first place. He wouldn’t admit it in court, but Spencer’s scared of flying. Like, refuses to down a few pills and sleep on the plane kind of scared. So, driving it was.

Spencer flips a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. “Junseo said we could use this beauty for the night, with strict instructions not to ruin it.”

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