Page 33 of Resist Me

West would heal, but I couldn’t shake the thought that it could have been worse. It wasn’t unheard of for players to break ribs or more, but that didn’t make me feel better.

I tried not to think about it while I showered. Generally, I didn’t spend my time worrying about things I couldn’t change. It was a waste of energy and overall mental wellbeing. Part of the reason I excelled at things was because I only focused on the things I wanted to. If it didn’t interest me or have some purpose toward the greater goal, I let it pass by.

This one might just take more time. Once he was healed, I’d easily be able to push this from my mind. Next season, he’d dominate that field and it wouldn’t matter.

I thought about whether I would go to the games. Maybe if I went with others, but I wouldn’t go alone. I liked football, but not enough to sit in the stands by myself and watch. That didn’t appeal to me and I didn’t understand why people found enough enjoyment in it to make it their whole personality. People would pay tens of thousands of dollars to get a good NFL seat. That was absurd.

I was about to shut off the water, but my mind conjured an image of West lying on my bed, ice pack in hand. My body heated at the imaginary scene. It got worse when I reminded myself it wasn’t imaginary and when I looked down at my straining cock, I felt annoyed.

This was not happening. There was no way I’d masturbate to the thought of West. For one, he was straight, and fantasizing about a straight man only felt acceptable when they were a celebrity- people I knew were completely off limits.

I also couldn’t stand him. He was an infuriating asshole. A beautiful one, but still an asshole.

Stepping out of the shower, I started to dry off, ignoring my erection. Once I had my sweats on, I scowled into the mirror. Gripping the edge of the sink, I took deep breaths. My breaths sounded loud in the bathroom, but I knew it was because I was hyper-aware of them.

Shaking my head, I ran a hand through my damp hair. It felt awkward when I stepped out of the bathroom, but then I looked atWest. He was still on the bed, his right hand crossed over his abdomen to hold the ice pack in place. And he was asleep.

Well, this was weird. I was going to make dinner, but I didn’t want to disturb him, so I sat on the couch and pulled out my phone. I’d have to wake him eventually. Offering him a place to sleep for the night was one thing. I wouldn’t give up my bed for the guy. He’d have to move over to the couch. Hell, he could sleep on the floor for all I cared.

Pursing my lips, I stood. I felt restless and I had no idea what I should be doing right now. Not wanting the blanket to be wet, I took the melting ice pack from him and returned it to the freezer. He made a sleepy moan and rolled onto his stomach, tucking his arms underneath the pillow. Stomach sleeping was terrible for your neck, but I doubted he’d care if I told him that.

I ended up pacing the apartment like a nervous dog. Every time I thought about doing something- cooking or watching TV- I worried it would wake him up. He clearly needed to catch up on sleep. I’d be a terrible host if I invited him over here to rest, then kept him from doing that.

Shaking my head, I grabbed a basketball from my closet and quietly slipped out the door. There was a court by the leasing office and since it’d stopped raining, it would be a good way to keep myself occupied for a while.

Chapter 13

West

It was dark when I woke up, which told me that Lincoln either had some of those dope blackout curtains or it was late. When I rolled onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust enough to see any of its details. It was blessedly free of dark, moving shapes.

My stomach growled and I put a hand over it. That was a good sign. For the past couple of days, I’d been too tired to feel hungry.

I sat up and looked around. Lincoln wasn’t in the bed, which shouldn’t have been surprising. It was more of a shock that he’d even invited me here to sleep. It was out of character and… nice.

When I looked over at the couch, I saw him lying on his side with his eyes closed. He looked cramped with his legs poised over the arm to accommodate his height and his arms folded at his chest. There was a blanket over me, which I didn’t remember having when I fell asleep, and the ice pack was gone.

Throwing off the blanket, I got to my feet. I stared down at Lincoln for a moment. I’d taken over his bed by accident and he hadn’t woken me up. That was weird. I almost felt bad, but I was stilltoo tired. All I wanted was something in my stomach before I knocked out again.

I turned on the light above the sink, which cast enough of a glow in the kitchen for me to avoid running into something. As I browsed the cabinets, I wrinkled my nose. He had so much healthy food. Quinoa- I didn’t even know how to say that. Cashew butter, steel cut oats, nuts in sealed glass jars, and bread that was too brown for my liking with seeds and shit on the crust.

Lincoln was a psychopath. I knew it.

Swinging open the fridge, I found much of the same. Oat milk? How the fuck did you milk an oat? He had berries galore, the leafiest vegetables I’d ever seen, and brown eggs. I’d always wondered if there was any difference. I bet they were organic, but he had them in a fancy egg holder instead of the carton, so I couldn’t confirm it.

A gasp escaped me when I saw a round, chocolate cake. It was half gone, which made no sense to me. If I sat down with this, there was no way any would be left to put away for later.

Apparently, this was Lincoln’s naughty indulgence food. It was also the only thing that didn’t require cooking and since I couldn’t start whipping something up in his kitchen at two in the morning, I found a fork in a meticulously organized drawer and carried the cake to the bed.

After I took my first bite, I wondered if ganache was actually better than sex. Probably. I checked my messages and quickly responded to a slightly worried text from Kai. All I told him was that I was crashing with a friend, otherwise I’d be hit with a ton of questions. Lincoln was my arch nemesis and I didn’t want Kai to think otherwise.

As I scrolled on Instagram, I mindlessly ate my way through the cake. I’d kill for a party pack of tacos right now, but I couldn’t have everything. Now that I wasn’t delirious from sleep deprivation, I thought about how I was going to solve this problem so that I didn’t reach this point again. Clearly, the manager at my apartment wasn’t going to be any help, so I’d have to figure it out on my own.

I typed ‘cockroach extermination DIY’ into Google. It popped up with a much too large image of one of them. I clicked on the first article and quickly became overwhelmed by all of the remedies it suggested. When I checked the cost of hiring someone myself, Inavigated back to the first page. It looked like I’d be lacing up my exterminator boots, which would double as roach-stompers.

When I got bored on my phone, I glanced around. There was a book on his nightstand and I couldn’t help but pick it up. What kinds of things did Lincoln Porter like to read about?

From the cover and title, it looked like fantasy. I would’ve taken him for more of a nonfiction kind of guy. There were two men on the cover, which intrigued me, so I started reading it. By the second chapter, I’d almost forgotten the cake. When I made it further, my mouth dropped open. These dudes were getting naked.Naked.

---