Page 109 of Wrath

"Thanks bro,” I try. “See ya out there."

Is that the tone I'd use if I had never had his dick in my mouth?

"I'm gonna shower too,” he says.

I don't look behind me as I head toward my locker. His is somewhere off to the left; I know because I've seen the strip of tape with MASTERS written on it.

I drop my bloody shirt now that I'm facing my own locker, noting that my nose feels okay. Nose stuff just bleeds. No bfd.

Got some spare shit in here—always. I don't like to be in sweat-soaked clothes.I pull out one of the grocery bags that's knotted at the top and carry the thing over to the showers. And he's right there. He's standing in front of the stalls with his eyes on me like he's trying to suck my soul in through his pupils.

"Nose okay?" he asks.

"Smell some sweaty dickface by the showers." I won't let myself look at him as I push one of the stall doors open.

I'm pulling the thing shut when his hand closes around it. His eyes hold mine. "You wanna go home after this?"

My heart thumps offbeat as I try to make my face look neutral. "I guess."

He nods. He lets go of the door. "Let's stop for some food," he says.

And then he's in the stall beside mine. I can see the side of his head and his shoulders above the stall's side.

What the fuck is he doing? He tips his head back, rubs his fingers through his hair, and I'm hard. It’s instantaneous.Fuck.

I rub the bridge of my nose, but it doesn't really hurt. I turn my face to the shower, fixing it so I can't see him. For the rest of the time I'm washing, I have to angle myself away from him. I'm not sure if I can get my dick down without jerking it. But I think about not being able to drive at college, or about having a seizure on the soccer field, and that gets it bendy enough to at least fit into my boxer briefs.

I'm drying myself with a towel at the same time he is.

Fuckkkit.

"Whatcha wanna eat?” he asks, like we’re besties. “What about some of that chicken from the one place?"

"Wyatt Raye's?" I manage.

"Yeah."

"That's fine."

I reach for my clothes bag at the same time Ezra steps out in his towel. He gives me a tight smile.

"Lookin' good, DG."

"What?"

"You're putting on muscle."

"So are you."

He smiles.

"Don't comment on how I look," I mutter. I can't stop the words from leaving my mouth.

"Why not?"

A burst of rage moves through me. "Don't start this shit."He’s just playing games—again.

I get dressed as fast as I can, finding Coach to officially tap out at practice and then walking to the Jeep, where I lean against the passenger’s side door, trying not to get a hard-on from the way my shorts are pressed against me. My dick's gone into overdrive since he stopped messing with it.

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