Page 33 of Forever We Fall

The anxiety swarming through my veins like stinging bees makes me weak.

He slips out, earning a point.

Damn!

“Again,” Nate yells.

I’m already moving.

He should know by now that I don’t fuck around. When my mind’s in it, I get shit done in a timely manner. I can get both of us off in the showers in less than a minute.

All it takes is a command for him to squeeze his dick, to shuttle his hand up and down the long shaft. Then a few sentences of dirty talk. By the time I order him to come, he’s already begging to finish.

I jam my opponent up again. The irritation of Nate’s constant cheering fuels my hold. All my teammates cheer, but none of them have choked on my cock. So his attention puts me on edge. Not because of the cock-in-the-mouth thing. No. I couldn’t care less about that.

It’s the whole be-my-boyfriend bullshit he tried to pull last week.

Boys and girls, I can do.

Relationships, I do not.

My blunt explanation of that fact and withholding of any favors or even orders beyond leave me the fuck alone should have taken care of his overzealous nature.

A whistle blows.

The ref calls win by fall. Match number six for me. Sixth win too. The crowd goes wild. I raise one hand to the crowd and use the opportunity to look up at Arlo’s spot.

He’s still not there.

Coach smacks my shoulder, then throws an arm around my neck. “Just trying to make it interesting?”

“I feel sick, Coach.” I let my shoulders and head hang, looking like I lost the bout. With Arlo absent, I feel like I did.

“Sick?” He loosens his hold. “Sick, how?” He puts the back of his hand on my forehead. “No fever. I don’t think.”

“Weak.” I pull the ear guards from my head. “Like I might puke.”

It’s not a lie. I’m fucking sick with worry. All I can think is that Arlo has gone to handle his uncle…without me. There’s no other explanation.

“Uhhh.” He grabs his receding hairline, but he’s already tugged it all out. Then he looks left to right, up and down. “You’re done with matches for today. Go hit the showers. See how you feel.”

“Can I go to my dorm? I don’t want to be sick in the locker room.”

“Yeah.” He pushes me toward the bench. “Go. You owe me laps when you're feeling better.”

“Sure, Coach.”

I hustle for my bag.

Nate steps into my path.

“Out of my way.” I meet his gaze head-on. Shoulders back. Head up.

He reels as though I slapped him. The smile slides off his face. He complies with a stilted step.

I think about telling him I’m sick, to soften the blow, but the last thing I want is for him to show up at my room. If Arlo is gone, I’m going after him. The last thing I need is for Nate to show up and figure out I’m gone all weekend.

The thing is, I decided the morning after Arlo’s and my blowup that we’ll be each other’s alibis. Not that we’ll need them.

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