Page 71 of Forever We Fall

The last thing I need is his greedy eyes on me. I need fucking Hota to show up.

I shake my head and wave him off.

He gives me a seductive smile that would work on nearly anyone else. I’ve seen it happen. I still remember the first time he hit on Hota. That day, I got a personal best on squats because I pictured myself lifting Miles over my shoulders and chucking him across the room.

Luckily, Hota hadn’t taken the guy up on his offer.

But Nate?

I roll my shoulders and survey the back of the gym, where the asshole in question usually works out with his wrestling buddies. Where Hota worked out while I was losing my shit. Neither of them are there.

My stomach roils.

“Are you sure?” Miles pipes up from a rack one over. I’m surprised he’s still here, still bothering me. “I’m good with big weight, and I’m developing a thing for the strong, silent type.”

The guy’s blue eyes gleam. He snags his lower lip in his white teeth. He has quite the packaging, and not a single thing about him moves me. He’s not Hota.

I ignore him while I strip the weights I’d just put on the bar and hurry to the locker room. I grab my ratty old duffel bag, the one that makes me shiver whenever I touch it. The one with too many ugly memories from that horrible place associated with it. Then I hurry to the dorm.

By the time I get there, I’ve run through several terrifying scenarios as to why Hota missed the gym. Sickness. His dad came and pulled him out of school. He’s fucking Nate.

There’ve been a ton of parents on campus today. I’ve tried to ignore the fact that I have none. Maybe it’s like fucking early summer move-out or something. It’s not even a viable possibility, but my brain won’t acknowledge that. I’m spinning.

No matter the reason, all the options are bad. Terrible, really.

My heart pounds in my ears as I unlock my door and slip inside. It’s all I can hear for several seconds.

The door to the bathroom is open on my side.

It’s enough reassurance that I’m able to drag in several calming breaths. Then I step forward.

His side is closed.

I swallow hard. It hasn’t been closed in weeks. And it was only closed before that because I closed it.

Then I hear it. Hota’s too familiar grunts.

My skin flashes hot, and my cock stands at attention.

These grunts are harder than before. When he used to jerk off to porn twice a day, they were softer, more breathy. These are the grunts of hard work.

I picture his pants around his ankles and his hips snapping forward, pounding into Nate’s ass.

“Fuck!” I choke, grabbing the leaking head of my cock.

It’s the wrong move. My hips jerk, accepting the invitation. My knees go weak, and my heart thuds a staccato against my sternum.

The grunts get stronger and more strained.

My feet move of their own accord. I didn’t permit them, but I doubt I can stop them. Closer to his door, the growl sounds are even more ferocious. I grip the knob, swallow, and turn it.

Hota’s chest is bare. His caramel skin is slicked with sweat. Boxer briefs cling to his thighs and mold too perfectly around his hips. And he’s upside-fucking-down, doing handstand push-ups against his other door.

I scan the room for Nate. There’s no one else here.

He grunts one last time, then gracefully slings his legs off the wall. When he’s upright, his face is flushed red like he’s been fucking hard and fast.

My throat goes dry.

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