Page 14 of Forever We Fall

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I’ll be wrecked tomorrow.”

“How long have you been wrestling?” He settles the arm around my neck over my shoulder and walks me off the mat. A few of the other guys grab towels and dry the surface so another matchup can get underway.

“Five years. Almost six, now.”

“No shit.” He punches my stomach playfully. The weight of his big arm holds me close. “I’ve been at it for six.” He looks down at me with a smirk. “I bet you’re annoyingly good at everything you do.”

There’s a rasp in his voice that wasn’t there before. A mischievous sparkle in his amber eyes. His bulk is touching me from shoulder to thigh. My entire body keys in on the subtle flirtation.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t speak.

If I make the wrong assumption, if I make the wrong move, I could end up with my ass beaten or worse, off the team before the season even starts.

“Go hit the showers.” He grabs both my shoulders and shoves me toward the locker room. “You’re sweaty as hell.”

“Yeah.” I walk that way because a shower sounds fucking good right now.

“Hey, great job, Hota,” another one of the guys hollers.

I look back and give a wave, mostly to make sure Nate is staying topside with the others. That’s when I seehim.

Fucking Mr. Judge is on the top tier of bleachers. His elbow is propped on the low wall like he hasn’t a care in the world. His white shirt is slicked with sweat and stuck to his body, revealing every newfound plateau and ridge of muscle.

And now I have a full fucking boner.

Perfect.

I’ve found guys hot before, sure. I’ve watched gay porn. Who hasn’t? Curiosity and all. Did I get off to it? I mean, yeah. Again, not a big deal. It’s hot bodies and holes. I’m not bent on who they belong to like some people. Not that I’ve done anything about it. Not yet anyway.

This thing with Judge is next-level. Like to my belly button, maxed out steel pipe, cock-up situation. For a guy I don’t even like. A guy who hates my fucking guts.

Why him of all people?

Is it the sadness in his eyes? The intensity?

Maybe it’s his pretty lips, the way he fills out his plain white tees, or the cut of his jaw. That’s part of it for sure.

Really, I want to protect him. No one protected my mom. Not even me. But maybe I can help him.

I don’t know, but whatever it is, it tears at my usual calm.

The moans and keens start as they always do. As it always does, my cock goes hot and hard, tenting my sweats.

“Asshole,” I grumble and shove from my desk. My gaze narrows on the air vent that feeds heat to my room…and Hota’s. The portal to a different world. A world I don’t understand. It leaks all manner of perversion into my room at least twice a day.

I hurry to the sleek clock radio I bought last week on our floor’s weekend trip into town and turn it on. The volume is low. Too low. Grunts and gasps still find my ears. I crank the volume higher than I ever have.

The obscure radio station I found yesterday pumps the hardest, most insane lyrics and riffs into my room and my soul.

As it overruns the other noises, my disgust and intrigue wane. My hard-on doesn’t. It will.

If I ignore it.

This essay is due Friday. I don’t need to finish it tonight, but I will. After that, I have three more to do for my customers. Drug dealing probably pays well on the streets, but in a school full of privileged rich kids, turning out mint assignments paysbetter. I have more money than I’ve ever had to my name. It’s empowering, even if it’s a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things.

It’s mine, andhecan’t take it away from me. It’s mine, and I can do what I want with it.

Sure as hell didn’t want to waste it on a clock radio, but my productivity and sanity were starting to deteriorate. I’ve found more solace in that little radio than I ever expected.

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