Page 53 of Beautifully Conflicted

“Nothing.”

“You make it sound like saying you can be right is an anomaly or something.”

“Isn’t it?”Be subtle. Don’t bring up how many times he’s said he’s not gay after letting you play with his cock.

“Are you saying there’s other shit you’re right about that I don’t acknowledge?”

It’s literally painful to bite back my retort. Like, my jaw aches from clenching it so hard, but I need to be sensitive, so…

“I’m saying it’s a possibility. Unless you have another example for me?” I mentally pat myself on the back for that one, since I didn’t reference any of the times I’ve had thisstraightguy’s cock in my hand or my mouth.

Twice. But who’s counting?

“You want more evidence? This is why it’s pointless to argue with you. You never just accept the first thing I say.”

I’m tempted to object, but since that would only make his point more valid, I don’t. Plus, he might not be wrong. I do argue with him. A, because he’s hot as fuck, and B because he’s so determined to find fault with everything I say.

At this rate, we’ll never break the cycle if I keep playing into it.

“Fair enough. I accept that you aren’t afraid to admit when I’m right.” I cross my fingers as I tell that blatant lie, since I’ve harped on him about being honest, and I don’t want to be a hypocrite.

He’s clearly not expecting that given the way his mouth resembles a fish trying to breathe out of water. It’s a face that surprisingly looks a lot cuter on him than it should since he’s got such nice lips. I guess when you’re gorgeous even silly faces can’t diminish your appeal. But as quickly as that endearing moment came about, it’s gone. His face morphs back into his. expressionless mask Gorgeous, but expressionless all the same.

“Can we stop talking? It’s hard enough to run when my muscles feel this weak. I don’t want to make it harder by having to carry on a conversation.”

I give myself another imaginary pat on the back for saying okay instead of making a smart quip—I’m nailing this whole sensitive thing—then suddenly I’m face down on the ground.

“What the fuck dude?” Bennet stops and spins to face me as I roll to my back and sit up, noticing a slight twinge in my ankle in the process.Fuck.

“Want another chance to prove you can accept when I’m right?” I squint up at him.

After his eyes take a trip to the back of his skull they settle on me, still sitting on the ground, and grow wide with dread. “Oh fuck. Seriously? How bad is it?”

I rub at my ankle, probing sensitively. “I think I just rolled it, but I definitely shouldn’t run on it. Think you can help me make it back?”

“At least me being slow as shit today had one benefit. We only made it about a mile from the field.” Bennet offers me a hand and pulls me up, slinging an arm around my waist as I wrap one over his shoulder.

The flutters in my stomach from his proximity are so intense they almost make me forget the throbbing in my ankle. It’s a welcome distraction, although they quickly turn all-encompassing, forcing me to concentrate on balling my free into a tight fist so I don’t get swept up in the fact our hips are brushing together with each step.

We’re almost never this close—unless you count when I’m working his cock—but those were purely sexual touches whereas this is…compassionate? Affectionate? Something other than sex.

Like how a boyfriend might touch me.

Focus, Damien. That’snot how he sees you…yet.

It takes us longer to finish that one mile than it takes most of our teammates to finish five, but we finally make it back to a frustrated groan from Coach. “What now? You caught his flu?”

“I rolled my ankle.”

“Fuck.” Coach puts his hands on hips and sighs heavily before catching Bennet’s eye. “Alright, get him to the trainer then come see me in my office. You’re both excused from practice until you’re healthy, but I’ll give you some film to study while you’re off.”

“Coach, I’m not sick anymore. I…” Bennet’s protest dies on his lips as Coach arches a derisive brow.

“So you weren’t shuffling through that run like my ninety-year-old grandma?” When Bennet winces he says, “That’s what I thought. Trainer, then my office.”

Both of us deflate a little. Despite getting yet another reason to be close to him, I feel just as bad as he does that Coach won’t let him practice, which I assume he’ll take out on me.

“Sorry,” I mumble as Bennet helps me hobble toward the building.

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