Page 19 of Hits Different

I didn’t know he had written a book.

I sit in silence for a moment, then force my feet into the carpet until my breathing returns to normal.

There’s nothing on my phone from Parker. I guess he doesn’t have my number anymore. I still have his. I know without checking. I’ve lost a lot of midnight hours staring at it, toying between deleting it and calling him, and landing nowhere in the middle.

My camera roll is far more entertaining.

I’ll say this for my team, when it comes to posing with a championship trophy, their creativity knows no bounds. The group chat is popping off, and more photos are dropping in every second. I flip past the obligatory NSFW’s and make a mental note to get that trophy professionally cleaned, when I land on one that makes me double take.

It’s a candid of Parker and me together.

Someone must have snapped it when we were chatting.

He’s standing casually against the wall, and I’m leaning into him, resting my hand for balance on a nearby pillar. The light has hit us both just right.

I look happy, I realise. And he looks good. Taller, darker and broader. A sharp buzzcut, with a smatter of chest hair peeking out from beneath his unbuttoned collar. That was new. And it was hot.

Fuck. With a capital F.

Being in love with your straight best friend is tough when you’re in high school. But at least it’s understandable. There were only a couple of other gay dudes in our year, and they had nothing on Parker. But now?

I’m sure I’m over it. Over him. I am. It’s been years, and besides, he’s straight.

I jump in the shower and crank the temperature to its hottest setting. I let the water pour over me, and after a minute, my dick, fuelled by the hangover horn, starts begging for some attention. I start to jerk myself slowly, lathering up so the water and shampoo blend into a soapy waterfall.

Without warning, an image of Parker flashes through my mind. I close my eyes. My body begins to hum. He and I alone together. I imagine his hand squeezing my shoulder, then working his way across my chest, then my stomach, before slipping to my waist and then…

Whoa.

A gentle moan escapes my lips as I jerk myself harder and harder, desperately imagining his firm, hairy chest pressed up against mine and before I know it, an orgasm crackles through my body and I shoot everywhere, so hard it hurts.

I slam my palm against the shower tile in a resounding slap of frustration. Three years later, and he’s still giving me the most intense orgasms of my life.

Even worse, he still has no fucking idea that he’s doing it.

Maybe it’s better that last night was no more than just arm’s length formality. We’d parted cordially. That’s better than nothing.

Even if I can’t stop thinking about him.

****

“You wanted to see me, Coach?”

Coach Shah is usually all business, but his demeanour softens when he sees me. He dismisses the two assistant coaches, neither of whom make eye contact as they close the door behind them. I look back in alarm.

“Why did they close the door?”

“It’s nothing to worry about”. There’s footage of a recent match playing on a screen behind him, on mute. “Hell of a game, kid. Your antics gave us quite a scare”.

“Just doing what needed to be done, Coach”. I don’t rise to the implication the accident was all my fault. “I felt the occasion called for something glorious”.

If he catches the reference, he doesn’t show it.

“Brandon, there’s no easy way to say this. Whilst you were in hospital, the doctors took scans of your shoulder and ankle as a precaution. Whilst we’re confident that you’ll make a full recovery with the right kind of physical therapy, you’re not going to be ready for the tour. I’m sorry, kid. You’re not coming”.

My whole world freezes.Off the tour? Is he freaking kidding me?

On screen, a goal is scored, and the crowd goes wild in a mute frenzy.

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