Page 14 of Rules of Play

I let out a laugh, tossing my head back. When I looked at him, his gaze had fallen lower along my torso, snapping back to my eyes a heartbeat later. “Tell you what, I didn’t think I’d make it.”

“If you lost the puck there, the Hawks would have cut right through the middle and won the game,” Shane said. “And you weren’t sure?”

“I had a good feeling,” I said. “You know your hockey, by the way.”

Shane blinked and looked away. It was my fault for bringing it up. He’d played hockey, I was sure, but he hated talking about that. I’d made the same mistake before.

“Right. I’ll go wash the sweat off,” I said, turning away from him and wondering if his gaze was caressing the length of my spine now. I wondered how low it went and if he had some naughty ideas behind those brown eyes.

It was amusing to think about the ways other people fantasized about you. I liked Shane. I hoped I was really good in those fantasies.

As I stepped into the shower and dropped my underwear, an odd sort of excitement ran through my body. My cock swelled a little, and my heart skipped a few beats. To be fair, winning a game did wonders for your confidence and your libido.

I showered quickly, ignoring the stubborn erection that made my cock ache with desire, and dried myself well before wrapping the towel around my waist and stepping out. It wasn’t totally gone even as I stepped into the locker room and hurried to my spot, digging through my backpack for clean underwear to pull on under the discreet safety of the towel. When that was done, I relaxed a little, dressed, and invited Shane to the celebration. He couldn’t miss this. It was so clearly part of his research that he had no excuses.

We had a few rounds of drinks, recounting the highlights from the game. Even then, Shane was writing his little notes, and I wondered how many notebooks he would fill throughout the semester. He never went anywhere without two.

I was glad he was with us. A guy as sweet as Shane would thrive if he had friends to lift him up. His focus on his studies was a big obstacle to building the social life he deserved. I hoped he would see that as he spent more time with me and my friends. If he learned anything at all this semester, I hoped it would be that.

Shane metme the next afternoon in front of the gym. He was dressed for exercise, which was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than his baggy hoodies and oversized pants. He’d also had a haircut, the sides of his head faded, and the top long and textured. It was a nice, clean look, and I could absolutely see guys turning their heads when he walked down the street.

“Looking good,” I said. His arms were defined, and his chest was broader than I’d expected. Not that I’d spent a great deal of time pondering the question. Shane presented himself one way, but reality wasn’t completely in line with that.

Shane’s eyes widened. “Oh, um, thanks.”

“I don’t think I ever saw you working out,” I said as we went in.

“That’s because I don’t,” he explained. “Not when we’re there together, at least. But I figured it could be useful to experience your process a little differently.”

“You want to try my routine?” I asked, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Sure,” Shane said.

We changed our shoes and started with the treadmill for thirty minutes. It was intense, and I was aware that I was pushing myself so that Shane would get a better idea of my endurance, but it wasn’t Shane who walked away surprised in the end. Despite increasing the speed until my legs burned, Shane kept up with me very well. He couldn’t run at a high speed for as long as I could, but I hadn’t expected him to last half as long as he did. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his white T-shirt was soaked by the time he got off the treadmill, his face red and legs shaky, but he stood still and waited for me to show him what I would do next.

I wiped my face with a towel and drank plenty of water before taking him away from the warm-up area. The fact that he simply stood there, unimpressed, pushed my buttons. Not even a “Wow, that was intense.” He just experienced it as if it were a paragraph describing my routine rather than running five miles in half an hour.

Alright, let me show you what being tough looks like, I thought. What followed was an hour of exercise that would leave scars on me for days. I upped all the weights for Shane’s benefit. And while he couldn’t match me exactly, he quietly set the maximum weights he could possibly lift, making his workout just as challenging.

“Fuck. Spot me,” I grunted under the weight of the heavy bar on a bench, and Shane hurried over, standing above my head and giving me a hand. From where I lay, he towered tall and strong, his biceps curling as he lifted the heavy weight. He liftedit just enough to hook it on the safety pins, and I sat up with a frustrated scoff. “Pushed myself too hard.”

“I saw,” Shane said.

I shot him a murderous glare. “You did?”

He cocked his head in innocent confusion. “I was here all along.”

A laugh ripped free from my chest, taking the frustration away. I’d just spent almost two hours competing with myself for his attention, and he had no clue. Why was I so desperate? It wasn’t like Shane being impressed would improve my life in any way.

“Let’s call it for today,” I said, and Shane agreed.

We headed to the locker room, and I noticed that Shane’s legs trembled as he went down the stairs. Mine felt like jelly, too. When we got there, we both needed a minute on the locker room benches to catch our breath.

I was still sitting down when Shane tapped the screen of his phone a few times and got up. He walked over to his locker, some five feet in front of me, and pulled out clean clothes. He set them on the bench, not too far from me, and kicked his shoes off. He lifted his T-shirt, still soaked with sweat, and pulled it over his head, leaving it unfolded on the bench, then bent down and took his shorts off.

Curiosity soared through me. If he’d been hiding the level of his fitness under baggy clothes but managed to keep up the pace with me all day, I had to know what he looked like.

And when he straightened, I had my answer. Holy fuck, he was cut and defined. Skinny, yeah, but every muscle of his torso was tense, abs so pronounced that I could imagine what running fingers down his stomach felt like. Taut, smooth skin a few shades paler than mine glistened with sweat, but it was his figure I was interested in the most. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong legs, and—not that I was looking—a pretty sizeable bulgepacked in a pair of black briefs wasn’t something I’d expected to see here.

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