Page 16 of These Wicked Games
I can’t say guys do it for me. I’ve tried to see what he sees, and maybe it’s the men I’m around, but they just don’t do it for me. I’ve been around guys my whole life and never once have I looked twice. In fact, most of them in the locker room are disgusting, in every way. Maybe it's because I know them to well. I don't know. All I know is I’ve never felt the things I do when I look at girls.
Andre swims a little closer to me.
Okay, maybe not never, but this is just Andre. He’s my best friend. I love him, so of course I feel comfortable with him. “I just knew. Girls arepretty, but guys make my heart race.” He grins, swimming closer behind me. “And get my dick hard.” I flinch back like he’s struck me. His rich laugh pierces through the night. “No shame in it, Oli.”
“I’m not—” What? I don’t even know what I am. The only girl I’ve ever slept with was during the winter break, and it had been okay. I was nervous and it was a bit awkward, but I enjoyed it despite that.
Andre just floats on his back with a shit-eating grin on his handsome face. I’m not . . . right? That doesn’t make sense, really. I’ve never even thought about it until Andre came out to me.
Even if I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
Oh, my fucking brain.
I roll over, trying to wake up. I’m not hungover, just jet-lagged as hell. I’m not even thirty and I feel it in my bones most days. Traveling gets harder and harder to do. I have to get up, though. Blinking an eye open, I look at the clock.
Both eyes fly open.Fuck. Fuck!
Getting out of bed, I grab clothes, not bothering to shower. I can do that after practice, which I am now officially two hours late for. Fuck! Why didn’t my alarm go off?
Hurrying, I brush my teeth and shove my practice jersey into my bag. Grabbing my phone, I ignore the calls from Coach, knowing I’ll have my ass handed to me the second I step foot in the arena.
I rush downstairs quickly and make myself something to eat, then go over to Mom’s urn sitting in the sunlight of my kitchen’s bay window and give it a kiss. I didn’t want a mansion, but this is a nice house. The kind of house most people would put a family in, but for me that’s never been something on my radar. I don’t even feel the desire to meet anyone to get to that point. I’m not lonely, I don’t think, but lately it’s like something is missing.
When I try to think of my dream woman I just draw a blank. Do I even have a type? Do I even want to settle down? Fuck, when’s the last time I even had sex? I can’t remember. Maybe that’s why my mind is a mess lately.
Whatever. I don’t have time for this right now. “I love you, Ma.” I place my hand on her urn, then make my way outside, pulling out my phone to shoot Grey a text telling him my alarm didn’t go off and I’m on my way.
Or I think I will be. Instead, I sit in fucking traffic. Goddammit! Today is not the day. We won our game against the Fresno Reapers a few nights ago and I’m rolling on a high. Still, I’ve felt a bit off. I’ve had another drug test since then, and it’s like this little rage monster beats at my chest every time I have to do it. I get tested frequently, and while most of the guys on the team know, I always feel this little slice of judgment every time.
It’s unfair and I hate it. I’d hoped that eight years down the line with consistent negative tests this shit would stop, but I’m not that lucky. I do what I have to, though, because I made it, and even if she’s not around to see it, I know she’s looking down on me, so I’ll do whatever I need to stay at the top. We are winning the Cup this year, and I won’t let anymore assholes stand in my way.
Eyes are on me the second I step foot in the arena. Maybe news of my bar fight with Andre got around. I didn’t see cameras or anyone filming, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I’ve kept a pretty clean reputation and I intend to keep it that way. The cleaner the image, the less invasive the press is.
I haven’t seen Grey or Atlas yet today, and Grey never texted me back. Probably because he was busy doing my fucking job because I was late. As soon as we landed I went straight home and slept for nearly fourteen hours. I’m only twenty-eight, but some days it feels like I’m an elderly man on his last legs.
Walking through the halls to the locker room, more of my teammates are staring at me. I’m a little late, but damn, shit happens. Grabbing my practice jersey, I look to my right, and Ryker is eying me weirdly. I know he’s still fucked up about Rocky, but this look is off.
Luckily Rocky will be okay. Unluckily, after surgery he’ll be out for the rest of the season, and that estimate’s on the generous side. We won’t know until he starts rehab. “What is it? Why are you checking me out?” I blow him some kisses when he gives me the finger.
“Fuck you.” Ryker smirks, shaking his head. “By the smile on your ugly mug I take it you haven’t seen Coach yet?”
“I just got here. My alarm didn’t go off and then I got stuck in traffic.” I know most of the other guys are already out practicing, or are even done by now. I feel like shit. “And fuck you, I’m gorgeous.”
“Yes you are, baby.” Atlas slaps my ass, blowing me a kiss as he passes me.
Grey walks into the practice room, grabbing his jersey and freezing when he sees me. “He hasn’t seen Coach yet,” Ryker says quickly. “He doesn’t know.” Atlas’s blue eyes widen and he shakes his head as he grabs his practice jersey.
“What? What is it? Why does everyone look like they’re attending a funeral?” Wait, shit. “Is it Rocky, did something happen—”
“How you holding up, Kuli?” Colton comes in, seeing me and my confusion. “Oh, shit. He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Okay, someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on right now!”
“Oli.” Ryker shakes his head. “We uh, we got a replacement for—” Whatever Ryker says next gets muffled by the reality of what’s happening right before my fuckin’ eyes.
Andre walks into the locker room, and while I may be rage hallucinating, I know I’m not that lucky.
He’s wearing a practice jersey.
