Page 43 of Price of Victory
I was Aiden fucking Whitmore. I could handle a lunch conversation with my teammates.
Before I could second-guess myself again, I was on my feet and walking toward their table, my confidence returning with each step. By the time I reached them, I’d slipped back into the easy arrogance that had always served me well in social situations.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling out the empty chair next to Rhett. “The rest of this place is packed.”
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Lennox said with a grin, making room for me at their usual table. “We were just talking about the coach’s new conditioning drills.”
“The ones that nearly killed me yesterday?” I settled into my chair, close enough to Rhett that I could smell his cologne. Close enough to lick his earlobe if I didn’t stop myself. “I’m still recovering.”
“You looked like you were handling it fine,” Easton said, ever the diplomatic team captain. “Better than some of the guys who’ve been here longer.”
I let my gaze drift to Rhett as I responded, taking in the way his sweat-glowing skin caught the light, the way his lips curved slightly when Patrick made some joke about my Michigan conditioning. “I’ve always been good at adapting to new…environments.”
The words carried just enough weight to make Rhett’s eyes flick to mine, and I caught the slight flush that crept up his neck. He was trying so hard to act normal, to treat me like just another teammate, but I could see the awareness in every line of his body.
“So what’s the consensus on Saturday’s game?” I asked, forcing myself to focus on the conversation while cataloging every detail of Rhett’s appearance. The way his shoulders filled out his shirt, the strong line of his jaw, the way his hands moved when he gestured.
“Should be a good matchup,” Patrick said around a bite of his sandwich. “Their defense is solid, but they’ve got some weak spots we can exploit.”
“Especially if Morrison here stops overthinking every play,” Elio added with a teasing grin.
I felt something protective flare in my chest at the gentle ribbing. “Overthinking can be an asset. Shows he’s taking it seriously, considering all the angles.”
The defense of Rhett slipped out before I could stop it, earning me surprised looks from around the table. I covered by taking a sip of my water, trying to play it off as general team loyalty rather than the possessive instinct it actually was.
“Wow, Whitmore defending Morrison’s honor,” Lennox observed with amusement. “That’s unexpectedly sweet of you.”
“Just stating facts,” I said, but I could feel Rhett’s eyes on me, could sense his confusion at my protective response.
As the conversation flowed around topics of practice schedules and weekend plans, I found myself studying Rhett with growing intensity. The way he listened to his teammates with genuine interest, the small smile that played at his lips when Easton told some story about his morning class. Everything about him was magnetic in a way that made it difficult to focus on anything else.
Under the cover of reaching for the salt, I let my foot find his under the table. The contact was brief, experimental, and I felt him tense slightly at the unexpected touch.
“You okay, Morrison?” Patrick asked, noticing Rhett’s sudden stillness.
“Fine. Just thinking about that economics assignment.”
I seized the opportunity, using the distraction of general groaning about Professor Williams to slowly run the back of my foot along Rhett’s calf. The movement was subtle, hidden by the table, but I watched with satisfaction as color flooded his cheeks.
“That assignment’s brutal,” Elio agreed, oblivious to the way Rhett’s breathing had changed. “I spent four hours on it last night and barely scratched the surface.”
“The key is understanding the underlying frameworks,” I said conversationally, all while continuing my slow exploration of Rhett’s leg with my foot. “Once you grasp the theoretical foundation, the applications become more intuitive.”
Rhett’s hand gripped his water bottle tighter, and I could see him fighting to maintain his composure as I traced higher, just above his knee. The knowledge that I could affect him this way, even in public surrounded by our teammates, was intoxicating.
“Easy for you to say,” Lennox replied. “You probably had similar coursework at Michigan.”
“Some overlap, sure.” I pressed my foot more firmly against Rhett’s thigh, watching as his pupils dilated despite his efforts to appear unaffected. “But every program has its own…unique pressures.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on Rhett, whose face was now definitely flushed. He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to dislodge my foot, but I simply followed the movement, maintaining the maddening contact.
“Speaking of pressure,” Patrick said, “anyone else notice how intense these seniors are getting? Like they know scouts are watching every move?”
“It’s natural,” Easton said diplomatically. “Final season, everything’s on the line.”
I let my foot travel higher, past Rhett’s knee to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and was rewarded by seeing him nearly choke on his drink. The control I was exercising over his reactions was addictive, dangerous in how much I was enjoying it.
“Rhett, you sure you’re okay?” Elio asked with genuine concern. “You look kind of flushed.”
