Page 1 of Phantom Faceoff
Chapter One
Zander
Heat radiates upmy arm from the flicker of the bonfire. It’s a cool August night, but between the flames and the way my hands sink inside the jacket of the man perched on my lap, I’m as toasty as a marshmallow.
My fingers find ground over the planes of his slender frame, anchoring onto his shoulders to bring his body closer to mine. Our lips work together in a clumsy tangle, and a puff of laughter hits my face.
“Are you this bad at kissing girls too?” Julian’s wide smile obscures my vision for a brief moment before trailing to my jaw.
My own laugh awkwardly bubbles out. “Tongues are weird, okay?”
He hums into the hollow of my throat. “You could do something else with it.”
While making out is hella fun—and my dick is definitely geared up for action—neither of us are entirely sober enough for any kind of sex to be a good idea.
My hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed, and Julian’s lips press back on mine. “Maybe follow my lead this time.”
Julian and I hit things off over the summer at the Youth Outreach program we both volunteer with, and while I’ve always considered my sexuality fluid and ambiguous, it wasn’t until my best friend pointed out the—apparently mutual—blatant flirting the two of us have had going on that I even remotely considered the attraction.
Even still, without a couple of beers flooding my system, I wouldn’t have entertained acting on it. I’m the world’s biggest sucker for a pair of big green eyes, and when they’re trained on me with a warm body on my lap—what’s a guy to do?
“Hale.”
I’m no stranger to having my name thrown around with such animosity, but the growl that rolls it out doesn’t belong to an opponent on the ice.
No, that right there is danger packed in a pair of ripped skinny jeans and rustling chains dangling from the loops. Very early 2000’s pop punk of him.
Fortunately for me, danger has never been a deterrent.
I have no problem wrapping an arm around Julian’s waist—grinning as he squeaks and buries his face in my neck while I prop my chin on his shoulder. A very pretty picture for the man standing behind him with fury in his stormy gray eyes.
“Blanchard,” I greet him with all the sunshine he lacks.
The way his eye twitches makes my smile widen. Each time he picked Julian up from the program, I was met with a brooding glare and a world’s worth of disapproval.
It’s fun to see his tolerance meter shoot into the red.
“Let’s go.” His voice dips into an almost throaty growl, and the sheepish way Julian pulls back is immediate.
I throw on my best pout and receive the world’s softest kiss in response. “He’s only prickly because he cares,” he whispers against my mouth.
Overprotective best friend who definitely wants in your pants.Not the kind of messy I should involve myself with.
Julian slides from my lap, and there’s barely a heartbeat from the moment he’s on his feet to when he’s glued to Malachi’s side.
I expect some sort of verbal lashing, but all I get is an eye-roll and Julian’s apologetic smile as he’s ushered away.
That’s alright. It’s late. I’m buzzed. There were bound to be some questionable decisions if he hadn’t stepped in anyway.
Malachi Blanchard. The very definition of “emo bad boy”. Who so many girls whisper wants of but who only has eyes for his soft and gooey best friend.
Someone should write a book about that.
My phone pings in my pocket, and I can’t help the smile that springs forth from the message.
Julian
Daddy runs a tight ship, but even the captain has to rest sometime
