Page 3 of Tamed (The Courtside King Duology 1)

Although, truth be told, he’d sometimes wondered what it’d be like. To clutch another guy’s strong body, but not like he did during basketball games. To feel their hot breath on his neck. Rough, exerted pants. But not due to running. Or anything at all that related to sports. Which he supposed meant that he was bi. Something he’d suspected for a while, to be honest. Ever since the end of middle school when he’d started to really think about sex.

“Yo, Breck! Another beer, bitch!” boomed a voice from the dining room.

Sophomores snickered around the table.

Breck tamped a laugh and shoved back in his chair, then rose to his feet. Which, incidentally, proved a delicate act since he was already two sheets to the wind.

Jegs laughed and shook his head. “You better move faster than that. I dragged my feet last time and paid the price.”

Breck lifted a brow as he ambled toward the fridge. The upperclassmen were drinking from longnecks, not the keg. “What’d they make you do?”

“Give Dante a fucking lap dance.” The kitchen erupted in laughter, eight drunk initiates in total, as Jegs grinned. “I rocked his world.”

“Sorry I missed that.” Breck promptly picked up the pace. Not so much because the idea of doing a lap dance was so abhorrent, he just wasn’t as outgoing and carefree as Jegs.

Yanking the door open, he snagged a beer, then warily made his way into the dining room. Socrates—the Patriot’s hot-shot shooting guard, nicknamed for his uncanny, and oftentimes annoying, ability to question everything—tracked his approach as he waited impatiently.

Breck’s heart thudded under his gaze. God, that man’s eyes. Bright olive green. Framed by thick lashes. Complimented by a head of short black dreads and Socrates’ wolfish smirk.

Breck shuffled over, careful in his tipsiness not to bounce off any obstacles, then dropped down to one knee like they’d been instructed and offered his gift.

Socrates took it with a chuckle. “Thanks, wench.”

Across the table, Cory threw down his cards. “Fuck this game. I say it’s time for the main event.”

Breck stilled. “Main event?”

“Yeah.” Cory stood, glancing at his cohorts. Some grinned. Others chuckled. A few loosed drunken grunts. Next thing Breck knew, they all were ambling into the kitchen.

His fellow initiates paused in their card game and looked up.

“Attention, little underlings,” Cory announced, spreading his stance. The rest of his posse assumed similar positions. “Playtime’s over. How is everyone feeling?”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

Cory nodded. “Good. Because the moment of truth has arrived. Both feet to the fucking fire. Those who accept the challenge will make the cut.”

“And what challenge is that, sir?” Jegs laid down his cards. Breck eyed the things.

Damn. Not bad. A straight flush.

“To submit to your superiors,” Cory rumbled, “in the most primitive and carnal of ways.”

The initiates stilled and swapped confused looks.

“You know,” Dante laughed. “Grab your ankles.”

“And hold the fuck on.” Socrates grinned. “’Cause we don’t do gentle.”

Breck tensed, wrapping his brain around their words. “You’re joking.”

Cory crossed his arms and shrugged. “It’s how we were initiated. How our brothers before us were, too. A rite of passage and shit. An act of fidelity. Wasn’t so bad. Better than getting paddled until we couldn’t sit down. Or taking a trip to the fuckin’ ER after drinking something meant for an engine.”

One of the initiates swallowed. “You’re seriously… gonna make us do this?”

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