Page 11 of Tamed (The Courtside King Duology 1)

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TWO YEARS LATER

START OF SENIOR YEAR

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“Oh my God, I think I’m dying. Someone put me outta my misery.” Jegs looked pitifully at Breck. “You. You do it.”

Breck chuckled and shook his head—then groaned with a grimace. “Off your own damn self, man. I can’t move.”

Jegs scowled as he sat slouched on the couch with the rest of them, the TV room’s sectional sofa so big, it easily sat twelve. At the moment, it held eight, most of them deathly-hungover seniors. Breck, Jegs, and Charlie being three of them.

Breck’s head pounded. Goddamn, he’d drank way too much last night.

But yeah, what else was new? That was life in this frat house that he’d lived in since sophomore year.

In his and his roommates’ defense, though, the previous night’s celebration had been important. Initiation into the house for their sophomore members. Good times. In keeping with tradition, the newbies had dutifully waited on them, just as Breck and the other seniors had done way back when, at the start of their sophomore year, dressed in nothing but formal bow ties and boxer briefs.

He smirked, despite his headache. It’d been fun being waited on hand and foot. And that pedicure business at the end? That shit was awesome. He wiggled his toes as he sprawled on the couch. The sophomores had been responsible for cleaning up the place after, too. He’d been glad as hell to pass along that torch.

Of course, they’d passed along another bit of initiation fun last night, too. The infamous Kappa Theta Sigma prank. Yeah, it’d been dickish, but they were drunk and hadn’t cared. And in truth, the intel it’d gleaned had been pretty interesting. Seven out of twelve guys had chosen to brave it. Over half. Breck supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, his initiation’s numbers had been pretty similar.

Once the jig was up, though, he’d almost wished they hadn’t played it. Because for the rest of the night, his eyes kept straying to those seven. Lingering on them as memories returned of what transpired with him and Socrates. Were any of them curious like he’d been? He certainly wouldn’t mind helping out a few if they were.

It’d been a while since he’d been with a guy. Although he’d initially told Socrates their little romp was a one-time deal, they’d ended up fucking a couple more times that year. Once every few months or so, in the stretches between Socrates’ different girlfriends. When both guys were drunk with no honeys around. It just kind of kept happening. Once Breck even got to top. Evidently, Socrates had been ‘curious’ about bottoming, too.

Breck had liked topping. A lot. Slamming Socrates from behind—doggie-style the only position they ever used. But he also liked being a bottom. Maybe even more. After all, he always topped with chicks. And bottoming brought a completely different kind of pleasure. Mind-blowing and brutal. One that rocked him to his core. At initiation, Socrates had said he didn’t do gentle. He hadn’t been lying. Slow and easy just wasn’t his style.

Which Breck had loved. It kept things wholly physical and nothing more. No soft and tender. Just hard and fast. Leaving no room whatsoever for misinterpretation. He hadn’t wanted anything with Socrates. Then again, he didn’t want anything with the ladies, either. No one held his attention that way. Or maybe he was just too busy. Too focused on his goals and aspirations.

Socrates graduated with the other seniors at the end of that school year, and Breck hadn’t been with another guy since. Didn’t have time for trying to figure out how to make it happen. Besides, he had more women lined up than he could go through now that he was the Patriot’s first-string point guard. He’d moved up to varsity at the beginning of junior year and scored the position right off the bat.

His dad had been elated. His mom had been ecstatic, too. She knew how much it’d meant to him. How hard he’d worked for it. Ultimately, he took his team, his whole school, to the playoffs, then kept on trucking to the prestigious Final Four. Which quickly earned him star status among his coaches, professors, and peers. That and an open invitation into every girl’s pants.

Hence, he really didn’t need to mess around with guys. He’d been there. He’d done that. If the opportunity arose, he might take it. But for all intents and purposes, chicks would suffice. Besides, he was in the spotlight now and the risk was higher. If word ever got out, he could lose his esteemed position, which could fuck up his chances for a career in professional basketball.

Nah. He was good with what he had. Got to pick from the cream of the crop. The sexiest, most beautiful ladies in the house.

One just so happened to be sitting next to him now.

Kenzie. She’d popped in a few hours ago and had been tending to his hungover needs ever since. Not that she was his girlfriend. Because, again, he didn’t date. He wondered if she thought she was, though. Sometimes she kind of acted like it. Times like this, when she turned all nurturing, and called him ‘baby’ and shit. A name he didn’t mind per se—but only during sex, when she screamed it.

Otherwise, too affectionate. He didn’t want to lead her on. Girls got the wrong impression way too easily.

Which was frustrating as hell. He always told them about his long-held, no-dating policy before they fucked. And while most honored his stipulations, others kept coming back, all clingy and shit. Forcing his hand to shuck them like wet clothes.

Tears. Lots of tears. Very messy.

And yeah, he knew that made him sound like a dick, but he’d told them. And they’d said okay. What more could he do?

Turning his head slowly, so as not to stir up unnecessary cranial pain, he peered down at the gorgeous brunette lounging against him.

She lifted her long lashes and smiled. “Hey, handsome. You need me to get you something? More Tylenol? A ginger ale?” Her lips curved up impishly. “How ‘bout a couple slimy, undercooked fried eggs?”

Breck’s stomach lurched. “You’re evil.”

“You know it,” she drawled. Her eyes dipped to his mouth. “Missed you last night.”

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