Another punch.
“The way you’d whimper my name right before you came.”
This time when he swings, I dodge it and give him a right hook to the jaw. He lunges at me, and takes me to the ground. We scuffle on the pavement, each of us trying to gain control.
I roll him onto his back and mount him, pinning his arms down on either side of his head while he struggles underneath me. I roll my hips against him, and sure enough, he’s hard as a fucking rock.
Just like me.
“You can act like you hate me all you want, Kellerman.” I lean down, so close to his face that our noses touch. “But I know the truth. You can’t fake it with me. I know your dirty little secret.”
“Trust me, it’s not an act.” He spits his words like venom, lifting his head to speak his words against my mouth. “I fucking hate you.”
I roll my hips again, rubbing our erections against each other. “Doesn’t feel that way.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and time slows down around us. In this moment, it’s just the two of us, back in our dorm room, without the eyes of the world on us; without the pressure of society weighing down on our shoulders.
“You don’t have to live like this anymore,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his. “Aren’t you tired of hiding? Isn’t the pretending exhausting?”
He sucks in ragged breaths as his inner turmoil swirls in his dark irises. He tilts his head a fraction of an inch like he’s going to close the gap and kiss me.
I’m dying for it.
Yearning.
Practically begging.
I haven’t felt this alive since college, and I hate that my heart still beats for someone who’s too ashamed to admit that he loves me back.
Jeff’s voice echoes in the alley. “Everything okay out here, Mac?”
Kellerman crawls out from under me, and we both brush ourselves off as we push to our feet.
I lift my hand and wave at Jeff. “All good. Just working out our shit.”
Jeff chuckles and shakes his head as he tosses the garbage bag in his hand into the dumpster.
I wait for Jeff to disappear back inside the bar before swinging my gaze to Kellerman. “Still don’t have answers for my questions, do you?”
He glares at me before he turns around and walks away like he always does. “Not the answers you want to hear.”
I’m sittingin bed with an ice pack on my face when a notification pings on my phone.
ScoringChance217 wants to chat.
My best friend’s wife, Kourtney, created an innovative porn-infused dating app calledFreeMe. People can match with those who have the same sexual preferences as them, and are also looking for long-term love. It’s ingenious. It saves you the disappointment of connecting with someone you aren’t sexually compatible with, or someone who isn’t looking for the same things you are.
Plus, the videos people post arereallyhot.
I don’t post my face, for obvious reasons. I want people to get to know me before finding out I’m a professional hockey player with a shit ton of money. I haven’t figured out what I’ll say when I get past the talking stage, and try to meet someone in real life, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
Because I haven’t gotten past the talking stage yet. I haven’t clicked with anyone, haven’t felt that spark of excitement.
I click onScoringChance’sprofile, but there isn’t much to see. No pictures, and an empty bio, which isn’t uncommon for an app like this. Many people are here to watch, afraid to make that first step toward their true desires. It’s crazy how many people suppress the things they truly want in life. But Kourtney’s website allows people to unlock that side of themselves and explore.
I accept the message request, and a private chat opens on my screen.
ScoringChance217:Hi. Looks like we’re a match.