Page 2 of The Brotherly Shove
We hang with the guys for a bit, and then an hour later, Len and I have Irish goodbye-d our way out of the bar and away from the team and are back atourhotel room.
Yup.
It's not bad enough that I developed a crush on my best friend and teammate. Nope, of course he's my permanent roommate at away games. Six games a season, typically a few nights in a row each time, I have to share my most private space with him and Lennon has absolutely no shame, nor sense of personal boundaries.
Them's the breaks, I suppose.
As soon as we're in the room, Lennon strips out of the suit we're required to wear post-game and slips into a pair of flannel pajama pants and nothing else, because much to my own demise, he prefers to be shirtless and commando. I, too, change into something more comfortable, opting for a pair of briefs, black joggers and a white t-shirt. Lennon flops ontomybed like he always does and grabs the remote, searching through the onscreen guide for something to watch.
"Yo, Forrest Gump is on cable," he calls out as I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I throw him a thumbs up to indicate that, yes, I do want to watch that before spitting into the sink and wiping my face off with a towel. I take my sweet time flossing, battling the demons in my mind that want to curl up on his thick, hairy chest while every ounce of my self preservation is telling me to stay away.
I know Lennon isn't purposefully trying to screw with me by lying in my bed. He's just a physical kind of guy. He likes to be close, even if he's not touching me. It's not his fault that he doesn't know I'm head over dick in love with him. That little plot hole is all on me.
With no other seating options in the room besides his bed—and that would just be weird, me sitting on his bed while helies on mine—I slide onto the mattress next to him, careful to keep enough distance between us so that my heart and my cock don't get too confused by his nearness. The movie has only just started, and we watch it quietly, breaking the silence between us to laugh or quote our favorite parts every so often.
At some point around the time that Forrest is running through the desert, Lennon turns on his side from where he's laying and looks at me. I turn back to him, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in the neon blue and white flecks in his eyes, the way he looks up at me through his thick black lashes, the slight scent of citrus and vetiver from his fading cologne that I know I will get high on as soon as he falls asleep and I'm left to my own devices.
I catch a glimpse of the now-dark blue bruise on his ribs and quietly gasp. I reach my fingers out and lightly trace them over his side.
"You need an ice bath," I say, my voice shaking.
"I had one at the facility before we left for the bar. The trainers and docs checked me out. Nothing is broken, don't worry," he answers with a knowing smile.
"I wasn't worried for you, dick, I was worried for the team. Who else is gonna lug me over the line of scrimmage if you're on IR?"
He laughs, even though we both know tonight was our last time playing together before the pros. There's no injured reserve list in his future, at least not as a Penwood Panther.
The likelihood of us ending up on the same team and the same string? One in a million. Even so, his face turns more serious. From where we're sitting on the bed, he's below me and I'm looking down at him, his bright blue eyes shining behind his dark lashes back up at me. My heart skips a beat when I think…
No.
He didn't bite his lower lip. There's no way.
And even if he did, it has nothing to do with me.
"B," he says softly, reaching out and running one single finger tip up and down my bicep, and every single nerve in my body stands at attention. I shiver and goosebumps erupt over my flesh.
Jesus. Fuck.
"Yeah, Len?" I answer, the butterflies in my stomach threaten to lose their minds and fight their way out of my throat to escape. He shifts on the bed, finding a more comfortable position on his side and inadvertently bringing his body closer to mine. He runs his tongue over his puffy, biteable pink lips that are practically hidden behind his beard and mustache, and I inwardly groan. I feel like I'm imagining the eyes that are raking all over me, taking in my face and my body slowly and tortuously.
Of course I'm imagining it. Real life isn't a goddamn romcom. His eyes aren't 'raking' anywhere. He's just looking at me. No subtext.
And still…
It feels like too much.
I have to tell him. I have to tell him how I feel. It's not fair of me to be lusting after the guy who thinks he's just chilling casually with a friend. I worry so much about not creeping my teammates in the locker room and yet here I am, in bed with my best friend and I can't stop thinking about sinking my teeth into that bottom lip of his. I know I don't have to worry about him reacting in any sort of crazy or scary way but admitting the way I've begun to see him? That will probably ruin what we've got going on here. Knowing I've thought about him this way…yeah. I can't see our friendship surviving this.
But…maybe…
I have to tell him. I'm not being fair to either of us.
I open my mouth to speak, knowing that I have no idea what I'm going to say.
Hey Len, I know we're best friends and teammates and you're strictly into pussy, but I can't stop thinking about what your mouth tastes like and how badly I want to run my hands over your chest and what it would feel like to fall asleep in your arms.
Yeah, no.