#Heart (Hashtag #6) (14 page)

“Don’t look away,” he ground out.

I watched his face when he joined our bodies. From this angle, he went deep and I arched my back even more to take him deeper.

We clung to each other’s hands as we watched each other. He moved inside me, spearing me over and over again. My walls clutched around his length, and the feel of his hips fitting against my ass was near perfection.

The unfocused way he stared at me was addictive. Even though my vision was slightly blurry, it didn’t matter. His desire and love was clear.

“Fuck, baby,” he ground out as he pushed deep. “I can’t hold it.”

I wiggled my ass closer, just like I’d done to him this morning when I sat in his lap. I felt his cock start to spasm, and his jaw clenched. His eyes turned to glittering diamonds, and he shoved one hand between my legs and found my swollen and sensitive clit.

I ground against his groin, and he ground against my ass.

In seconds, his hot seed was filling me up, and the sensation pushed me over the edge. I cried out, and he watched right there in the mirror.

I might have been embarrassed if I’d been able to think.

The orgasm ripped through me and went on and on. At one point, I started to sink onto the counter, but he wrapped an arm around me and held me up, without once breaking eye contact.

When the bliss finally drained, I felt weak and my knees were shaking. He pulled out and eased back, only to sweep me up in his arms and carry me out of the bathroom and lay me across the bed.

He took up residence beside me, and I tucked myself close, breathing in the scent that only he wore.

“I love you,” I told him.

“I love you, too,” he echoed.

A few minutes later, when I could actually use my brain, I realized we’d never actually finished our conversation.

“I’m glad he’s dead, too,” I whispered, horrified at my own feelings.

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, sweetheart. It makes you human.”

That was it. The words, the
feelings
I was trying to explain but couldn’t. Romeo did it in one word.

Human.

For years and years, I lived on autopilot, going from day to day without any change. I was cold, sterile. I was protecting myself.

But that protection turned me into a robot.

Then Romeo walked into the library.

He restarted my heart. He made me human again.

Romeo

There was always one place B and I could come back to that made life seem somehow simpler than it was.

The field.

B and I became friends on a playground, but we bonded, we became brothers on a football field. Hell, back when we barely knew how to tie our shoes, it was as simple as a patch of grass. We didn’t need white painted lines, stadium-quality green, or even premium leather balls.

All we needed was each other and space to run around.

We had all the bells and whistles now, basically the best kind of playing fields money could buy, but just like when we were seven, all we needed was each other.

Coach O’Connor let us into the stadium at Alpha U. It was the first time I’d been back in months. Hell, it felt like forever.

But the more things change, the more they stay the same.

The lights shone crisply on the immaculate turf. The white lines were impeccable, even though it was the off-season. The air lingered with a mixture of gasoline and freshly cut grass. Even the scent of stale sweat still clung to the stadium, haunting the open space of games past.

The only sound other than B and my footfalls on the ground was the low hum of the high-powered lights that gave this indoor arena lighting brighter than the sun at noon. But even though there was no game being played, no team rushing out through the tunnel to conquer the field, the sounds of football still reverberated through the place.

The echoes of helmets hitting together, the familiar sound of pads being slapped into place, and the faint whisper of whistles blowing erratically gave this place life, even after the games ended.

The Wolves might just scrimmage and practice on this field, but it didn’t matter. The love of the game didn’t come from the game itself; it came from the passion and drive inside the players. It came from the people who sat in the stands and cheered like there was no tomorrow. It came from the brotherhood that formed between teammates.

Technically, neither B nor I belonged to this team anymore, but it would likely always feel like home.

“Seems like just yesterday you two wet-behind-the-ears showoffs showed up on my field,” Coach said, stopping behind us as we took it all in. “Anderson, I always knew you’d make it. You were born to play this game.”

People said that to me all the time. But they weren’t a coach that spent countless hours training me and conditioning me, even on the days I hated him for it. So when he said it, it meant something.

“Walker, you on the other hand…” Coach went on, and Braeden swung around to face him. “You always did have the talent. I just thought you were too big of a fuck-up to get your head on straight enough to make it.”

“You trying to give me a compliment or send me to therapy?” B cracked.

“There ain’t a therapist in this entire state with enough degrees or time to fix you, Walker,” Coach muttered, but he was smiling, pride evident in his eyes. “I’m really proud of you, son. The draft is lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Braeden said and averted his gaze.

Aww, B-man was getting all sentimental and shit.

“Thanks for letting us use the field, Coach,” I told him, giving B a minute to untwist his panties. “Wanted to get in some extra field time before the draft.”

“This stadium will always be open to you boys as long as I’m around. Besides, it’s the Wolves’s job to make sure Walker gets in all the fine tuning he can before the NFL starts sending people to watch him practice and play.

“Make sure you’re getting two workouts a day,” he ordered Braeden before turning away. “If you don’t manage one of the top draft picks this season, I’m gonna kick your fool ass.”

“No pressure or anything!” Braeden yelled after him.

Coach held up his arm as he walked away, giving us the finger.

“Dude, he just flipped us the bird.” Braeden guffawed. “What would the dean say!” He gasped after Coach.

“Screw you!” he hollered and then disappeared in the tunnel.

B and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

I glanced out across the field again, taking in a great big breath of the football-smelling air.

Braeden dumped his duffle on the ground and stripped off his shirt. “We gonna do this shit or what?”

My shirt landed on the ground beside his, and like the pair of boys we once were, we took off, racing out into the center of the field, the grass dense underfoot. We lost ourselves in the game for hours.

We stayed so long that when we looked at the clock, Braeden swore because he’d missed his morning classes.

“YOLO!” he announced and tossed me the football for another round of passes.

“You sound like you belong in some fruity granola bar commercial,” I told him. “YOLO,” I muttered darkly. “Stupidest shit I ever heard.”

The ball hit me in the center of my back. I spun around and looked at it now lying at my feet.

“All right, Walker.” I smirked. “You wanna be a smartass. Give me ten laps,” I said in a dead-on impression of Coach O’Connor.

B started for the track that circled the field. When I didn’t follow, he glanced back. “You too good to run?”

“Hells no. But I’m supposed to take it easy, remember? I’m the pro. It’s my offseason.”

“Shit, Rome. I hope to hell Gamble makes sure I get on your team. Your candy ass is getting soft and comfy in that cushy spot of yours. You’re gonna need me to watch your entitled ass this season.”

“I’m not entitled,” I snapped, the jab hitting me in a spot I hadn’t realized
was
soft.

B stopped completely and swung around. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

My jaw clenched. “You’re supposed to be running.”

“What’s going on, Rome?” He pressed, walking backward toward the track. “And don’t try and say nothing, because that chilled interior of yours don’t usually boil so fast.”

I grunted. “Come on. I’ll jog with you.”

We fell into step beside each other, our pace automatically synced, because as I said before, football was our bonding point. We could play or train with each other blind and deaf, and we’d still be a solid unit.

We kept the stride sedate. I really meant it when I said I was supposed to be in recovery mode, and we’d already worked out hard for a long time. This would have to serve as our cool down. I was going to have to figure out how to be with him during his daily training and not end up doing all the shit he was doing.

It was hard to sit still and watch, though.

This shit was in my blood. It wasn’t just a job. It was a way of life.

“So you get a front row seat to all my problems, but when it comes to yours, I get locked out?” he said, barely breathing hard as we jogged.

I gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you think you have enough shit to be worried about right now?”

“You’re my best friend, Rome. If something’s going down, I’m entitled to know about it.”

“Thought I was the entitled one,” I drawled.

A dark look crossed his face, and he swiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Don’t fuck with me. You’re not the only one who worries about his family.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. It’s not a big deal.”

He barked a laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause you always act like I yanked your tighty whities up your crack when I make a joke.”

“Dude, tighty whities are for dweebs.”

Our snickers trailed behind us as we curved around the track.

Once we fell silent and B said nothing, I knew he wasn’t going to let this go. “There’s some, ah, hard feelings on the team.”

“Ah, Gamble’s new golden boy’s making people jealous. Damn, Rome. I thought you wouldn’t have that problem for at least a couple years.”

I glanced at him, surprised.

He barked out a laugh. “You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t know this was going to happen.”

I felt kinda naive in that moment. I didn’t fucking like it.

“I guess I thought a bunch of grown-ass men in a national football league were better than that shit.”

“Do you still believe in the Tooth Fairy, too?”

Shit. Now that I said it out loud, it did sound goddam ridiculous. In a profession where star power is rewarded with money, where touchdowns and titles earn you prestige, and you’re only as hot as the media and others perceive you to be, I knew better.

In football, emotions run high; careers can literally be made or broken in a single game. Top picks and positions get paid obscene amounts of money that would keep small countries flush for years.

“I just wanna play the game,” I said. “Politics and passion don’t mix in my gut too well.”

“How much money was your contract for, Rome?”

I wasn’t offended he asked. Hell, Braeden could ask me anything, literally anything, and I’d tell him. I might have been reluctant to tell him about this, but it wasn’t because I didn’t trust him. I was surprised he was asking, though.

We never talked money because money didn’t factor into any part of our relationship.

“Thirty million,” I replied, point blank. “Plus a signing bonus that was over ten mil.”

He whistled between his teeth. “Yo, Rome. Can I borrow twenty dollars? My pocket’s feeling a little light.”

I laughed. “I tell you I just made over forty mil on a four-year contract, and you only ask me for twenty dollars?”

“What do you think I am, a gold digger?”

I laughed again and veered off the track toward my duffle and water. Braeden followed behind and snagged his water off the floor, too.

“Money like that, you must be the starting quarterback. The front man for the team.”

“It’s looking that way. Final decisions won’t come down ‘til after the draft.”

“Bet the guy you’re knocking out of the top spot is pretty fucking pissed his meal ticket just got smaller.”

Braeden was a lot of things. Sarcastic. Hotheaded. Dark.

But there was one thing my best friend was not.

Stupid.

I lowered the water. “Yeah, Blanchard isn’t too happy with me right now.”

Blanchard was the starting quarterback for the Knights. Had been for the past three years. In those three years, the team had never been to the Superbowl. They’d only been in the playoffs once.

It wasn’t that he was a bad player. He was the opposite. He was good.

But I was better.

I was also younger, more driven, and the media liked my smile.

Who could blame them? It was a fucking brilliant smile.

“He gonna be number two on the roster, then?” B rubbed a towel over his sweaty head.

“Yeah, but he’s only got one year left on his contract, and the third quarterback on the team is performing well. I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes number two.”

“Rowan, right?” B asked.

I nodded, unsurprised he knew who all the quarterbacks were.

“I met him when I was at one of your games. Good guy.”

I agreed. “There was some tension at the end of last season and post season before I came home. Blanchard hasn’t exactly kept it hidden that he isn’t happy I basically walked in and took his job.”

“You worked for that spot,” Braeden growled. “‘Specially after everything you went through and almost didn’t get to play at all.”

I felt my mouth tilt up. Everyone always called me the alpha. But B was just as much one as I was.

“I’m not giving it up. The team’s good, B. With a little bit of fine tuning, a few adjustments to the roster, and you on the field with me, I know we could get to the Bowl.”

“And we will.”

I held out my fist and we pounded it out. Braeden dropped onto the ground to stretch out his legs and back. “So how bad is it with Blanchard? Is he someone I’m gonna have to deal with?”

My mouth flattened. “Blanchard’s my problem. Not yours.”

“Your problems
are
my problems.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t say anything. You can’t afford any trouble right now. You gotta be squeaky clean for the draft. No team’s gonna draft a PR liability. And with—” I slammed my teeth together, not finishing the rest of my sentence.