Indulgence (268 page)

“Let’s take a walk.” He turned and headed back into the
condo, needing some space to sort out how to handle this. He slipped off his
ruined shorts, pulled on a pair of plain ones and turned. His throat seized up
at the sight before his eyes. Parker stood up, had taken off his shirt and now
faced him, in utter silence.

Nicco had seen him hundreds of time like this, and more,
considering they shared a locker room. The more he’d had gotten to know the
younger man, the more he liked. His goal-oriented focus, drive, and talent had
earned him the captain’s role for the team. Natural leadership skills had shone
since day one, and Nicco loved working with him to whip the team into shape on
the field.

The subtle aura of vulnerability and innate shyness intoxicated
him—a man used to show-offs, blow-hards, and self-aggrandizing assholes. Parker
had a dry sense of humor, self-deprecating but not annoyingly so. Nicco would
never forget the one moment they’d shared, that he’d engineered, which had
nearly freaked the poor kid out so much he’d fallen down the steps at the in
his haste to escape. Plus, that odd, near-miss in the locker room when Nicco
had been within a literal second of shoving him against the wall and kissing
him until they were both dizzy.

Parker stood and stretched, trying to clear the fuzziness
and confusion and whatever else rolled around in his brain. His body creaked
and popped as he turned, tugging his travel-wrinkled shirt over his head.

Nicco stared at him, mouth all but hanging open. Parker’s face
flamed in its usual fashion as he held the shirt in front of him.

His skin prickled, and his brain sent unwanted signals to
the rest of his body, which began to betray him, in an obvious way, under his
zipper.

Shit. I gotta get out of this. Now. This vacation is a
huge mistake.

He swallowed and stepped past the man, who appeared frozen
in place. “Excuse me.” He snagged his bag and ducked into the half bathroom.

“You know, I’ve seen you,” Nicco called through the door.
“We share a locker room, for Christ’s sake.”

Parker propped his hands on the marble sink and stared into
the mirror at his bloodshot eyes. His body thrummed with erotic energy. He had
to put a stop to this. He should never have come here. He can’t be with a man.
It did not square with his goal of soccer stardom. And he definitely could not
be with Nicco. Not and keep his sanity. “Yeah, well, you’ve done more than just
see me if I’m not mistaken. That’s why I’m in here. Thanks.” He croaked out.

He emerged, determined to make the best of the next few
hours and then catch a plane home. Nicco sprawled on the large leather couch
reading a newspaper. Parker took a minute to study him, willing himself angry,
anything to reject what his body wanted him to do.

His gaze traversed the long line of the man’s dark-skinned
legs, crossed at the ankle, up to his black shorts, to the bare and fit chest.
He ground his teeth and held back, palms itching to plunge into his thick mane
of hair, to run his tongue along the strong jaw, down to his tempting, copper-colored
nipples.

“Fuck,” he muttered willing his cock soft before taking a
step into the room. He got caught in a mass of fabric as the wind blew a puff
of warm air into the room, billowing the curtains right into his path. He
batted them away and took his eyes off Nicco long enough for the man to get to
his feet and stand mere inches from Parker.

He sucked in a breath. “So, let’s walk.” He stepped around
the other man, yanked the door open, and stomped out into the hall.

The mantra played through his brain drowning out the sounds
of the elevator during the awkward minutes it took for them to descend to the
lobby.
“I’m not this guy. I’m not this guy. I’m not….”

He followed Nicco out, nodded at the beautiful women at the
desk and kept his eyes roaming, anything but stare at the broad shoulders of
the man in front of him.

You are this guy, Parker Rollings. You paid more money to
attend a week at an expensive gay resort than some families make in three
months. You are here to fuck men. Or to be fucked by them. Whatever.
Nervous
energy shot down his spine.

At that precise moment he could imagine Nicco’s cock,
against his ass, pressing inside his body, bringing pain and the most exquisite
bite of pleasure. It made his face flame red and his breath catch in his throat.

They emerged onto the beach and shuffled along in silence.
Soft, powdery sand felt good to Parker’s aching feet after he slipped off his
shoes, leaving them at the hut near the resort bar. He had no idea what to say,
how to start, how to end, how to extract himself, or even make a pass at the
guy.

Their bizarre history stretched like a canyon between them.
The easy conversations they’d had in and around the soccer venue felt very far
away. Parker cursed himself and made a vow to only stay a few minutes, then get
his ass back onto a plane out of here. They must have walked nearly an hour,
well past the boundaries of the La Luna resort, in what had eased, somehow,
into a comfortable silence.

He heard a shout. “Nicco! Nicco!” A small, dark skinned boy
ran up, a gleam in his eye. “Is it you?” Nicco grinned at the kid.

“Yeah, I believe so.” He shrugged at Parker who couldn’t
resist a matching smile.

“Hey, d’you wanna play? You and—hey, you’re Rollings, aren’t
you? From the Black Jacks! Hey guys!” The kid ran off, leaving Parker and Nicco
standing for a few seconds. Then they found themselves surrounded by a gaggle
of boys and girls of all ages. A soccer ball appeared, got kicked into the air,
and the race was on.

Parker chuckled. This he understood.

The sun beat down on the near-paradise of sand and sea as
the men jumped into the pick-up match, playing full out, giving a few tips, but
mostly enjoying the beautiful game they both loved.

Parker feinted, moved past Nicco, passed and his small team
scored, causing paroxysms of delight, high fives, and various celebrations.
Nicco frowned, called his team in for a quick conference, then raised an
eyebrow at Parker and held up a hand to signal resumption of play.

Parker trotted forward, easily maneuvering around the small
bodies, letting a few of them take the ball from him on purpose as he made his
way to the makeshift goal. “Now!” He heard Nicco call and suddenly the entire
opposing team descended on him, circled him, forcing the ball away from his
feet by the sheer mass of their numbers. He grinned, sprinted after Nicco who
headed straight for the opposite end.

Before Parker reached him, he planted the ball into the
small net and turned to accept his own celebrations. Parker watched, sweat
dripping from his hair as the man let four or five small kids climb up his
arms. Parker’s chest constricted at the sight, scaring him, forcing him to turn
away.

After another hour, the kids’ parents gathered them up and
the two men wandered back to the La Luna private beach and sat together, sore
feet stuck in the surf. Covered in sweat and sand, Parker allowed a happy
relaxation to ease into his chest.

He dropped back on one elbow and watched the huge red
sun-globe hover over the sea, turning the fluffy clouds an amazing array of
colors. He observed Nicco rolling his shoulders and propping his elbows on his
knees and wanted more than he wanted to his next breath to reach out and touch
those shoulders, back, and more. He shook his head.

“That was fun.” He hated the sound of his own voice.

“Yeah,” Nicco grunted, keeping his gaze trained on the
horizon. Frustrated fury surged through Parker’s brain.

“Look, I’m sorry I’ve fucked up your resort weekend by
showing up. I don’t want it either so I’m gonna head back and see if the front
desk can get me a flight.” He gasped when Nicco turned to him, mocha dark eyes
glistening with emotion. Within seconds the man loomed over him, hands on
either side of Parker’s face, forcing him to lie back or they’d knock
foreheads. Nicco’s warm breath, his intense stare, made Parker shut his eyes,
willing the urges coursing through him far, far away. Then, suddenly, he didn’t
want to fight it anymore.

The sand scratched his back, the cool water lapped at his
feet, and when he opened his eyes ready to accept whatever Nicco offered, the
man glared at him then backed away, resuming his seated position, staring at
the sea. Parker stayed put, flat on his back, collecting himself. A warm palm
touched his thigh.

“I’m glad you’re here. Stay.
Por favor
.”

Parker closed his eyes again, terror and raw, primal lust
raging through his soul. While something else in him achieved a sort of peace
then, with Nicco’s light touch to his leg. This would be complicated. As he
propped himself back up on his elbows and the men sat in comfortable silence
for a while, he knew it would be worth it, and determined to make it so, for
both of them.

Nicco winced as his newly-sore feet hit the cold tile of the
bathroom floor. After a long hot shower, he wound a huge towel around his
waist. As a small spark of anger caught, burning a little brighter behind his
eyes.

Jesus Christ, Garza, you seduce men and women with ease.
What is your fucking problem? You want this kid. Take him. He’s ready. It’s a
purely physical act. You understand the mechanics. The kid is an obvious
bottom. You prefer to top. Perfect. Do your thing.

Nicco’s chest burned and his skin felt raw, flayed at the
word floating through his head about Parker...“mine.” At loose ends, unsure if
he should amble out of the bathroom naked, with a towel, fully dressed, or
what, which pissed him off even more.

He glared into the mirror, dragged fingers through his wet
hair and set his shoulders. He’d be damned if this kid, this…unbelievable,
handsome, smart, talented, and compelling man would turn him into a nervous
teenager.

He jerked the door open and walked out with the large towel
still around his waist, determined to get control of this thing. To take what
he wanted, go back to Spain, and never darken the door of America again. Not if
it meant exposure to heartbreak. He’d come out publicly, so he could never play
in Europe, but he had plenty of money. He could retire, consult, coach, or sit
on a beach for the rest of his life. Of all the things Nicolas Garza was
careless about, one of them was never money.

It had been a foolish stunt with the Black Jacks, putting
himself out there, a prancing pony for the media to drool over and the public
to crush to their collective, open-minded bosom—or vilify as “all that was
wrong with sports.” He’d cut himself off at the knees with it for certain. He
was stuck in America now, of all places, the country that had at least at first
taken on his open homosexuality with a media-frenzied fervor.

All the foolish fantasies he’d allowed himself years ago
with Leandro, the one man he loved more than life, came rushing back. Scenes of
domestic bliss, of shared goals, happiness, and more flashed through his head
as he took in the sight of Parker. The tall man stood in front of a gigantic
television tuned to a premiership game, shirt in his hand, his perfectly-formed
back and broad shoulders an insurmountable temptation.

Nicco took a breath and headed for the mini bar. Alcohol.
That would help.

Parker whooped when someone scored. “Hey, did you ever play
with….”

“Yeah, probably. All of ’em at one point or another.” Nicco
dropped into a chair, beer in hand, letting resentment burn bright. “I’m old,
remember?” Parker’s eager face turned back to the screen, as he bent one leg
then the other stretching out his quads and hamstrings, his lithe body moving
under Nicco’s gaze.

They both watched the match unfold, go into stoppage time
then get decided on penalty kicks. By the time it ended they sat side by side
on the couch, an easy familiarity between them. Without a word Parker jumped up
and disappeared into the bathroom. Shower noises drowned out the final
commentary from the broadcast.

Nicco flipped the television to a music channel. When Parker
re-emerged dressed in a towel and nothing else, the latest R&B song drifted
through the large room. Nicco walked up to the object of his desire, deciding
to be as straightforward as he could.

“Look, Parker, I’m, um, not gonna kid you. I want…ah….” The
expression on Parker’s face stopped him. Deer in the headlights, combined with
a tinge of anger and abject terror sent red flags flying all across Nicco’s
brain. “Never mind.”

He sat back down and drained the rest of the beer. A complex
array of emotions played across the young man’s face. Nicco watched, amused,
and then resigned. “It’s okay. I understand. I’d try to escape me too. I come
with my own media circus now. Why would you want to subject yourself to it?”

He stood and made his way to the bar again, needing to
drown, to shut out, to close off any and everything. “You should go, young
Parker. You aren’t safe here. Not with me.” He kept his back to the man, throat
hot and tight with unsaid words.

Before he could pick up his drink, strong arms encircled
him. A firm chest pressed against his back. Lips found his neck, trailed down
to his shoulder. The unmistakable sensation of fully aroused male pressed
close, made him groan and raise his arms, reach behind him, and grip Parker’s
thick hair in his fingers. “You don’t want to do this,” he whispered still
facing away from the man he suspected he already loved.

The hands roamed across his body, down, yanked the towel
away in one quick motion, leaving him bare and exposed and pulsing—heart, soul,
and body.

Parker heard nothing but Nicco’s breathing, felt nothing but
Nicco’s soft, silky skin. He kissed the deep brown flesh, closed his eyes and
let his hand move, taking him places he never thought he’d go. But he had to,
now. He required the man’s lips on his like he required oxygen to breathe.