Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend #4)(11)

“I’m fine,” Miller complains.

“Mmhmm, sure you are.”

The guy on the line says they’ll be right up.

I would stay to make sure Miller doesn’t get out of bed, but if I stay in here any longer, I may go insane.

Like you’re not already halfway there.

I head for the door but turn back at the last second. “Make sure you ice that leg.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Giving him a smile, I leave the room and can’t get back to mine fast enough.

With Jackson still at training, I have the room to myself, and I don’t waste time losing my clothes.

There’s no time or enough patience for me to grab my phone and look for porn. My cock was full mast by the time I’d reached my door, so there’s no need for it.

I lie on my bed and take myself in my hand and give a few strokes before I need to add spit for smoother friction.

The groan that escapes sounds deep and guttural, and I wonder what it’d sound like in another man’s voice.

No, don’t think about that.

My brain doesn’t listen. It flashes back to Jackson grinding on his boyfriend, me standing there hard as a rock, and those three words I’ve never said or heard directed at me.

My cock pulses under my hand as I stroke faster, and my heart beats in my throat.

Women. Think about women.

The only problem with this is the times I’ve been with one woman, it hasn’t been as explosive as any of the times I’ve been there with Miller.

So now he’s in my head too. And he’s beautiful.

No, not beautiful. It’s just sex. It was always just sex.

Lesbian porn! Think of that.

Oh, who am I kidding. That’s never done it for me. Maybe I’m a voyeur, or maybe I have been oblivious to my attraction to guys for a long time, because to me, there’s nothing hotter than watching while Miller takes a girl. Or him watching me.

So, go with that.

The minute my conscience allows me to let go, the need to come hits with full force. Only, when I picture Miller, he’s not with a girl.

He stands in front of me with his hard abs, olive skin, and that tattoo over his left pec. Believe. Achieve. He got that when we were drunk one night and we were talking about our future pro careers. He thought if he tattooed it to his chest it’d come true.

I video called him the day he was drafted—of course, I did—and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for him to be picked up by New England, but I knew the chances were slim. We had offensive linemen up to our ears. He was in the fourth round, so it wasn’t televised; I wanted to see his reaction when he found out what team had chosen him, but it didn’t matter, because his smile was still there when he finally answered my call.

Without warning, my orgasm slams into me, and I come all over my stomach and chest. I keep stroking until I have nothing left and my muscles stop convulsing.

Breathing heavy, I’m thrown into the reality that I jerked off to my best friend. Not his body. Not him banging some girl in front of me. But of the day he was drafted. It was all him.

Well, that’s new …





*



My finger hovers over my brother’s name on my phone, but I can’t bring myself to press Call. We’ve always been super close, but this … this might be out of the realm of our relationship. He’s the only one outside of this whole situation who I’m comfortable talking to, but even then, admitting to another guy you got turned on by other guys and then jerked it to—

Fuck it. Trey isn’t the type of guy to freak out over this stuff. I don’t think.

Shit, what if he is? I wouldn’t think he’d be like that. Mom and Dad might be religious people, but they believe God created everyone the way they are for a reason and that He loves everyone no matter what, and we were raised with those same values. So, I should call my brother.

Maybe.

If I didn’t have a practice game this afternoon, I’d be chugging down all the mini bottles of alcohol in the minibar for some courage.

My leg bounces as I force myself to click on his name.

“Yello,” he answers like a douche.

“Green,” I say dryly.

“What’s up, little brother? Shouldn’t you be throwing a football and getting paid big stupid money for it?”

“I, uh, have a completely random question for you.”

“Yes, you’re still a dork even though you’re super famous now.”

“Shut up. Can we be serious for a minute?”

The line goes silent.

“Is everything okay?” he finally asks.

“It’s fine. I’m just … curious.” My eyes widen at the poor choice of words. “I mean wondering. I was thinking …”

“What is it? You’re freaking me out.”

“Well … you know how Jackson plays for Chicago now?”

“The gay guy? What about him? If you’re about to say something homophobic, you’re not too old to get a kick in the ass.”

I chuckle. “No, but that makes this a little easier. I, umm, kinda … walked in on him and his boyfriend.”

Trey makes a kind of choking sound as if he’s trying to hold in laughter. “Awkward,” he sings.