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  Instead I just hit send.

  "Sweet. Got my best friend to virtually jack it. Achievement unlocked."

  I groan, half in amusement, half in misery. And suddenly I realize there's no way I can do this for much longer. I can't talk about how good it feels to have Luke stroke me, or the fact that I'm growling out his name as I come.

  Not with him in the same room, and probably not ever if I actually want to keep a low profile. I should've just gone the super-macho route and refused to do any of this, said that I don't have the heart or the stomach for it.

  "I think that's probably good enough," I say, my voice scratchy.

  "What? No way, we were just getting started."

  Fucking kill me now. He sounds like he's actually into this, but I know he just wants to make sure it's convincing.

  "Here," I say, and I type out a quick response.

  g2g prof watching

  "Laaaaame." I hear him flop all the way back on his bed.

  "It'll do the job," I say.

  And at least stopping it now keeps me from coming in my jeans. That would be hard to explain away.

  I still can't look at Luke, though. I imagine him all sprawled out, not a care in the world. Definitely not trying to hide a seriously painful hard-on.

  "You wanna play some Madden or something?"

  Yep. No boner. You can't play Madden with a boner. It's pretty much a proven fact.

  And one that gives me a chance to get the hell out of this room.

  "Yeah, just give me like ten minutes. I wanna get a shower."

  "Didn't you take one in the locker room?"

  Yeah. I guess that would be weird. But this is Florida, so I know the perfect excuse.

  "Sweating like a pig, dude. Humidity's a bitch today."

  "True that," he says.

  And just like that, I'm able to get out of our dorm room without exposing the fact that I'm still hard as a fucking rock. Not to Luke, at least. I hold my shower caddy weirdly to try and hide it in the hall, but most of the guys are so busy with their own drunk shit they don't pay attention to me.

  I pad down the hall and into the showers, stripping down to my boxers, trying to stand so that my erection's mostly concealed. I'm not alone in there, which sucks. I'm going to have to keep it quiet. But it's not like I'm the only college guy who's jacked it in a public shower before. More jizz has probably run down these drains than anywhere else in town.

  I turn the rusty knob and water spurts from the showerhead, finally hitting a halfway decent stream. It's cold at first, and I swear under my breath. I should know better, but right now my brain's too focused on curing the ache a little further down south to worry about the ache from the cold.

  Warm water hits my skin, still flushed and overheated from desire, and I let out a soft sigh, hanging my head as it falls against the back of my neck.

  I get some soap going into a lather, and my hands glide down my body. They aren't calloused like Luke's are, so it's not a perfect match, but I close my eyes and imagine him touching me, anyway. I don't know what kind of lover he'd be. In my dreams, he alternates between being sweet and tender, and hard and rough like a lust-crazed beast.

  It's my fantasy, so I guess it all depends on what I want today.

  I think of him lying in bed, sending those texts with that almost shy, innocent grin. It was sweet, but fantasizing about sweet, tender Luke always brings my heart into it more than I usually want, and the pain hits hard after that.

  So instead, I shut out that image of him and conjure up something else. Him in his uniform, dirt and grass stains smudged with sweat. He's wearing his practice mesh and his pads, but his pants are down around his ankles and he's stroking his thick cock.

  My mouth almost waters as I picture it, and my own hand finds its way down to my dick. I'm painfully hard, and just the brush of my fingers sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

  He suddenly pushes me against the lockers, my hands coming out to catch myself. I can almost feel the cool metal against my palms, and a shudder passes through me.

  In my dream, Luke reaches around and grabs my cock, pumping it with his strong hand. I do it just how I want him to do it, my hand moving in short, jerky motions. I spread my legs a little further apart, pushing back against him like I'm an animal in heat just begging him to fuck me.

  He growls, so close to my ear that I can feel the vibration. His teeth scrape over my skin, sure to leave marks the next day on my shoulder and neck. I stifle a moan in the shower and my hand pumps faster.

  I'm not going to last long. I already know that. But I don't need to.

  I ramp up the fantasy, imagining him behind me, the weight of his body against mine. He slides his cock over my skin, teasing me, torturing me. I whimper, and finally he gives in. He gives it to me hard, thrusting into me in one brutal motion, pounding me against those lockers.

  I wish I had something else in here. One of those suction dildos you can stick to the wall and fuck yourself on. God, I want so badly to know what it would feel like to have him inside of me, even if it isn't the real thing. But I can't imagine sneaking that into our dorm room, let alone the showers, so I make do with just my hand.

  It gets the job done. My movements become erratic and jerkier still, my hand flying up and down my cock in a blur of motion. Heat pools low in me, building to an unbearable climax. I lift my free hand to my mouth and bite down to keep from crying out as I come, my dick jerking in my hand.

  And then it's over. That overwhelming lust is stolen from me, washed away just like the evidence of my pleasure. I lean against the cold shower wall, letting my heart slow back to a normal rate. Then I finish my shower and get ready to head back to our dorm room and try my best not to think of any of this.

  After all, dreaming about being fucked by your fake boyfriend is a recipe for disaster.

  6

  Luke

  Monday's practice is a little weird.

  I'm off my game, filled with a nervous sort of energy about what I know is coming. I've got my phone in my locker, all ready to go with that dirty text exchange. But I can't help thinking about how it'll all go down, and seeing Brandon nervous doesn't really help put my mind at ease.

  We're both distracted by it, and we’re ripped a new one by our respective coaches. They're right. If we play like that Saturday, we're sure to lose the game, whether we're the Rainbow Tigers or not. As we jog off toward the locker room, I try to get my head on straight.

  It's fine. I'm just going to casually reveal to all my teammates that I'm gay and fucking the kicker. No big deal.

  As I open up my locker and see my phone sitting in there, staring at me, I think of what my dad would say if he could see this. I wouldn't say he’s a complete asshole when it comes to gay guys, but he isn't careful with his words, either. I heard a lot of things growing up I wish I hadn't; things I didn't find out were pretty fucking hurtful until later.

  He won't understand this. I'll have to talk to him before the papers hit. Otherwise he's going to hear it from one of his buddies over a beer, and that... won’t be good.

  "You okay?" I hear Brandon ask.

  "Yeah," I say quickly. "Just want to make sure I do this right."

  Brandon looks at me, his brow furrowed. I can tell he sees right through me. He and Erica both have this uncanny ability to tell when I’m bullshitting them, and when they gang up on me, it's not a pretty sight.

  "We can still call this off."

  His voice is soft, like he's trying to soothe a scared kid. I shut my locker a little more forcefully than needed, my phone in my free hand.

  "No, man, we can't. I wanna see this through." I set my phone on the bench, then look over at Brandon. "I'm gonna get in the shower. When Oak comes by, just leave the phone here. Hopefully he'll take the bait."

  Brandon frowns. "And what if it isn't Oak?"

  I've been talking quietly, making sure none of the other guys can hear. Most of them have hit the showers already, and the sound of wate
r running and metal clanking is drowning out almost everything else. But Brandon is speaking near a whisper, and I have to read his lips to understand.

  "Then somebody else tells the team. There's not a guy in here who'll be able to resist if he sees it. It's all good, man."

  Except I don't really know if that's true. Who knows, maybe Eastshore's got some Boy Scout good samaritan who'll just slip the phone back into my locker without looking at it. Then I have to actually come up with a plan B.

  But I can't think about that right now. Instead, I trot off toward the shower and hope it works out the way I want it to.

  When I get back to my locker ten minutes later, Brandon isn't there anymore. But Oak is. He's giving me a weird look as I come around the corner, and he turns his gaze away when he realizes I'm damn near bare-ass naked, just a towel wrapped around my waist.

  He's never been weird like this before. We're in a locker room, so it's pretty much expected you're going to see some dick and ass. Him being weird tells me one thing:

  He found the phone.

  "Hey, uh... Trent?"

  I walk to my locker like there's nothing going on. My phone's back up top by my bag and my cleats. I ignore it and instead pull out my street clothes to get dressed.

  "What's up?" I ask.

  "You left your phone on the bench, man."

  "Oh, shit." I pretend to look for it. "Somebody grab it?"

  Oak blushes--actually fucking blushes--and I have to hold in a laugh. I knew he'd be the best person to find it just because he can't keep a secret to save his life, but I had no idea it'd be this much fun to watch the dude squirm.

  "Yeah, I did. Put it back in your locker."

  I look around my locker, finally "spotting" it up top. I let out a whoosh of breath like I'm relieved, and try to act a little fidgety, like I would if I didn't want my teammates to find out I was boning a dude.

  Oak nods and steps away from me, and for half a second it seems like he isn't going to take the bait. Shit. Maybe I was wrong. But after a minute he doubles back, turning on his heel.

  "Listen, man... I'm not tryin' to be all up in your business, but your screen was turned on when I went to grab your phone. I uh... saw some pretty private stuff."

  I can't force my face to go pale, but I do my best to look mortified. "Oh, shit."

  "Yeah..." Oak rubs the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. "I want you to know I don't care. Doesn't matter to me if you like to get your dick sucked by other dudes, okay?"

  I hold in a laugh. Damn, Brandon's going to enjoy this later.

  "Appreciate it, man, but I'm pretty sure whoever's sucking my dick isn't really something you need to worry about."

  Unless he's the one doing it, or wants to be the one doing it. But I'm not going to say that to him. For all I know he's hot for me and will yank the towel from my waist right here and now.

  "You're right. Sorry. I just wanted to uh... give you a heads up. It's been a little bit since we've been a real... supportive team. Some of the guys might be weird about it."

  He says it like he's not going to tell them anyway. I love Oak like a brother, but right now I want to punch him in the face.

  "Don't plan on leaving my phone out again anytime soon," I say, arching a brow at him.

  And just to make him even more uncomfortable, I grab my shit from my locker and unwrap my towel so I can get dressed, my presumably super gay dick hanging all out.

  "Shit happens, man." His voice is muffled, and I can tell he isn't facing me. "And come on, you and Tucker? It's pretty obvious to anybody with half a brain."

  That stops me cold. I pull my boxers up, tug on a white tee, and turn to face him. He's watching me out of the corner of his eye, and now that I'm dressed, he actually looks at me again.

  "What the hell does that mean?" I ask.

  "You're always together, dude. You guys show up less and less to the Top so you can hang out, just the two of you. You show up to practice at the same time, leave at the same time..."

  Shit, he's right. I mean, all those things are just because Brandon and I are best friends and roommates. And honestly with the way the team's been lately, I'd rather spend time with him and Erica than the guys. But I can see where Oak is coming from. It does seem like we're hooking up pretty much all the time.

  That's a good thing. We'll need people to not be shocked if we're going to pull this off.

  There's something about it that doesn't sit right with me, though. I feel a little flutter in my stomach, like there's a bird in there flapping around. People already think me and Brandon are a thing? I guess I'm okay with that. I could do a lot worse.

  I have to actually remind myself I'm not gay, though, and that what Brandon and I are doing is fake, right down to the fake sexts. Doesn't matter that I got a little turned on while we were doing it.

  Man. I must've gotten hit harder during practice than I realized.

  "Well, look, I trust you to keep this between you and me, okay? I don't think Brandon wants everybody to know yet."

  Oak gives me a serious look that I know is bullshit. "Yeah, no problem. But I'm telling you, man, people are going to find out on their own."

  Uh-huh. On their own, with a little help from Oakley telling them. I clap him on the arm, and he tenses as soon as I touch him.

  "Thanks for the heads up, dude. I appreciate you looking out for me."

  "Anytime," Oak says, seeming damn pleased with himself as he grabs his bag and heads toward the door.

  People always want to believe they aren't giant fucking snitches. At least it'll mostly keep Oak on my side, if any shit goes down. He's probably right about the team. Used to be we could get a read on which guys would be a problem. Now, there's no telling. Too many new freshman and redshirts to keep track of.

  With Oak gone, though, Brandon's clear to come back. I hear him round the corner, his wet feet padding along the locker room floor. I've seen him like this a thousand times, with just a towel on, but for some reason I feel compelled to look at him.

  He's well built for a kicker. Lots of lean muscle packed in a small frame. Droplets of water trace the lines of his hard body, and for some reason I have the weirdest desire to follow the path of that water with my tongue.

  Jesus.

  I turn away, feeling flushed. It's like my brain has decided to fully commit to the role, and I’m really not sure what to do with myself.

  "He take the bait?" Brandon asks, opening up his locker.

  "Hook, line, and sinker," I say, my stomach tying itself in knots.

  Brandon lets out a relieved sigh. "Okay. Good. Did he say anything to you?"

  For some reason, I don't want to tell him that Oak said he figured we were already together. I don't want him to know that, because I'm a little afraid of what it could mean.

  "Just that he was looking out for me," I say with a smirk.

  Brandon snorts. "Guessing he'll tell us everybody else just found out on their own."

  "That's what I'd bet on, yeah."

  I fight the sudden urge to watch Brandon as he gets dressed, and instead worrying about putting the rest of my own clothes on. I pull on my Wranglers and my boots, along with a decent shirt I can actually be seen at class in, since I've got one at nine tonight. Fucking brutal.

  "You really think this will work?" Brandon asks me, once we're both dressed and ready to go.

  "Yeah. I think it will."

  If Oakley's right, maybe even better than I thought. As we head out of the locker room and toward my truck, I can't help but wonder about that. If he’s right and everybody already thinks Brandon and I are hooking up, what the hell have I been missing? Have I really been that oblivious?

  I tell myself that’s why I’m having these weird feelings about Brandon, too. But deep down, I start to wonder. Maybe they’ve been buried under the surface, just waiting for an excuse to come out.

  And maybe a part of me is eager to see where they lead.

  7

  Brandon
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br />   Everybody already knows about us by the time we head into the next practice.

  I don't like the feeling of people watching me, talking about me as soon as I enter a room. Or worse, going dead silent because they were saying something they didn't want me to overhear. Maybe I'm being paranoid, because Luke seems fine, but in my head, I can just hear their judgments.

  They sound a lot like the ones I got from my parents.

  Sodomy is the worst kind of sin. You've forsaken your heavenly father.

  You will burn in Hell, Brandon. Is that really what you want?

  Think about your mother and I. What are we going to tell the pastor on Sunday?

  Okay, so there's a good bet my teammates aren't thinking in such fire and brimstone terms, but I can already see people treating me differently. Especially in the locker room, where it's obvious some guys think I'm just going to suddenly jump them the second they expose their dick.

  No thanks. If I haven't jumped Luke yet, everybody else's dick is safe.

  I don't know if it makes me feel better or worse that Luke is just totally unaffected. He's his same, goofy self, because of course he wouldn't be changed by this. What does he care? He can fuck ten girls after we're done with this and nobody will even remember the time he was supposedly fucking a guy.

  My teammates don’t say anything to me directly, but that's probably because, as a kicker, I don't directly rely on anyone else. Special teams are there to make sure somebody doesn't get through to clock me, but in practice, it's not all that likely. And the guy holding the ball for me is mostly oblivious to everything else.

  No, the direct mentions don't start until we get to the Top.

  Lately, Luke and I haven't gone out with the guys as often as they'd like. We just prefer to do our own thing, meet up with Erica and not have to worry about making anybody feel better or surviving a room full of drunk football players.