Page 2 of Studs Up
The hate between Reed and me began almost ten years ago when we were kids playing at the academy level. We had battled in the U17 final, much like we were tonight. We had won that game, but not before Reed had nearly wiped me off the face of the fucking planet with a slide tackle.
That was the moment when his body crushed mine, and I knew how completely fucked I was. The weight of him in that split second, nearly ten years ago, still lingered. Every time he collided with me now, I remembered that moment.
He was the bane of my existence then, and he was the bane of my existence now.
It was down to the wire again, and Alex was running for it. The entire Rover squad put themselves in the Guardian half.
The December rain was relentless. It was cold, and the turf was nearly flooded. It was shitty conditions on a crappy pitch, and it wasn’t going to stop me.
Alex passed it to me. Time was running out, and I had to get the ball into the net. I plowed my way through Marcel. Alex screamed for the ball back. I needed to take my shot. Passing the ball off wasn’t an option.
Somewhere in the thick of the noise Rafa Torres called for the ball on the wing, but I was too close to send the ball away from the goal.
It was on me. Diaz’s eyes darting to the right was the only warning I got as a body as solid as a mountain slammed into me, and we tumbled to the ground just outside the eighteen. Bits of rubber and turf ground into my skin as we rolled.
It was a body I knew. I knew it because every single hair on my skin tingled with electricity, and a yearning that I kept buried deep down broke through my barriers and exploded in my chest.
Nolan Reed’s sapphire blue eyes looked into mine for a split second. I hated how beautiful those eyes were, how dark and fathomless they were, and how easily I got lost in them.
My fist clenched as I fought the urge to run my hand through his thick dark hair or cup his strong chin or kiss those fierce lips. It didn’t matter if he had a permanent glower on his face.
I wanted him so badly it was embarrassing.
The first time it happened, when we were tangled up just like this, it was the first time I got an erection on the field. I knew I was gay long before that moment, but never had someone pissed me off so badly and been the sole object of my desire at the same time.
I avoided everything to do with him. I didn’t watch interviews; if I had to watch footage of him, I stayed focused on his feet. Not his eyes and most definitely not his groin or any part of his broad body, from his short black hair to the lean muscle and the abs he showed off at the end of games. God forbid the camera catching him bending over.
I once again found myself underneath him and battling the erection that was threatening to make itself very public.
“Should have passed it off, jackass,” he grunted and then got off.
I shot to my feet and shoved him in the chest.
“Fuck you,” I shouted. He grinned as the chant started. The words grated on my skin like dull blades and fueled the fiery anger in my chest. He backed away with the biggest shit eating grin I had ever seen.
Sixty thousand fans rubbed it in my face with his chant.
The wall, the beast, the biggest asshole in the league, Nolan Reed, Nolan Reed.
The beast, the wall, A shut out he guarantees, Nolan Reed, Nolan Reed.
The wall, the beast, the biggest asshole of them all, Nolan Reed, Nolan Reed.
“What are you going to do about it?” He asked with a taunting grin as he backed away, letting both teams come between us to keep us apart.
“Win this fucking game,” I shouted. But the universe decided I was done, and the referee blew the final whistle.
…
The sting hadn’t diminished a month later as I nervously paced my living room.
“You’re gonna get the call,” Alex slouched in my favorite reading chair.
“I’m not.” I had fucked up. Not winning would put a dent in my chances that Coach Mirren would call and invite me to the winter camp. My call ups were scattered at best. Three caps in five years. Abysmal.
I had worked so fucking hard for this. Qualifying for the World Cup started this summer. If I missed this, that was it. I was done. My career would go into a slow decline with smaller contracts, less worthy teams, and more bench time. All of the sacrifices would be for nothing.
The winter camp would give me a chance to prove myself to Coach Mirren. I just had to get there, and it was invitation only.
