Page 61 of Studs Up
The sex was amazing, but I liked this better. Nothing but his warm body sleeping soundly and peacefully. I had never woken up with anyone the way I woke with him. There was no irritation or uncomfortable, sweaty heat. He was perfect, and I knew if I moved, he would wake, and this feeling I was having would go away.
When he did wake and he turned those sleepy grey eyes on me, that feeling I was afraid would go away didn’t. It stayed right where it was in the center of my chest, beating right along with my heart.
We kissed and touched and rocked our bodies together until we both came without saying a word.
…
The game against El Salvador was brutal. The rain poured in thick sheets, soaking the pitch and us in minutes. To make it all worse, it was still warm. The humidity couldn’t be washed away by the rain, and that was just disgusting.
Holden was being dogged by their central defender, Carlos Hernandez. An unknown to me, and he was going on my wall. He was good and solid and had Holden locked down. Alex, likewise, had his own shadow. The Guardian’s very own Jose Cruz. He was a great mid when he was playing with the Guardians, and now it was just frustrating.
And I had my own issues. Marcel was once again, failing.
Early in the game, Holden intercepted a pass on their back line and made a break for it, attempting to chip the keeper, but the keeper got a finger on it and tipped it over the crossbar.
Just before the half, we went down one zero when Cruz got away from Marcel on a corner and headed the ball into the back of our net.
Holden glanced back at me as we reset, his eyes filled with determination to correct it and make it better, and he did.
It was an ugly goal, a scramble in front of the keeper, and with a reaching slide, Holden toed it in. I should have made a deal with him again.
We won with a last minute goal from Morales, a strike that snuck in right under their keeper’s arm. We were another step closer to qualifying for the World Cup.
…
The bar was just a bar. There were loud people, loud music, and, because it was in Miami, loud colors. Neon lit up the night. It was not my kind of place, but whatever. Charlemagne found us a table in the corner, and Morales joined us. Marcel took the opportunity to sit with Alex and Holden.
Over my beer, I watched carefully. The only thing in my mind was getting Holden back to the hotel.
Charlemagne and Morales had a conversation and left me out of it. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Holden.
I wondered what it would be like if we didn’t have to hide. If I could sit with him, touch him the way lovers do. I wasn’t a particularly affectionate man, but with him, I could see myself holding his hand, draping my arm over his chair, and showing the world this was my man, and everyone could fuck off.
The vision was cut off when Alex got up and left the table, heading to the back of the bar, leaving Holden alone with Marcel and I saw something I had never seen before. Holden’s body went rigid as Marcel shifted closer. Holden looked away. His eyes scanned the bar and landed on me for the shortest second.
He was uncomfortable and wasn’t engaging with Marcel, and Marcel carried on a conversation. Holden shook his head and shifted away. Whatever was happening over there was something he didn’t like, therefore, I detested it.
Under the table, where no one would see unless they were watching, Marcel grazed his hand down Holden’s thigh. I was almost out of my seat, ready to charge the bar.
But Holden handled it, pulled away, and gave him an answer that made Marcel glower.
Alex returned after a few minutes, and Marcel gave up, shifting away. Holden did not ease his body.
It was such an odd thing. I thought Marcel detested him.
I made sure I was on the same elevator as Holden because Marcel was right behind him.
Morales and Charlemagne left us on the third floor. Then it was Marcel, Alex, Holden, and me. I stood in the back behind Marcel. Holden was in the opposite corner.
“I’m exhausted,” Marcel muttered in the quiet. It took a lot of effort not to open my mouth and let him have it. I usually kept my opinions to myself about who was chosen, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why Marcel had been selected for national duty. I barely understood why he was a starter for us.
If he was ‘exhausted,’ I should be dead for trying to pick up his slack. I glared at the back of his head.
“Same,” Holden said. That better be fucking polite and not serious.
“Wouldn’t have been so exhausting if you hadn’t missed that chip,” I put in deciding that I didn’t want to risk looking like we liked each other.
“Don’t put that on me,” he retorted. “You could have kept up with Cruz on that corner.” Low blow. That wasn’t me, and he fucking knew it. My skin hissed and crackled and my dick was swelling.
