Page 40 of Studs Up
He let out a wheezing gasp and didn’t suck any air in. I leaned in closer until my lips brushed his ear.
“If you don’t want this, fine. But I don’t believe that bullshit.”
“You hate me.” His voice broke.
“I can still kiss you and hate you.”
“We’re rivals, we can’t…”
“I can keep secrets, Holden Monroe. Dirty ones.”
He turned his temple to mine. I don’t think he meant to, but he moaned. I was aching to touch him. Pick him up, dump him on the bed, and spend the rest of the night exploring him.
His hesitation was valid, and respecting that was taking a lot of restraint. I clenched my fists and held them to my sides to keep myself from making a mistake.
He leaned into me. The tips of his fingers brushed down my stomach, and he finally breathed. My heart pounded. He wanted me, and whatever mountain that was between us was slowly eroding away.
The banging on the door interrupted us. He snapped back.
“Yo, Monroe,” Alex bellowed. “Let’s get some dinner.”
I snarled at the door. Prince wasn’t winning himself any favors from me as Holden backed up until he hit the door. His eyes were focused on mine until he blinked and looked away.
“I’ll see you later.”
When he returned, I didn’t say a word. He didn’t either. He pretended I didn’t exist, and I responded in kind.
He didn’t sleep. I waited while he tried to contain himself and pretend that nothing was wrong. He suffered deeply, and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I tossed a water bottle on his bed and walked out of the room.
He followed me to the elevator and into the gym, where we didn’t speak a word while we biked side by side.
Not a word was spoken in the morning as we parted ways to train and prepare for the upcoming game.
It broke me that this was the way it was. I craved him. So close and yet unable to touch or taste. That built up energy went into studying the Canadians and finding a way to let go of the one thing that got my heart pumping.
“Is that the best you got?” I snapped after I took the ball from him during scrimmage.
“Who’s in second place?” He asked as he jogged past me back up to the halfway line. That cut. We had been resting in second place for three weeks only because Monroe was on a hot streak. Except when it came to a one-on-one with me, he faltered.
“We can still kick your ass,” I shot back.
“Not with your backline,” he retorted.
“Fucking hell,” Morales muttered.
Monroe’s body was rigid for the rest of the day. When Mirren called it, he gave instructions for the team dinner, and we were all expected in the hotel lobby at six.
I went back to our room and waited. I had pieced it together, the tension in his body after our exchange.
He didn’t lock the door when he came in. We weren’t going to be here for that long, and nothing was going to happen.
“You were waiting for me to out you today,” I commented from the chair in the corner. He froze.
Standing, I approached him, sliding my hands into my pockets to keep from grabbing him and kissing him.
“Answer me,” I said. Holden squared off to me and folded his arms over his chest. The color drained from him and was replaced with the awful paleness I saw in Portland. I hated it so much.
“Yes,” he said with faltering confidence.
