Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey 2)

“From here to the south parking lot.” He winks at me. “Naked.”

Of course. He’d mentioned streaking the other night, but I never thought they’d go through with it. “Vetoed. If we get caught, we’ll be in shit.”

Rossi shrugs. “You can bow out of any challenge at any time. No one’s forcing you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“But we all know a good streak is part of college tradition,” Cohen cuts in. “Can you really say you’ve lived until you’ve seen a teammate buck naked, running across campus?”

“Yes. I honestly can.”

Beck jumps to his feet. “Chicken out, then. I’ve got this one covered.” He reaches to peel off his shirt, and all I can do is sit there and watch the shameless display. Somehow his pecs look even bigger in the filtered light than they do under the harsh fluorescents of the locker rooms. Not that I’ve taken much notice before. At all. It was purely for research purposes.

I still have no clue if I’m gonna be part of this, but if I’m not, it’ll mean passing him the win on a platter.

I can’t do it.

“Like what you see, Jacobs?”

I jolt as Beck blows me a kiss and I realize I’m still staring at him. My mouth is too dry to respond, so I stand and whip off my shirt too. Grant did say to try and enjoy this.

“How do we know who wins?” I ask.

“First one there and back.”

“And how will you know Beck hasn’t cheated?”

“We’ve got Simms waiting down there. He’ll text us when you’re on the way back.”

Smart.

If this is only the third task, I hate to think of what the next two might be.

There’s movement in the corner of my eye, and I can’t stop from looking over as Beck shoves his shorts and briefs down in one go. I get an eyeful of moonlit white ass cheeks. His dark tan line runs along right above his ass crack, and the complete color difference has always drawn my eye.

My cock twitches, and I quickly look away. I’ve always been an ass man. It’s a damn pity that particular ass belongs to someone as grating as him.

And as, ah, male as him too.

I block it out and flick the button on my shorts.

Shit. I guess this is happening. I shove my clothes off as quickly as Beck did. It shouldn’t be so weird to be standing naked in front of these guys when I’ve done it a thousand times already, but this time is noticeably different.

The laughing from some of the team isn’t doing much for my confidence.

“Feeling cold, Topher?” Beck asks.

I flip him off. “Quit checking out my dick.”

“I would if I could actually see it.”

I open my mouth to retort, then remind myself I’m not doing that anymore. It’s physically painful to hold back, so I force a short laugh and turn my back on him, ignoring the heat in my gut.

Beck is standing there like some homoerotic statue, letting it all hang out, while I subtly position my hands in front of my not at all small junk.

How he manages to get me so angry, so easily, I’ll never understand.

“Ready, guys?” Cohen asks.

I nod stiffly.

“Okay, then. Ready, set, go!”

I take off at a run, praying it’s late enough that the only people we run into are drunk college students. Security does minimal laps during summer, but it’d be my luck to run right into one of them.

Beck is just behind me, but I know it won’t take him long to catch up. We’re evenly matched with pretty much everything athletically related.

His heavy footfalls and breathing are gaining on me, and as I expect him to come up beside me, hands grab my bicep. Before I know what’s happening, he swings me to the side, and I fall off-balance. My shoulder slams into the grass.

“Asshole.” I jump straight back up and follow.

Only, now I’m behind him, that tan line is taunting me. His ass flexes with each stride, and the muscles across his back rise and dip with every movement.

The familiar prickling in my balls warns me to pull my stare away from the display, before this whole situation gets any more awkward than it already is.

In my defense, put possibly the finest ass in existence in front of any man and he’s bound to get distracted.

I have to put the game first.

No distractions. Eyes on the W.

I push harder, concentrating ahead of Beck, and can feel myself start to gain on him. He’s still a pace or two ahead by the time we hit the parking lot, and the run back is all uphill.

I barely acknowledge Simms or his catcalls as I turn and start to hightail it in the opposite direction. I was faster on the turn, and I’m barely a breath away from Beck.