“We could, but we won’t.”
My shoulders fall, and I relent, because as I’ve recently worked out, Miller is my one weakness—the guy I’d fucking kill for if he asked me to. I go to open my mouth, but he cuts me off.
“I need you to be one hundred percent clear here, because I’m pretty sure my meds are making my brain think things I shouldn’t.”
Things he shouldn’t? What does that even mean?
I take a deep breath. “I moved to Chicago for you because I’ve never had as much fun as when we were roommates. When I think about the happiest times in my life, it wasn’t when I was drafted to the NFL. It wasn’t when I won a Super Bowl or when I put that championship ring on for the very first time. It’s all those nights a million years ago being your roommate and friend.”
Miller refuses to look at me as he says, “Not to mention all the sex, right?”
“I thought that might’ve had something to do with it, but you know what has killed me since you’ve been avoiding me? Not that you used the media and our position as a way of putting a stop to repeating old mistakes, but that you ignored me afterward. I won’t deny the nights sharing a girl with you has been the best sex I’ve ever had, and I’ve missed it because I’ve never trusted another guy the way I trust you, but I wasn’t thinking about that when I accepted the Warriors’ offer. It was you.”
Why am I just working this out tonight? And why, when I keep picturing Jackson and Noah together, do they morph in my memory into Miller and some faceless guy? A faceless guy I wished was me?
“Talon—”
I don’t know I’m moving because it’s so slow, but then I’m suddenly there, pressed against him and catching his scent of sweat and dirt from the field. He smells of where I belong, because if there’s one thing in my life I’ve always been sure of, it’s football.
My mouth skims his rough cheek, searching, wanting. I expect him to pull away, but Miller turns his head slightly, moving closer.
Why does this feel so good? So right?
His much bigger body molds against mine. Warmth envelops me, and a sense of home makes my chest ache.
My suit pants become uncomfortably tight, and unlike Miller, I can’t blame drugs. But he’s not pushing me away either.
“Shane.”
“Mmm” is all I get as an answer.
Miller turns his head, and our lips find each other’s. The first touch has a weird sensation running down my spine. It’s not electricity but a jolt of something else. Realization, clarity … an epiphany maybe. Our mouths come together to create something that turns all my confusion from the past few weeks into something beautiful and warm and totally unexpected.
My whole body relaxes under his strong hands. The kiss turns up the heat when he slips his tongue into my mouth accompanied by a groan so forceful I feel it in my toes.
The breath gets knocked from my lungs, and I’m freefalling like the time on spring break back in college when Miller and I jumped out of a plane and were almost killed by both our mothers and our coach when they found out we’d gone skydiving.
The thrill of kissing my old best friend has the same adrenaline effect as extreme sports, and God knows I’m a competitive athlete who wants to win.
What winning means in this situation, I have no idea, but I’m hoping it involves a lot of coming. My dick likes that idea and digs into Miller’s hip.
I’m kissing a guy, and my dick is hard.
A few months ago, I thought I knew everything there was to know about life. Turns out I know jack shit.
I cup the back of Miller’s head and angle mine to deepen the kiss—a kiss I never knew would be so hot. So consuming.
Miller moans into my mouth, and I savor the masculine sound.
Kissing a man is an entirely new sensory experience. From the roughness and strength in his hold to the scruff on his face scraping my skin, kissing Miller is like nothing I’ve ever done before. It’s incomparable.
“Guys?” a faint voice says. “Hello?”
I tear my mouth from Miller’s and step back. “It’s Jackson.”
“In here,” Miller calls out. “We’ll be out in a sec.”
Our eyes lock, and I have no idea what he’s seeing in mine, but his project nothing but wariness. Which makes sense, because I don’t know what the fuck is going on either.
“We should get out there,” I rasp, but neither of us moves.
We keep staring at each other, almost daringly. Who’s gonna mention the giant elephant in the room? The elephant being my very hard cock.
Did my brain just make a dick size joke instead of freaking out about being caught kissing a guy?