The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)

“You’re terrible,” I huffed without heat.

“Me? Oh, no. Don’t get shy on me now. Let’s go back to anal beads.”

“I never said anything about anal beads.”

“Oh, I must have imagined it. Have you ever tried them?”

“No. Have you?”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t been very adventurous. I used to think having sex with a man was wild and crazy, but that was just me thinking I was doing something wrong or shameful then doing it anyway.”

“And now?”

“It feels right,” he replied automatically.

I beamed. “I’m glad.”

Blake kissed the top of my head as he stood. “Want some more water?”

“No, thank you. I—”

Ding dong.

We froze, staring at each other with matching frowns. Unless he’d ordered a dessert delivery…at eight p.m. on a Sunday evening, it was a bit late for random visitors.

“Yo, Blakester. I see your ride out front. Are you there?” a masculine voice called, knocking this time.

“Yeah, just a sec,” Blake replied, taking a cursory glance around the immaculate apartment.

Any evidence of our earlier sexcapade was long gone. Towels were in the washing machine, the lube had been put away, the spent condom had been disposed of, and we’d both showered before diving into our sushi. He could play this any way he wanted.

“Who’s that?” I whispered.

“My friend Ezra.” He sucked in a breath and licked his lips.

“Do you want me to hide or—”

“Don’t be silly. It’s fine. You’re my friend too.” His tone was firm, but he wasn’t smiling when he headed for the door.

A moment later, a giant beast of a man fist-bumped Blake before bounding into the apartment like an overeager Lab.

“For fuck’s sake, I called, texted…and called and texted again. Nada. Thought I’d do a drive-by to make sure you were alive, asshole. I haven’t seen you for days and—” He skidded to a halt when he spotted me frantically tidying the empty to-go containers in the kitchen. “Oh, hey. I’m Ezra.”

I quickly wiped my hands on a paper towel and stepped forward to greet Ezra with my hand outstretched. “Please to meet you. I’m Asher.”

He glanced at my hand in bewilderment, then shook it slowly, giving me an unabashedly curious once-over. If Ezra was an example of what Blake’s friends were like, I understood his confusion. I was nothing like either of them. Ezra was a bear of a man. He was roughly Blake’s height, but his shoulders and biceps were bigger…and covered in colorful tattoos. His size alone was intimidating, but he had an innately affable aura that made him seem like the type of guy who got along with everyone.

Blake had mentioned Ezra in passing. I knew they’d gone to Pepperdine and played lacrosse together, however, I hadn’t asked many questions. I knew I had nothing in common with him or his friends, but for some reason I was unprepared for the physical proof of how very different our worlds were.

I really hadn’t thought about it till now. I’d met his coworkers, his students, his ex-girlfriend, and I’d befriended the parents of the girls he coached. I thought his job and a glimpse into a former piece of his personal life gave me insight. He’d talked about his family so often that I felt like I knew them sometimes—and I could almost envision that lake house he spoke of so fondly. But I hadn’t thought much about Ezra, and that was a tactical error on my part.

Ezra exuded testosterone-laden uber masculinity. For all I knew, he might be the nicest, most open-minded man on the planet, but he reminded me of the jocks from high school who’d gleefully stuffed me into lockers, stolen my glasses, then had the gall to ask me to help them cheat on math quizzes. We were older and more mature now, but…Blake was a jock just like his friend, and I was a geek. Always had been and I always would be.

It wasn’t smart to hope that we could ever be anything more than unlikely friends with an even more unlikely sexual arrangement.

“Nice to meet you too.” Ezra released my hand and turned to Blake. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t know you had company. Of course, I would have known that if you’d answered your fuckin’ phone.”

“Sorry about that. I’ve been swamped preparing for finals and games and—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard about that. Gimme some,” Ezra held his meaty paw up for a high five, then drew Blake in for a bro hug. “Congrats, man. CIF champions? Who’d a thunk it?”

“Not quite. We got the quarterfinal win, but we have the semi on Friday. If we win, the championship game will be next.” Blake sidled by me and opened the refrigerator. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Ezra settled into the barstool I’d vacated earlier and turned to me. “Did you know this guy was a killer attackman?”

“That sounds…alarming,” I replied, skirting the island on the opposite side to avoid colliding into Blake.