Page 52 of Ancient History

The light in his eyes went out, thanks to me and my terrible choices in the past.

The wheels turned in Amos’s head. He sat in his desk chair, hunched over like that thinking sculpture guy.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“What would’ve happened?” It was dangerous to go down this path of what if, but I needed to hear it.

“We would’ve walked in holding hands. I’d be squeezing your hand so tight, but you would give me this look that calmed my nerves. People would talk, but we would ignore them. We’d slow dance together to ‘You & I’by One Direction. People would be looking at us, and some guys would probably mutter slurs, but it wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t be able to bring us down.” A glow took over his face, so bright I felt it in my heart. “Because we had each other. Whenever we got scared, we could look at each other.”

“And then what? What about the next ten years?”

“We’d go to different schools as planned. We each had scholarships, so I wouldn’t want to jeopardize those.”

I let out a soft laugh. Leave it to Amos to be practical in his wildest dreams.

“But we would visit each other on weekends. I’d cheer you on at all of your games. You’d introduce me as your boyfriend to all of your teammates.”

“And I would cheer you on at all of your quiz bowl tournaments. I’d bring handmade signs and brag to everyone in the audience that I was your boyfriend. When your team won, I’d jump up and scream FUCK YEAH.”

“And then you’d get banned from attending all future quiz bowl tournaments.”

“It’d be worth it.” I would be the biggest quiz bowl groupie in history.

Amos pushed his chair closer, narrowing the gap between us, and adding kindling to this fire. I desperately wanted to grab him, pull him into me, and taste his salty skin.

“And then what?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and let myself dream. “I would get drafted into Major League Soccer, but I’d be a top pick. All your support at college games would make me more focused. I’d play for New York or LA, and you would come with me. You would teach at some ritzy prep school and dish about your spoiled, overprotected students over dinner. You would come to most of my games, schedule permitting. You would be my lucky charm, keep me from busting my knee.”

“I’d watch cooking shows and prepare a new meal for you when you got back from away games.”

“I’d be traveling a lot. We’d be apart for days or weeks at a time.” I sighed. Things wouldn’t be all sunshine and roses.

“It’d be hard, but we’d make it work,” he said, his emerald eyes sparking with pure warmth.

“Would it? I knew quite a few guys in the league who’d gotten divorced because the strain traveling had put on their marriages.”

“Let’s try this then.” Amos scooted closer, a whisper of space between our knees. “We’d be living in some tiny apartment, only seeing each other a few days a month. You would play a few years, but then decide coaching was where you excelled. So you’d take a job coaching at your old high school, shepherding the same team to victory that you led all those years ago. And I would take a job teaching history there, too, and in between classes, we’d sneak off to the janitor’s closet to make out.”

He pushed me back on the bed. Before I could question what was happening and if this was part of the game, he crawled on top of me, our lips meeting in a ferocious blend of lust and want.

Those lips. Those blessed lips that I’d dreamed about, that had wrapped me in ecstasy all throughout high school were on me again. They were better than anything I remembered. Salty and hot and all mine.

I fucking melted. An ice cube plopped on the equator.

Amos heaved heavy breaths against my lips, moaning into my mouth like a geyser of need. He rutted against my aching crotch, my cock fully hard and fully wanting to be free. My hands swooped down the curve of his back and slipped under his shirt, letting his sizzling skin pulse under my fingertips.

He moaned harder into me, his teeth grabbing my bottom lip.

I ripped off his black T-shirt and flicked my thumbs over his nipples. He writhed atop me, a fish out of water, pushing me down and taking the life out of me.

I clamped both hands on his ass, just as firm as it’d been. I gave it a hard slap.

“Need you.” He panted out. His eyes were heavy-lidded and ablaze with lust.

He shoved his hands under my shirt and groaned as he hit the ridges of my abs and pecs.

I couldn’t unbutton this stupid ‘90s shirt fast enough; my fingers tumbled over buttons.

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