Page 44 of Advanced Chemistry

“Is there skill involved?” I huffed out a laugh. Sebastian and I shared a look. “You want to take this one, Seb?”

“Wrestling is a difficult sport of executing complex, physically demanding moves to pin your opponent. It’s not a street fight. There’s a coordination to it.”

“You have to stay within the regulation moves and outthink your opponent constantly,” I said.

“I may need to see some of these moves in action in order to accurately gauge wrestling’s degree of difficulty,” said Chase. The way he spoke was unlike anyone I’d ever met. It was smart-sexy. I could barely keep up with him.

Sebastian and I moved the coffee table to the corner of the room, using the rug underneath as our mock mat. We got into opposite corners, hunched over, our wrestling training coming back to us.

“You both look like lions about to pounce,” Chase observed.

“This is the starting position,” I said. “Right now, I’m looking at Seb and sizing up my competition. Which foot is he landing on, which way is he tilted, is he right-handed or left-handed and how will that play into the moves he uses.”

Sebastian, for his part, was really into the scenario, staring me down in full competition mode. “I’m doing the same to Anton. If I can see how he situates himself, I can take a guess at what moves he’ll try first.”

“Will you call go,” I asked Chase, our unofficial ref.

“Uh, go?”

And we were off. Muscle memory came into play as Sebastian and I circled each other. His T-shirt clung to his chest, the dip between his pecs distracting me for a second, giving him the upper hand. Sebastian charged at me, throwing his arms around my waist and trying to pin me to the floor.

Trying being the operative word. I might’ve been thrown off by his hot bod, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. We wrestled in our tight embrace, our legs out for balance, circling around the tight quarters, bumping into furniture. The friction of our chests rubbing against each other got me all discombobulated. I’d wrestled hundreds of guys in high school, and I never had this reaction. I prided myself on keeping my sexuality off the mat. I knew I was representing gay athletes, and one could not pop a boner during a meet. But the heat of Sebastian was intoxicating. Had my friend always been this manly and ravenous?

Sebastian grunted in my ear, and it set off mini fireworks as I remembered his grunting from last weekend. The way he threw his head back as he unloaded into Chase’s pretty mouth.

And down I fucking went.

I stared up at the ceiling, pride wounded and head a blur.

“So with that round, I had to outthink him and get him off balance. Mind and strength.”

You didn’t outwit me, Seb. You unwittingly used your manly wiles to throw me off. Damn you and your sex appeal.

“We need a rematch,” I said. “Best of three.”

“You’re on.”

“I’m sorry, but what moves?” Chase asked. He stood over us, head cocked to the side. “All I saw were two semi-drunk guys in a bear grip trying to throw each other to the ground.”

“We’ll call out moves we’re using,” I said. That would help me stay present and not get lost in Sebastian’s musky scent and manly grunting.

Sebastian and I returned to our starting places. I hunched over, heaving breath, refusing to lose again but also noticing the sparkle in his crystal blue eyes. Was that how he won championships? Hypnotizing opponents with his gaze?

“And go,” Chase said half-heartedly.

I charged at Sebastian, but he sensed my move and ducked. I’d given myself away too easily. Shit. He pummeled me to the ground. Before he could pin me, I pushed out of his grip and threw him back. We circled each other, two animals on the hunt. Sebastian charged at me. I grabbed him back, my hands falling to his ass.

“That’s an illegal move,” he said between grunts that scrambled my circuits.

Extremely illegal. But man, what an ass.

“I’m trying to do a single leg takedown,” I said with strained breath.

“You two are really getting into it,” Chase observed.

Yeah, in more ways than one. Sebastian’s hand grazed over the massive hard-on tenting my pants.

“Talk about an illegal move,” I said, holding back a groan of delight at his touch.

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