Page 11 of Strong Side

Do not look at his ass, Clay. Do not look at his ass.

Fuck. I looked at it.

Feeling impatient and wanting to remove his impeccable ass from my line of site as soon as possible, I sightly bend over and reach around him to grab my bag. Rocky flinches in surprise and stumbles backward half a step.

The moment his ass comes in contact with the half-chub I got from looking at his ass, his entire body freezes.

Fuck.

As much as my dick would like me to stay put, my brain tells me to move. Following its wise advice, I promptly take a step back. Rocky stays still for a moment, and then, like something out of a horror film, he slowly stands and spins to face me. The entire motion feels like it takes five minutes when I know it was nothing longer than two seconds. When his face finally meets mine, I swallow hard. His glare quite literally looks like it would scare the devil himself.

Rocky takes a deep breath through his nose, and just when I think he’s about to chew my asshole a new one, he storms off in the direction of the court without so much as a word.

I look down at my dick. “Now look what you did.”

Remember when I said Jax and I were similar in the respect that I don’t get mad or yell often, but when I do, you better sit down and listen to the fuck up?

Yeah, now I’m fucking pissed.

We’re barely ten minutes into the first set, and we’re down one to six.

ONE TO FUCKING SIX!

Every ounce of progress we made over the last three weeks has seemingly evaporated into the humid, gulf air. Rocky is too busy acting like I stole his goddamnbirthday, all because he accidentally backed his ass up into my minorly hard dick.

Whoopty-fucking-doo! It’s a dick. He has one. They get hard.

Get the hell over it.

Now he wants to stand out here and act like our futures aren’t on the line because he can’t pull his head out of his ass.

Destin serves the ball. Rocky has to dig for it but he manages to pass it to me. He’s up and out of the sand just as I’m about to set it back row, knowing he won’t have enough time to reach the net. But instead of doing the smart play and waiting for my set, he attacks the right side. I watch in mounting frustration as my set falls flat in the sand.

The ref blows the whistle and signals for us to switch sides now that we’re at seven points. And instead of acknowledging that he screwed up, he storms off the court, grabs his water bottle, and moves to the opposite bench.

Yeah, this is not fucking happening today.

Forgoing my much-needed water break, I make my way over to him in a few long strides, trying and failing to calm the rage bubbling inside of me.

By the time Rocky’s gaze meets mine I’m in front of him with his jersey fisted in both my hands before he hasa chance to side-step me again. “What the fuck is your problem?”

He tries to push off of me, but my hold on his jersey only tightens. I’m more than aware of the ref and the spectators staring at us, but I don’t care. “Nothing is my problem, Aldrich. Get the fuck off of me.”

We’re back to Aldrich now? Cool. Great.

It’s like that day in the hallway all those weeks ago. I will not fucking stand for it any longer.

We’re supposed to be partners.

“I thought we were good? I thought we put all this bullshit behind us? So, what the fuck is the problem?” Without even knowing it, I realize I’ve pulled him closer to me. Our bodies are now only an inch apart, my face directly above his. I can see the sweat from the hot Florida sun dripping down his forehead.

A look of resignation crosses his face before he inhales a deep breath and says softly, “Nothing, Clay. I’m fine.”

I tip my head ever so slightly. If he moved even a fraction of an inch, our lips would touch. My voice is low now, practically a growl, as I answer, “If you’re fine, then fucking act like it. This isn’t a one-man show. If you want to be part of a team, then pull your head out of your ass and get it in the goddamn game.”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple times as his green eyes wage war with mine, but before he has a chance to respond I shove off of him, retrieve the volleyball, and head to the back of the court to get ready for my serve.

1. “Dirty Little Secret” The All-American Rejects

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