Page 47 of Hot Receiver

I wrap my fingers tight around the fork and shovel in the final bite of eggs, all while trying to tune out the television in the next room.

All the ESPN commentators can talk about is the press conference where I swooped in to save Zak’s ass, our brief history at Ohio State, and how Brett Travers is gonna throw a wrench into our brewing bromance when we face off on the field today.

They’re not focused on the game, our strategy, or the players who’ve worked their asses off to prepare for today.

I drain my glass of orange juice and slam it on the table next to my plate. It’s almost time for me to get to the stadium, and I still feel half-asleep since I barely caught a single wink last night.

How could I when my hand was working overtime to relieve the persistent ache in my balls? Cold showers didn’t do a goddamn thing to stop the highlight reel from looping through my mind. Every time those images flashed infront of my eyes, I gripped my cock tight, imagining it was Zak’s lips clamped down on it, pulling and tugging and sucking…

My phone buzzes. I scrub a hand down the front of my stubbled face and drop my half-open eyes drop to the screen.

“Fuck,” I groan when Anna’s name flashes.

She’d wanted to come over last night, but I made up an excuse that I needed to unwind at home…alone…to get my head straight for the game today.

What a joke.

As long as Zak Kacey has control of my heart, my head will forever be fucked.

I hover a finger over the screen and stare at it until her name disappears and the buzzing stops, like a total chicken shit who can’t face the truth enough to say it out loud.

Maybe she’s calling to break up with me because she realized she deserves better than to be jerked around by a closeted guy who is secretly and hopelessly in love with another man. I’ve never turned down a night of no-strings-attached-friends-with-benefits sex before Zak crept under my skin and made me reminisce about all those hot and sweaty nights we shared years ago.

Then, after replicating a couple of them, he’s burrowed himself even deeper to the point where I can’t fucking rid myself of him or the feelings that bubble up every time I think of his gorgeous face, fuck-me eyes, and rock-hard body plastered on top of mine.

I’m failing Marc. Part of the deal was for me to be attached to Anna’s hip in the media to take negative focus off Zak and get fans excited for the season and maybe even some surprise appearances from my Hollywood golden girl.

Of course, it would help if the guy would stop fucking taking the bait and basically diving right into the traps those ignorant assholes keep setting up for him.

But it wouldn’t change the fact that it’s still Zak I want to be attached to more than I want a goddamn Super Bowl ring.

I slide back, the chair legs screeching against the tile floor. With a deep sigh, I stand up and drop my plate, fork, and glass into the dishwasher.

It’s a jarring realization. I never thought I’d care about anyone more than football, fame, and the glory of winning a Super Bowl, least of all a guy. Not that it matters. Zak doesn’t want me, and I can’t blame him. My head is so twisted, I feel like the possessed kid fromThe Exorcist.

How long can I really string Anna along? She’s gonna get edgy and confront me. Even though we’re just friends, I’ve been ditching her left and right, and it’s not cool. I’m acting like an asshole, and it has to stop. I’m not that guy. We have that benefit tomorrow night. Maybe that’d be a good time for us to talk.

My gut wrenches.

Goddammit. Travers will be there, too.

So many fucking secrets. Even more lies.

And I can’t escape any of them. They all tug tight around my chest like thick chains, slowly choking me to death. It’s the worst torture, way worse than just being dead, if you ask me.

I scroll to my missed calls and stab the button to call back.

“Hey,” I say gruffly when she answers. “Sorry I missed you before.”

“It’s okay.” She pauses. “I was worried about you last night. You didn’t sound right.”

“Yeah.” I pound the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I guess I’m just a little preoccupied about the game today.”

“But it’s only preseason.”

And somehow, that innocent and very true comment pisses me the fuck off.

Itisonly preseason.

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