Page 3 of The Rival

Yet as I moved to stand, my eyes fell to Jason’s body, fully on display, and I was unable—unwilling?—to look elsewhere.

Jason made up for his height with thick, powerful thighs. I could only assume the kind of workout and nutrition routine he put himself through to get so muscular. Whatever he was doing at the gym, the man clearly never skipped leg day. To my surprise, he had a large, nasty scar on his thigh trailing down to his knee, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of injury could have caused it.

My eyes were already in the area, and they inevitably drifted to the soda can he had for a dick hanging between his legs. As if the universe hadn’t blessed him enough already, Jason Alvarez was hung too. But if I was being honest, this wasn’t a shocker; I’d brushed up against him a few times while trying to penetrate into the paint or going for a rebound, and I’d felt it by accident. Still, it was different seeing it in person. If only I could forget who it was attached to.

“See something you like, Swanson?”

Hearing him call me out by my surname in a mocking sultry voice jerked me out of my stupor. I stumbled to my feet so fast my hand lost its grip on the sudsy soap bar that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. How could I not look? Anyone would have, gay or otherwise. It wasn’t like Jason was trying to cover himself for modesty.

“I get it,” Jason feign-reassured, slowly running a hand down his slick chest and abs. His fingers slid through a wet trail of hair leading downward. With him facing me, nothing was left to my imagination. “You can’t help but look. I know I’m hard to miss.”

His comment was all the encouragement my body needed to betray me. My gaze couldn’t help but follow the path his hand made down his body, and my mouth watered at the sight of him touching himself.

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen Jason without his shirt; I should’ve been immune to it by now. Around the court, Jason was always eager to flash his abs to the ladies in the stands. Every game, a group of women showed up to ooh and awe at him, calling themselves his unofficial fanclub. It was so annoying to play against Eastvale because his mobile cheer-squad always banshee shrieked whenever he made a great play. Whenever he wiped the sweat off his face with his jersey, he would show a little flash of skin and toned muscles, and it would only make them scream louder.

Everyone in the league said Jason was a notorious playboy. People claimed Jason had a woman for every single day of the week, but if this was true, none of this seemed to smudge his gold-star reputation across the county. Even the older moms who managed the booster clubs for the local high school sports teams loved him and thought he was the “pinnacle of manhood.” Their husbands could only look on in pure envy, wishing they could mimic whatever workout routine Jason had mastered in order to earn a similar body. It was nauseating to witness, even if I could understand the feeling.

I had been down this road before. When I first met Jason, yeah, sure, even I could admit I’d checked him out in a moment of weakness. Back then, I thought I would have to reign in mydesire if I had any hope of playing against him in this league. Thankfully, Jason made it easy by opening his mouth and squashing whatever seedling of attraction had tried to grow in my heart.

Alone with him in the shower, I was having a hard time focusing on anything other than the rhythmic movement of his fingers as they rose up the meridian of his chest, stopping to draw circles on his sternum. It was mesmerizing, and I realized I was losing ground fast. If I wanted to keep the high ground, I had to catch myself before it was too late.

What the fuck had he said? That he was hard to miss?

“That’s… That’s not what your shooting percentage says,” I mocked.

Jason’s smirk fell, and his hand dropped to his side. “We scored thesameamount of points.”

He was right, but I couldn’t help but rub it in. Westvale had won, after all. He hated being reminded that there was a slight discrepancy in our stats now after tonight’s game. Worse, the numbers would remain that way until basketball season returned next year.

A beat passed as he rubbed his jaw, contemplating his next move. His eyes flashed down at the slippery soap bar near the drain. He bent down to retrieve it with ease and then offered it to me.

“Relax. What guy hasn’t accidentally looked a time or two,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. His smile was all teeth. “There’s no shame in it.”

Looking back on this moment with hindsight, this was the turning point. This was Jason offering me an out.

Except he was wrong. There was a degree of shame in it, because the moment people found out the truth, you couldn’t go back in the closet. Some guys couldn’t stand the idea of sharing a locker room with someone who wasn’t straight. I had no reason to believe Jasonwasn’tone of those guys, so I figured if I just played dumb about what he was insinuating, then maybe he would let it go. Maybe after being humbled by my slipup, he would consider us even.

I snatched the soap out of his hands and shifted away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumbled to the tile wall.

Except Jason had no interest in letting this go.

“C’mon. I was watching you,” he teased. “You tilted your head earlier. You were checking me out.”

“As if I would ever! Why the hell wereyouwatching me anyways?” I snapped my head to the side, mindful to keep my eyes fixed on his. “Mind your own business.”

“Or what,” he growled, stepping closer into my space, “you’ll elbow me in the face again?”

I gawked at him. “You’re really holding a grudge over something that happened years ago? That was an accident!”

“Yeah.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Sure.”

“It was! I would never deliberately hurt someone, asshole, even you.”

Where did this guy get off? If he was salty over one accidental elbow, then I deserved to open my own Himalayan salt mine for all the times he wasn’t called on a foul during games. Injuries happened, but none of them were intentional.

Jason stared me down—or ratherupat me, to his chagrin. I had a few inches on him, and now more than ever, our minor height difference turned me into a smug little shit.

“You’re not the first guy to get a black eye during a game, Alvarez.”

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