Page 122 of Sweat

He sends me a timid smile, shrugging his shoulders. “Every dinner needs dessert, right?”

“We’ve got a match tomorrow. You eat all that shit tonight, you’ll be wearing it on the pitch tomorrow. I got you a sandwich.”

Groaning, Tommy concedes, shoving the chips back on the rack in front of him. “Fine, but I’m getting the Trolli’s and the mini donuts, and you’re gonna thank me later when we’re in bed and you’ve got a sugar craving.”

I laugh, because sugar cravings are all Tommy. Okay, sometimes I crave the occasional slushy, but the only thing I crave in bed is Tommy’s delicious body. “Alright, hand it over. I’ll pay.”

Figures Levi and Raisel are ordering a giant pizza from the hot foods menu. I swear, if we lose tomorrow, I’m blaming it on those carb addicts. Waiting behind them in line, Tommy slips his arm around my waist and tightens me to his side. Probably notices me shivering. I’m not used to Utah weather, and it’s just as chilly in here as it is outside, only less windy.

I must be fuck-drunk still, because it doesn’t occur to me how we must look until we step up to the counter in tandem and the big dude behind the register is eyeing us with a wrinkled up nose like he’s smelling something foul on us.

Fucking bigot.But I hate myself the most right now, because I shrug Tommy’s arm off when I drop our haul on the counter. While the bigot rings us up, he’s trading glances between me and Tommy like we’re a math problem, and my guess is thisdude didn’t get very far in grade-school math. “You two brothers?” he asks, and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, man,” I deadpan. “Just treating my baby brother to some snacks before I tuck him into bed and sing him to sleep.”

Off to the side, I hear Levi and Raisel snickering.

Under the cashier’s breath, he mutters, “Damn queers,” and it makes my skin bristle with rage.

“What the hell did you say?” I seethe in the moment before Tommy tugs me back. He puts his broad body between me and the counter.

“How much, man?” Tommy asks, his voice as deep as always, but dull now. No inflection, all business. It pisses me off. Not because of him, but because he’s got to play nice with this neanderthal who’s eyeing me over Tommy’s shoulder like I’m scum.

Tommy takes his wallet out of his back pocket and hands the dude his card, which only pisses me off more. Tommy is perfect, but the situation sucks ass. To make it worse, Levi and Raisel are watching, and they’re shaking their heads at me as if to say, “It’s not worth it.” I know it’s not worth it, but worth’s got nothing to do with how livid I am.

“Y’all from California?” asks the neanderthal.

“So what?” Tommy says.

The neanderthal scoffs, for whatever reason, and asks if we’d like a bag for all our shit. When it’s all bagged and in Tommy’s hand, I sidle up and take it from him while slipping my free arm around his waist. “Thanks, baby,” I tell him, while glaring daggers at the sour-faced dickhead.

“Let’s go,” he says, slipping his arm around my shoulders, and we head for the door, not waiting for the pizza twins.

We let go of each other as soon as we’re outside, and I scowl into the night as I march toward the Best Western.

“Hey.” Tommy jogs to catch up, and his palm closes around the nape of my neck. “Don’t let that asshole get to you.”

“I’m not,” I grit, jaw tight and my eyes still aching in their sockets, because that asshole clearly got to me. At least I’m not cold anymore. No longer shivering, but I’m shaking with anger. “Just wanna get back to the hotel. I’m fucking starving.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have put my arm around you like that.”

“Don’t do that. It’s not your fault. That dude is a miserable fuck.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees, throwing his arm around me. He slows me down by pressing me to his side and smooching my temple. “But, we’re not. We’re great fucks.”

A blush heats my face even more. “You think I’m a great fuck?”

“Words cannot describe the caliber of your ass, Row. That dude in there was just jealous he’ll never experience an orgasm half as good as the one your ass gave me.”

Flushed and grinning, I still somehow complain. “That prick doesn’t deserve even the weakest of handjobs.”

Tommy takes my hand that’s not gripping our food bag and brings my palm to his crotch. He’s hard, bulging against the fly of his jeans. “What do I deserve?” he asks hotly.

Smirking incredulously at his devilish babyface, I answer, “Anything you want, baby boy. Just you name it.”

Suddenly, I’m only starving for one thing, and it’s not among the many snacks weighing down the bag around my arm. As soon as we get back to our room, that bag gets tossed on the desk and forgotten, and our clothes become heaps across the carpet. I’ve got Tommy sprawled across the unmade bed, and I’m sitting on his thighs, slathering his pink, raging cock in clear lube. My fist moves so effortlessly along histhick shaft, and I can’t decide which sight is more arousing, his cock weeping in my hand or his face all twisted in pleasure.

“Tell me what you want,” I rasp.

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