“Why not?”
Other players turn to him.
Troy swallows hard. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Why limit yourself to half the population?” I continue, getting into it. “Like breasts are awesome.”
“That’s right!” Axel bumps fists with me and grins happily.
Bellanti scowls from the corner of the room.
“But,” I say, “I mean, have you thought about how great dicks are? How they grow? And harden? And spurt out cum you can eat?”
Troy blinks. Evan and Vinnie stare at me. In fact, everyone is.
“I mean, not like instead of getting food or anything,” I clarify. “And it usually takes a while for it to come out. You have to stroke the shaft, suck on the head, play with the balls. Get to really know it. Maybe it likes soft licks or fast licks. Or it likes being really sucked, so you can feel every vein, the smoothness of the skin, the way it jerks and grows in your mouth. Maybe it likes it when you take it all the way down your throat. When you press against it, so it fills your nostrils, and your whole world is salty and musky and warm, and the scent fills your body.”
My voice slows. The air turns heavy.
I can practically taste it.
Troy licks his lips.
He’s not the only one.
“They’re good at filling you up,” I continue, barely aware I’m still speaking. “Stretching you. Making you feel like there’s nothing else in the world except that pressure. That rhythm. Thrusting in and out of you, steady or fast or slow, until your breath stutters. Until you’re writhing with pleasure. Until you explode.”
Okay, everyone is definitely staring at me now.
I force myself to shake my head and attempt a nonchalant smile. “I just mean that dicks have good qualities.”
“Do you often think about their good qualities?” Finn asks, his expression somewhere between amusement and concern.
My chest thumps.
I want to tell them everything. I need to speak with Cal.
“Well.” Coach clears his voice. “That was educational, Larvik. Glad to see we can retire your title of ‘Most Homophobic Athlete in Professional Sports.’ Though in the future, ease up on all the anatomical detail.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Cal
Freezing rain patters against Sports Spheres’ oversized windows. Winter is disappearing, and the piles of snow that littered both sides of the road are gray and brittle, no longer adorned by reliable snowfalls of fresh snow. People march outside without bothering to wrap their hands and heads in bulky gloves and hats.
Jason is playing in Canada, and I pretend I don’t miss him.
I do. I miss him so much.
“Cal!” Rex’s voice booms over the click-clack of reporters typing and the constant hum of colleagues discussing projects and chatter on the phone.
I slink toward his desk. “I’m sorry, sir. I know I haven’t written the article on Jason Larvik yet.”
Rex waves his hand dismissively, even though Rex and nonchalance are oxymorons, even if he’s been looking decidedly less intimidating than when I first met him. His cheeks are more pink than gray, and he practically bounces when he walks. Maybe he enjoyed his time in Fiji.
“Please take the wages from my trip out of my paycheck.”
Rex gives me a strange look. “That wasn’t your fault, Cal.”
