Page 8 of Catch
Until Jett appears, outmaneuvring our captain and snatching the ball away like he plays this game every day.
Shit, the Crew has possession of the ball again.
I’m a good runner, not the fastest, but I have endurance. Jett, on the other hand, is like a fucking rocket, and no matter how I try, I can’t catch up to him. And our defense is surrounded by the Crew’s midfielders, Iggy and Wyatt.
Jett pushes it, hard, until he gets an opening. When he moves, he moves to strike. Maddox leaps into the left corner to block the shot, but the ball whizzes past him and slams into the back of the net.
1–0 Crew
“Fuck!” I shout in frustration as the whistle blows.
And I’m not the only one. Maddox lies on the grass and slams his hand on the ground while Kayden jogs over to speak to his boyfriend. I’m not close enough to hear what’s being said—I can hardly hear anything over the pounding of my heart—but obviously it calms Maddox down and he takes Kayden’s offered hand and gets back up.
“We got this!” I shout out. “Come on, we’ve still got time on the clock!”
Jett runs by and his teammates offer him high fives and cheers. He returns their smiles and suddenly looks over his shoulder. When our gazes clash, I’m helpless to look anywhere else. I swear he could burn this entire field to the ground with the fire in those green eyes of his. It’s a look that gets in my head more than I care to admit.
This doesn’t feel like a game. Jett’s on a mission to eviscerate us.
Me in particular.
I clear my throat and spit on the ground as a distraction. Yeah, it’s gross, but that’s the point. I can’t let this guy get the better of me—or my team. No one gets in my head that way.
“It’s only one goal,” I taunt him as I wipe the sweat and spit off my face. “We’re not done yet.”
He turns around and lets out another wicked smile.
“One is all it takes.” Jett rubs his hands together and lets out a husky laugh. “Man, I can’t wait to get my hands on your hair.”
Without pause, I look away.
The thought of him touching me is… uh, what the fuck? I don’t know why it happens, but my balls tighten. If I didn’t have a cup on, I’d be reaching down to adjust myself. It’s not uncommon for guys to get hard when playing sports, adrenaline needs somewhere to go, but still, what’s going on with me?
It has nothing to do with him; it’s a reaction to stress.
And maybe a concern that he’s going to knee me. I’m tempted to reach down to protect myself, never mind adjust.
Come on, Ethan, focus.
Unlike hockey, the clock doesn’t stop in soccer for any reason until the half is over. So there’s no time to waste. We’ve still got five minutes until we break.
Josiah blows his whistle and the play resumes.
I shove Jett’s comment—and my weird reaction—to the back of my mind where it belongs.
We play our best, but when the five minutes are up, the Crew’s still ahead 1–0. Thank fuck we get a break because my legs are burning and my lungs too. It feels like I’ve already run a marathon, and we still have forty-five minutes to go. Kudos to the guys who play this for a living, because soccer ain’t easy.
We rehydrate and regroup. I chat with everyone, but my eyes keep wandering across the field. I notice that Jett is standing with Archie, Jackson, and Hudson, the foursome huddled together. Jett’s looking more upset than angry, swiping at his eyes, and suddenly his friends reach out and hug him. What’s going on there?
Jett’s gaze suddenly snaps up, and I follow his line of vision. Ugh, his boyfriend Renner has arrived.
“I said I don’t want to talk to you!”
I can hear Jett’s voice clear across the field.
“Leave me alone!”
But Renner’s not moving. Well, he moves, but he’s taking a step forward and reaching for Jett. He looks angry as fuck and starts shouting back.
