Page 83 of Make the Play
“Hmm?” Emerson hums, finding it difficult to form full words with Jason looking at him so intensely. It has his insides squirming, but not in the painfully discomfortable way he’s used to when other people make eye contact with him. This is different, makes him want things he’s not sure he’s ever wanted with another person. He’s daydreamed about sex, touched himself plenty of times, but the idea of actually having sex with someone is just not something he spent time imagining. He’s imagining it now, in ways that make his suit feel a little too tight.
“A one point safety.” Emerson waits for an explanation, relieved when Jason curls his fingers in his hair and continues, “It’s a play when one team scores a touchdown, but the opposing team manages to get the ball off a turnover and runs it back into the end zone for a tackle. It’s improbable. So much so, it’s only happened three times in college football and never in the NFL, but that doesn’t mean it can’t.”
The irony of spending his formative years being tormented by his cousin and Landon’s fellow football players, who constantly reminded him how awkward, unpopular and unliked he was, only to find a man who loves the sport like he needs it to breathe, yet somehow also thinks Emerson is equally special, makes him want to laugh. He settles for smiling, something he does a lot now.
“Are you comparing me to football again?”
“I mean, yeah.” Jason grins, entirely unabashed. “Football is fucking great. Like you. Shit, I know we’re supposed to get back out to the dance, but I wish I could just stay in here with you. Talk to you, kiss you.”
“You can kiss me,” Emerson blurts, blushing at how eager he sounds.
“Yeah?” Jason’s tongue darks out to lick over the swell of his bottom lip, his smile turning sweet. It draws Emerson’s attention to the dimple in his chin and the sharp line of his jaw. Jason really is handsome.
Suddenly all Emerson can think about is what it might be like if Jason were naked. With him. If they were both naked. What might it be like to feel another man against him—to feel Jason. Jason’s got a lot of hair, he’s got it on his chest and thighs. Emerson kind of wants to rub against it like a cat which is maybe weird, but also sounds like sensory heaven. Would Jason like that? He’s used to sex with women. Women who probably aren’t inexperienced.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“Huh?” Emerson blinks, shivering when Jason’s hand settles on top of his head. The weight of it is oddly soothing.
“I said what’s going on in that pretty head of yours? You look a million miles away.”
“I was thinking about you naked.”
It’s only when Jason chokes on his own spit, pink splotches blossoming on his cheeks, that it occurs to Emerson maybe he wasn’t supposed to answer that question quite so honestly.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t ever apologize for being honest,” Jason says, the faintest quiver to his voice. “Or uh, thinking about me naked. Full permission to think about me however you like whenever you like. Just uh, shit.”
“What?”
Jason clears his throat, reaching down to adjust his pants. “That’s gonna make chaperoning difficult.”
“Are you hard?” Emerson asks, eyes drawn down to the noticeable bulge in Jason’s very well tailored suit.
Jason blows out a breath, laughing softly. “Yes.”
“Because I’m thinking about you naked?” Emerson presses, needing to be sure.
“I mean that,” Jason confirms, still blushing, “and you just existing.”
Pleasure spreads through Emerson, swift and all encompassing. Never in his life has his mere existence been something someone else was so happy about, and his fingers do their happy taps at Jason’s words. It would be so easy to overthink it, to try and analyze unspoken subtext the way he has to with most people. Except Jason isn’t like most people. When Jason says something, he means it. The sense of safety this affords Emerson is immeasurable. There’s no second guessing or worrying. What you see is what you get with Jason King, and he sure likes what he sees.
“I should probably get back out there,” Jason says, making no move to leave. “I really want to kiss you again.”
“I thought you needed to leave.”
“I do,” Jason says, scrubbing a hand over his freshly shaved jaw. The skin is so smooth that Emerson can’t help but wonder how it might feel to lick it. “I also need to kiss you.”
“Need or want?” Emerson asks, unsure when his heart started beating so fast.
“Both,” Jason answers, maneuvering Emerson until his back is pressed to the door. The music from outside is so loud it vibrates against his back, a stark contrast to the steady presence Jason makes against his front. “What are you doing to me, Emmy?”
“I don’t think I’m doing anything,” Emerson answers.
Jason’s laugh is small, the sound muffled when he presses his lips to Emerson’s in a kiss so sensual and slow that Emerson understands exactly what kind of problem Jason had with his suit a moment ago. He always assumed when he read about people getting aroused from just a kiss that it was an exaggeration, that it might take more stimulation to get him going since it takes him so long to get out of his own head to even jerk off. Yet with a single kiss from Jason, he’s half-hard in his suit and imagining what it might be like to touch another man’s cock for the first time.
Maybe all those books he read had something right after all because he’s pretty sure he could die happy kissing Jason. Being driven to distraction by thoughts of sex is another thing he was certain was a literary exaggeration; yet crushed between the door and Jason’s body, there is no exaggeration in thinking this is the most incredible thing he’s ever felt.
