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"Coach!" Lane runs back onto the field towards me. I turn to nod towards the dean before giving the quarterback my attention. "I thought you'd be inside already,” he says. “I'm thinking Perry deserves the first game ball of the season."
I raise my eyebrows, surprised. The entire team played well, and both he and Gipson were partly responsible for the number of points that went up on the board tonight. They played as a team. But I can also see that Lane is being a good captain, and making a show of accepting Jack into this new, winning team.
"You know what, Masters? I think that's a fantastic idea. Might help the rest of the guys come around." I pat him on the shoulder, gesturing him back inside to the team. "But, Masters—keep the celebratory drinks to a minimum, will ya?"
He laughs. "Will do, Coach."
I stare at my phone. Or maybe I'm staring at the $300 bottle of Macallan that it's propped up on. Hell, I'm staring at both. Two things that represent the one thing I can't have?—
Oblivion.
I've been sober for almost seven years now, but I keep this bottle to taunt myself. I get a twisted sort of satisfaction out of dangling something I can't have in front of me, and I find myself staring at this bottle more often than not. It’s familiar—the pain and the desire. No matter how much I want to open that bottle, to pour myself a few fingers of the amber liquid and roll the flavor around on my tongue, to submit to the numbness it promises, I won't. The strength of my willpower is my comfort, even if the effort is excruciating.
I've let myself indulge in Jack Perry, let myself fall into this ridiculous fallacy of a relationship. He's become a drug, addictive in the same way whiskey and Oxy used to be. The difference being that instead of numbness, the oblivion he promises is chaos and ecstasy. Blood rushing, heart pounding, bone deep lust. He's an upper, and though I've only ever been addicted to downers, that is quickly changing.
Earlier today, he said he wanted me to fuck him, and it's the only thing I've been able to think about since. I want to fuck Jack desperately. But that desperation is dangerous, as is this game we've been playing.
I’ve succeeded in making Jack Perry the best college football player he can be, but can I maintain progress without falling deeper into this situation? Is it too late to pull back the reins on the motivation that has worked so well? Now that summer training is over, I should pull back on all of it, expect him to follow through on his own now that I've laid the groundwork.
I've tried creating more distance between us. Hell, we barely spent any time in each other's presence this past week since school started. But when he cornered me in my office with that hungry look on his face? I knew this was becoming more than just a game we're playing.
I jump when the phone rings, a video call coming through. For a minute, I don't move, watching it ring until Jack's name disappears from the screen. Then I get a text notification.
JP: Answer. You know you want to.
It rings again, this time just a phone call. I answer like the weak sack of shit I am.
"Jack," I say expectantly.
"Jack," he repeats in my tone. "I was calling to see if you wanted me to come over and suck you off, or if maybe you'd enjoy a video of someone sucking me off."
I sigh. "You're drunk."
"Eh, not really. I've got this annoyingly gruff voice in the back of my head that ruins everything fun I try to do. So not only have I said no to keg stands and every shot that's been given to me, I also missed out on naked Jello wrestling with the cheer squad," he says wistfully.
I chuckle. "Where are you now?"
"On my way back to the dorm. The party was getting a little rowdy, and there are some boundaries we need to establish."
"What do you mean by that?" Jack’s never been a boundaries kind of guy, so I’m more than a little curious to hear what he’ll say next.
"Hold on a sec." I hear his footsteps echoing in what sounds like a stairwell, then a burst of noise. "This dorm is a bit loud now that there are other students here. I just have to get to my door."
Voices call out his name, congratulating him on a great game. I grin, happy to hear the other students accepting him. Even in the cheapest dorms, this university is full of spoiled rich kids who will take any opportunity to step on someone they consider lower than them.
Finally, Jack makes it into his room, switching his call to video. I worry over the notification for a minute, but then accept, propping the phone back against the bottle and leaning back in my chair. Jack plops himself back on his bed and holds the phone above him, so I'm looking down on him. I don't hate the angle.
"What do you mean by boundaries?" I ask, keeping my face indifferent.
Jack's mouth twists, like he's not sure if he wants to have this conversation after all.
"If you like, we can go back to the regular phone. Maybe it'll be easier to spit out whatever it is you want to say?"
He puffs out a breath, the front of his hair pushing up away from his forehead. "Nah, it's good. I just don't know where to start. I'm not drunk enough to be as blunt as I'd like." His Alabama twang sounds thicker than usual, and it heats my blood.
"I give you permission," I say, amused. "Say whatever you need to say, and for the length of this phone call, I won't hold anything against you."
He quirks his lips. "What if I want you to hold it against me?"
