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JACK
By the time we reach the hotel, I'm bouncing out of my seat. I need to stretch my legs and run around to get some of this energy out. Most of all, I need to shower.
It's pretty late already, and our game is at 11:30 tomorrow morning. But most of us napped, and we're all starving. There's a chain restaurant across the parking lot from the hotel that is still open for another hour, so everyone plans to throw their stuff in their rooms and walk over to get food before calling it a night. I rush through a quick sponge bath and change of clothes, because I'm a mess. There's dried cum all over my torso and thighs, and my shirt got soaked. I wiped most of it away with the small blanket that the bus provided. I feel bad about shoving it in the trash before we cleared off the bus.
I wonder if the bus driver will know what those white stains on the back seat are, or figure out why he's completely out of the shitty, thin paper towels they stock the tiny bathroom with. My hoodie covered the damage to my shirt, but there are streaks on my shorts. Clearly, that got out of hand in a way I wasn't ready for. I hadn’t anticipated coming that hard, or that I wouldn't be able to stop, since Bryant had the control and he's a sadistic bastard. I also didn't think that he would get out of his seat, march purposefully down to the back of the bus, and fucking cum on me before walking away like nothing happened.
Fuck. That man.
The guys are rowdy as hell in the restaurant, which turns out to be a buffet style place called Sirloin Stockade. I'm pretty sure we clean them out of whatever food they had left, and no matter how neatly we stack the plates we use, there is still a mess when we leave. The waitresses seem to be entertained by us, though, and I'm not surprised when I overhear a couple of the guys inviting them to sneak into their hotel rooms tonight. We make it worth all their time, because not only do the coaches pay for our meals with a gratuity added, but most of the guys throw some money on the table, so they get a hefty extra tip.
I have a little too much fun enjoying an ice cream cone on the walk back to the hotel, because I know that he's watching. Turns out, he's not the only one.
"Damn, Jack. You lick that cone like I wish Grant's mom would lick my cock," Alex jokes.
I tense for a moment, a small amount of fear flashing through me, but everyone's laughing at Grant chasing Alex across the parking lot, not paying any attention to my small panic attack. I get myself together in time for a comeback, knowing that the one way to throw someone off your tracks is to not be afraid of it. If I call him names or get upset, it'll only stand out. This is just how guys play.
So when Alex looks back at me, I jokingly wink at him and shove the whole cone in my mouth. Alex groans dramatically, setting off another fit of laughter from the guys around us. By the time we're back at the hotel, everyone is laughing about something that one of the rookies did on their bus, but I'm not listening. I'm busy planning.
At the front desk, I make a point to flirt with the hostess, and she gives us access to the indoor pool, which is normally closed after ten, if we promise to behave. The way she's winking when she says it tells me she's expecting me to come see her while my buddies are swimming, but she's not likely to see me again.
I'm sharing a room with one of the defensive ends, a quiet guy named Mike. He seems cool enough, but doesn't talk much. That suits me just fine. I'm busy thinking about how I'm going to sneak out and make it down the hall to the room I saw Bryant has to himself. When Mike grabs some swim trunks and asks why I'm not getting ready, I brush him off.
"Nah, man. I'm tired as fuck, and I didn't bring swim trunks. I might pop down later to talk to the redhead, though," I say with a wink.
After he leaves, I take a quick shower and mess up my blankets before looking to see if the coast is clear. If Mike comes back while I'm gone, I'll just say I got restless and went for a walk. I don’t plan to be gone long, though.
I walk quickly and quietly down the hall in nothing but a pair of black sleep pants. My cock is already half hard and pressing against the thin fabric. I find myself flexing as I knock on the door, and I stop before I embarrass myself. What the fuck is wrong with me?
When the door opens, his eyes widen. Not with excitement, but with fear.
"What the fuck are you doing, Jack?"
"I dunno. What the fuck are you doing?" I sarcastically parrot back, grabbing my bulge for good measure.
His phone rings, and he backs into the room to answer it. I take the opportunity to come in and close the door behind me, even though he's shaking his head furiously and waving me out, mouthing, "No, get out!" I ignore him and drop my pants, because I know he can't resist this dick, and he fucking owes me after the cum bath he gave me on the bus.
"Yeah, alright. See you in a minute," he says into the phone, looking at me pointedly.
He hangs up and slams his phone down. "You have to get out of here, right fucking now."
“Why—” There's a knock at the door.
Fuck. It's too fucking late now.
Bryant looks panicked. "One sec," he calls as we scramble for a place to hide. I open the closet door, but it's too small and already has a large suitcase in there.. He waves me away from the bathroom, because what if they need to use it? There isn't enough space under the bed. The only place left for me to go is out on the balcony, which is where he pushes me before closing and locking the fucking door.
There's only one problem: I'm butt fucking naked, and it's fucking freezing outside. I scrunch down and hug my knees, listening closely to whoever's visiting him at this time of night. Don't they know he's old and needs his beauty sleep?
My humor isn't enough to keep me warm, and it doesn’t take long before I'm shivering. I peek through a small gap in the glass door and see Bryant let Coach Sanders in.
"Come on in, Tuck," he says, holding the door open and looking calm, like nothing out of sorts is happening. Why the fuck is he letting him in? Tell him to fuck off!
I watch as Bryant kicks my pants under the bed before Sanders sees them, walking in and sitting down at the small table. They're having some kind of fucking meeting? Now?
"It's cold as hell in here, man," Sanders says as he takes a seat.
"Yeah, sorry. The heat was hiked up too high while we were at dinner. I opened the door to air it out a bit," he explains smoothly. Impressive cover, I'll give him that.
