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"I guess that's why you're so sweaty then," Sanders says, gesturing to the sheen of sweat coating his forehead.
"I guess."
"You alright?"
"Eh, bit of a headache, if I'm being honest. Let's make this quick and get some rest before tomorrow."
They go over what sounds like last-minute defense strategies while my balls shrivel in the cold. I miss a lot of what they're saying, the chattering of my teeth and the increasingly biting wind drowning out most of their conversation. I overhear something about a press conference, and then Sanders is finally standing up to leave.
"You sure you want to let him go after this season?" I hear Sanders ask, and my ears perk up. "He's damn good. If we talk him into staying through senior year, we could have two winning seasons in a row."
Bryant makes a non-committal noise. "You picked a good one, I'll give you that. But I made promises to get him here, and I don't know that I could keep him interested long enough to keep his shit together through another season."
Wrong.
My eyes widen at the realization that as much as I've been looking forward to my big break, I probably would stay—if he asked me to. The sudden epiphany makes me worry for myself. It’s proof that this is more than just a diversion, more than just getting my rocks off.
I've got a big, gay crush on my football coach.
"You've done well with him, though. He's doing better than I ever expected, that's for sure. Not one incident, not one complaint. Whatever you're doing is working."
I wish I could see Bryant's face right now. A grin stretches across my frozen cheeks as I chuckle at the thoughts that must be running through his mind.
Finally, Sanders leaves, but Bryant doesn't come and get me right away. By the time he opens the door and pulls me in, closing the curtains behind me, he's livid, and so am I.
We speak at the same time.
"Are you crazy? What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Why the fuck would you leave me out there so long?!"
I pull a blanket off his bed and wrap it around me, still shivering, while we stare each other down and fume.
"You said you could be discreet," he says, too calmly.
"Says the guy that frosted me on a bus full of people," I counter.
He narrows his eyes. "You asked for it."
"You're goddamn right I did," I retort, trying to force a smirk.
A moment passes before Bryant sighs loudly and walks over to me. "Are you alright?"
"I'm afraid you might have to work harder to edge me now that my balls have taken up permanent residence inside my body."
He rolls his eyes. "Come on." He pulls me to the bathroom and starts the shower, dropping the blanket to the floor. He rubs my shoulders while the water heats up, trying to warm my skin with the friction. "Fuck, you're freezing."
"I was outside. Naked. In November. In fucking Kansas," I say through my chattering teeth.
"Get in before it gets too hot. We'll work up to it." I want to question his use of 'we', but he pulls his hoodie and shirt over his body before stepping out of his pants, underwear, and socks. He shuffles me into the standing shower, bracing me against him beneath the spray. It's hot against my skin, despite there being no steam. As the water heats and the room starts to fog, my skin thaws, and I relax against his chest.
"Better?" He asks, his lips against my neck. I nod, unable to find words, and silently thankful that my dick still works, seeing as it's finally noticed Bryant's proximity. "I should punish you for being so reckless," he says, and his teeth rake against the tendon between my neck and shoulder. I moan, low and throaty. There's nothing cold about me anymore. I'm thoroughly heated through.
Despite being one hundred percent on board with his brand of punishment, I point out, "I got left outside in the freezing cold for an hour."
"It was ten minutes, fifteen tops."
"Felt like an hour."
