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“I thought Piper’s with Mike Hernandez.” Beau studies his options while I study his handsome profile.
I can’t deny it.
His chestnut hair with the perfect scruffy style. His dark shadow, even for eighteen. His square jaw and full pink lips I’m not supposed to notice. But his eyes? Damn, they’re so blue and rimmed by sexy lashes. When they find mine from under the shadow of his helmet, all I see is all I’m not supposed to feel.
“Mike broke up with her,” I answer. “He’s with Claire now.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I listen to your sister while you just bitch at her about stealing your golden Oreos.”
“They’re my favorite, and she knows it.”
“Yeah, well, let her eat your Oreos while we eat her best friends. Deal.”
“I don’t know, man.” Though Beau’s dick clearly likes what he’s gawking at, he always does this. He’s always cautious. “I don’t need a distraction, and sophomore pussy is drama, too.”
“Then pick a senior. You’re taking Anna to the prom. Fuck her. Fuck someone, please, because Kleenex can’t keep up their production.”
“Puffs, neither, you hypocrite. Besides, we got two months til graduation. I don’t need senior distractions, either.”
“Dude,” I roll my eyes, “you’re not marrying them. Why do you always date like it’s destiny? You can just fuck girls, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” he mutters. “Fuck girls like you did this season? Almost the entire varsity cheerleader team to the point where even Coach Smith told you to keep your rocket in your pocket or he’d bench you?”
“It ain’t my fault my Space Shuttle makes pussies cry.”
He laughs.
I always make Beau laugh.
He needs it. He’s too serious. I know it’s a quarterback thing. He’s always in his head. He’s always thinking about plays and performance and passes.
Not pussy.
And I need him. I don’t have anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. All a guy needs is his best friend, teammates, and mom.
But Beau is more to me. I don’t have to be the fastest or the best with him. I’m just me—the best friend who always buys him golden Oreos. And he’s the best friend who bought me a pair of Air Jordans for my birthday. He knew I wanted them but couldn’t afford them, and now we wear matching red pairs for Bama.
Beau’s always watched out for me, for everyone. It’s like he has to save everyone but himself, and I’ve always wondered why.
Maybe it’s another quarterback thing, maybe it’s a big brother thing, or maybe it’s more. Maybe he focuses on others so he doesn’t have to be honest about himself.
I know the feeling.
I’ve had it since the day I warned him at practice about the back of his neck getting sunburned. So he sat on the bench and tossed me a bottle of sunscreen. “Hook me up,” he said, spinning the ball in one hand.
It hit me so fast when I rubbed his hot skin, how he barely moaned, and I definitely heard him. I definitely got hard. I had to stop. I had to leave.
“Where you goin’?” he asked.
“To squirt the dirt,” I answered before I found a shitter stall in the locker room to jerk off, and I’ve known it ever since.
I love Beau Bronson, and he loves me.
“I say we leave the sophomores alone,” he mutters. “Most pussy’s not worth it.”
Still, he’s ogling Piper’s tits by the pool, and he’s hovering hard and thick and left toward me, and that feeling, the one that scares me, the one I crave, too, surges inside.
