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Our coaches are pleased. “Hawke!” They shout because that’s what he is. Colt flies down the field, able to glance, attaching his eyes to the ball like a hawk, tracking his prey until it’s in his grasp like talons.
We’re in the zone. We’re perfect. We’re in love. We’re happy, but I’m sore by the end of the day. My shoulder is tight.
Diggs, our athletic trainer, has me wearing ice packs like a frozen T-shirt during our afternoon offensive team meeting.
Colt sits next to me. We’re freshly showered. But I catch him eyeing my shoulder while our offensive coordinator reviews our drills.
“Good job.” Coach Purnell watches the screen on our playbacks. “Ball security is job security,” he praises Colt and Smith, who crushed it today.
But Colt nudges my foot, jutting his chin like, “You okay?”
I grin, shaking it off. I won’t admit to him or myself that I’m not, that I’ll suck it up all season. As long as I can pass, I’ll take the pain. I’m not going on Injury Reserve. Ever.
When we’re dismissed for the day, we head to the parking lot, tossing our bags in my Ford Super Duty cab. But then Jasper and Perry, two of our defensive linemen, spot us leaving together.
“What’s up, Bronson?” Perry calls out. “You Hawke’s chauffeur?”
“Yeah,” Colt answers, jerking his passenger door open. “And he’s my butler, too.”
Jasper looks confused, and so does Perry.
Colt and I have made it over a week at camp without questions, but it’s time to test the waters.
Let’s see if we can sell this.
I shout, “I’m letting the asshole bunk with me while he plays HGTV designer on his fancy-ass Buckhead house.”
“Man?” Jasper sizes up Colt. “You ain’t got enough green to rent?”
“Why should I?” But Hawke’s a pro smartass, too. “When I can crash at Bronson’s rent-free? He’s got a chef, a maid, and a view of my favorite eighteenth hole. I ain’t ever leaving. I’ll just keep flipping houses for millions.”
“The fuck you say.” I play along. “You got five months before I toss your shit to the curb.”
“Who was your Buckhead agent?” Jasper starts chewing the fat with Colt about Atlanta’s highest-end real-estate investments, while I hope Colt never finishes his remodel.
These past two weeks with him and Blair in my home have me smiling all the damn time.
I don’t know why I was so afraid.
Love isn’t a distraction. I’m more focused than ever. I have someone to fight for, to bust my ass for.
So far, we’ve kept our deal with Coach. Colt and I are the best we’ve ever been on the field.
And when we get home?
We start Blair’s Training Camp.
First, she jumps in my Siberian cold plunge therapy tub with us. It’s cute how quickly her shivering, blush lips turn blue. It’s adorable how Colt wraps her tight in a plush white robe when we get out.
Then, she makes us sit at the table like a family, eating the recovery meals my chef prepares. She even makes us use linen napkins on our laps.
Before bed, Blair joins me for a round of heat therapy in the hot tub. Though, that usually threatens a hot fuck, too. At least, for me.
But who knew?
My Coach of Kink is also the Diva of Dick Denial. Since training started, Blair has a new two-nights-off-one-night-on rule. She says we need our sleep.
My mind and muscles agree, though my dick has a very firm, contrary opinion.
