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No apology, no explanation. He owns the moment so completely that the panic in my chest stutters and loses its footing.

Sawyer stands there for one more long second. I can’t read his face in the dark. Then he lets the door swing shut behind him, crosses the room, and climbs back onto the bed. He settles against the pillows on my right side and says nothing.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Nolan looks down at me. And then, with Sawyer lying six inches away and the air still crackling from being caught, he cups my face in both hands and kisses me again.

I kiss him back on reflex, my body making the decision without consulting my brain, which is screaming Sawyer is right there. Nolan’s tongue slides against mine and my hands find his shoulders and my back arches up off the pillows into him. My entire body is on fire. The knowledge that Sawyer is watching, that he can hear every wet sound, every shaky breath, doesn’t cool anything down. It does the opposite, pouring fuel on it, and some dark corner of me that I’m going to have to examine later enjoys being watched.

Nolan kisses me until I’m trembling, and then he leans away, breathing hard, his forehead touching mine.

I half-expect the mattress to heave, the door to bang, Sawyer gone into the night. But when I turn my head, he’s still there, staring at us, his chest rising and falling fast. My gaze drops, and I spot the prominent tent in the front of his jeans.

Nolan follows my gaze, then looks up at Sawyer, their eyes meeting and holding for a long moment. A wordless conversation passes between them in the dark. I lie there with my pulse galloping and understand none of it.

Finally, Nolan turns back to me. “Kiss him.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His eyes hold mine, and there’s a calm, unshakable certainty in them, the one I’m sure he carries onto the field. “Kiss Sawyer.”

This is insane. I know I shouldn’t. They’re both straight, and it’s all moving too fast. But I realize one thing: I want to kiss Sawyer. He’s watching me now, all big hands and golden hair and unflappable calm, his blue-gray eyes dark in the screen light.

I let the question show on my face, because whatever Nolan tells us to do, this part has to be Sawyer’s choice.

He swallows, then gives me a small nod, and that’s all I need.

I push up on one elbow and lean across the space between us, my hand coming down on his chest for balance. Under my palm, his heart is slamming. His huge hand comes up and rests against my waist, warm and gentle, and I close the last few inches and press my mouth to his.

5

Nolan

Watching Finn kiss Sawyer is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

Finn has been my roommate for two years now, padding around our apartment in those tiny shorts, the ones that ride up his thighs and cling to his ass. And even though I’ve never been attracted to guys before, I have eyes, so of course I noticed. There were mornings he wandered out of his room with his hair a mess, those high cheekbones and full lips and long lashes all sleepy and warm, and I had to go stand in the shower and think about football until I could be trusted around him.

And Sawyer’s my best friend, and I’m secure enough to say the obvious: the man is hot. Six-three of golden California muscle and that tousled blond hair the girls on campus are always reaching for without asking, laughing too hard at everything he says. I’ve watched it happen for years with amusement. But now that Finn is fisting the collar of Sawyer’s t-shirt and kissing him with teeth and tongue, amusement is not what I’m feeling. They’re sun and moon, and together on my bed they look like the opening of the hottest porn I’ve ever watched.

My dick throbs against my thigh as I watch them. I reach down and adjust myself, dragging the head up toward my waistband through my sweatpants, and even that light touch through the fabric makes my hips shift.

Finn is half on top of Sawyer, one knee wedged between Sawyer’s legs, his free hand pressed flat to Sawyer’s chest. Sawyer’s hand is still on Finn’s waist, but it’s moved, sliding down to the curve of his back, pulling him in. Sawyer’s hips push up, grinding into Finn’s groin, and it looks like he can’t help himself. He’s into it. Fuck.

I shift closer across the mattress, the springs creaking under my weight, but neither of them so much as looks over. I put my hand on Finn’s back, right between his shoulder blades where his t-shirt is stretched tight from the way he’s arched into Sawyer. His skin radiates heat through the thin cotton. I let my hand travel down slowly, along the dip of his spine, over the small of his back, and then lower, onto the curve of his ass, and I squeeze.

Finn gasps into Sawyer’s mouth and tears away, twisting to look at me over his shoulder. His lips are swollen and glistening, his eyes blown wide.

For a second, I think I’ve pushed it too far. The fear flashes cold through my chest. It’s too much, too fast, and now he’s going to sit up and ask what the hell is happening, and neither of us will have an answer.

Then I take in his expression, and there’s only lust, raw and open, the same dazed hunger I’m feeling. He pushes his ass back into my palm, just a little, in invitation.

My dick twitches hard. I reach down with my free hand and squeeze myself through the sweatpants, and I hold Finn’s stare while I do it.

“Don’t stop on my account.” My voice comes out rough at the edges. “Keep going. Give him more tongue. He wants it.”

Finn turns back to Sawyer and kisses him again, and this time the kiss goes deeper, his jaw working as he pushes his tongue into Sawyer’s mouth. Sawyer groans, and both his hands come up to grip Finn’s hips and hold him there while he grinds up again.

They both like being told what to do, and butterflies fill my stomach as I watch them obey me. It’s a rush I know from the field, that moment when a play comes together exactly the way you called it, except distilled, hotter, running through my veins right into my groin. I told Finn to kiss Sawyer, and he did. I told him to use more tongue, and he did. And holy fuck, now they’re both waiting for the next thing.