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"Thanks," I call, hoping that he's turning back, or that he will

"No probleht behind er reaction But it's no use I can feel him inover my bare lower back

"Le the locker room door

For a second—anger

I don't need your fucking help Fuck off I want to say those things But it's petty bullshit I want you to suck er now At this moment, I feel mad at him for that, too

"Thanks bro,” I try “See ya out there"

Is that the tone I'd use if I had never had his dick in my mouth?

"I'onna shower too,” he says

I don't look behind me as I head toward my locker His is somewhere off to the left; I know because I've seen the strip of tape with MASTERS written on it

I dropthat my nose feels okay Nose stuff just bleeds No bfd

Got some spare shit in here—always I don't like to be in sweat-soaked clothes I pull out one of the grocery bags that's knotted at the top and carry the thing over to the showers And he's right there He's standing in front of the stalls with his eyes on h his pupils

"Nose okay?" he asks

"Smell some sweaty dickface by the showers" I won't let myself look at him as I push one of the stall doors open

I' shut when his hand closes around it His eyes hold o home after this?"

My heart thuuess"

He nods He lets go of the door "Let's stop for some food," he says

And then he's in the stall beside mine I can see the side of his head and his shoulders above the stall's side

What the fuck is he doing? He tips his head back, rubs his fingers through his hair, and I'm hard It’s instantaneous Fuck

I rub the bridge of my nose, but it doesn't really hurt I turnit so I can't see hile etable to drive at college, or about having a seizure on the soccer field, and that gets it bendy enough to at least fit into my boxer briefs

I' myself with a towel at the same time he is

Fuckkkit

"Whatcha wanna eat?” he asks, like we’re besties “What about some of that chicken from the one place?"

"Wyatt Raye's?" I e

"Yeah"

"That's fine"

I reach forat the saht smile