Page 13 of Crossroads

TWELVE

What the hell just happened?

One minute we were talking . . . well, fighting.

And then the next . . .

I can’t even think about it. The thought makes my entire body run hot and then cold. The sticky evidence of what happened in my jeans and underwear. I can still feel his fingers in my hair. His lips on mine.

This is bad. Really, really bad.

I’m not gay.

I’ve never been attracted to another guy in my life. Not once. I played all the sports in school. I’ve been in locker rooms around other naked guys most of my life, and never once did I feel anything even close to resembling lust or want.

But that’s exactly what I felt tonight when Emerson decided to challenge me for the millionth time.

Lust.

Want.

So much desire, I couldn’t think straight. I lost all control and just went with it. It’s not like me at all. I didn’t let myself think about it too hard. I just kissed him. His body under mine felt almost electric. This magnetic pull between us unable to be ignored anymore.

I’ve never felt that way before. Not even with Lucy. Everything with her was easy. Sweet. Kissing Emerson—that was not sweet. It was like this burning need I had no say over.

I quickly strip out of my jeans and underwear, debating throwing them away, but knowing I can’t waste like that. Instead, I kick them to the corner and turn on the hot water.

Well—warm at best, and it’s barely a trickle, but it’s fine. I climb under the weak spray and grab the bar of soap wrapped in cheap paper, then unwrap it before I scrub my body.

My muscles ache like they do after a workout or hours on the farm just from the one encounter with Emerson. When I wash my hair, I swear I can still feel the tingling of where he was holding onto me as I thrust against him.

My dick is still semi-hard, giving a little jolt when I think about that, and I quickly scold myself, rushing through the rest of the shower before I climb out, drying off with the threadbare motel towel and tug on a pair of joggers I brought to sleep in.

I grab my toothbrush and paste and scrub my teeth, trying to erase all taste of Emerson. The taste may be gone, replaced by minty fresh, but his touch is still everywhere.

I tuck my dirty clothes in my bag and then stand at the sink, putting my hands on the cool tile and stare into the mirror.

I had sex with a guy. Whether there was penetration or not—that’s exactly what it was.

I don’t know how to feel about it, but I know that I don’t want to go out there and see his smug smile, knowing he’s fucked with my head. But we have to get to the auction early tomorrow, and I can’t stand here forever.

I push open the door, finding Emerson on the bed, flicking through channels on the television absently. But he doesn’t look all that smug. He doesn’t really look pleased at all.

Which is not what I was expecting. Not at all.

He doesn’t make eye contact with me as I drop my bag by the door and make my way over to the bed. He tosses the remote on the bed and breezes past me to grab his own bag, quickly disappearing behind the bathroom door.

I hear the shower kick on a moment later, and I lie down on the bed, under the covers.

Is he embarrassed? Is he just as shocked as I am?

That’s hard to believe. He’s been pushing my buttons since day one. Always joking about me wanting to see him naked and shit. Surely, he’s reveling in the fact that this happened.

But when he gets out of the shower, he still won’t look at me. He flicks the lights off and turns off the television. He climbs under the covers but scoots over to the edge of the bed, and that’s fine by me.

I don’t need to talk about what happened. I roll to my side too, jerking more of the blanket out of his grasp because the selfish fucker has plenty.

If he wants to pretend like it never happened, that’s more than okay with me.

The next morning is pretty much a repeat of last night. We both get ready silently, not looking at each other or even acknowledging the other’s existence. We grab our shit and get in the truck.

I drive us to the auction, and we check in. This entire trip has been a mindfuck, that’s for sure, and I’m ready to get back home.

All I have to do is secure the steer John wants, and then we’ll be on our way. Of course, fate has a way of fucking with me because as we’re finding our seats, I see a familiar face.

“Coach,” I barely squeak out when I see my football coach, Noah Asher, with his husband, assistant coach Chance Leighton. Great. This is great. Can they tell I hooked up with a guy last night?

I mean . . . just because they’re a same-sex couple doesn’t mean they can tell that, but is it written all over my face, standing here next to Emerson? They both look amused, their faces bright when they see me. “Hi, Jasper. What brings you here?” Coach Asher asks.

“Uh . . .” I look over at Emerson, feeling uneasy. They have to know. I don’t want them to know. No one knows.

I’m quiet for way too long. “You okay?” Coach Leighton asks.

No. I feel like my chest might explode. “Fine,” I barely choke out, my voice cracking, and Emerson looks annoyed, his irritation coming off him in waves.

Why? I have no idea. It’s not like he’s being busted by his high-school coaches right now.

“I’m . . . well. We’re—” Shit. I don’t want to acknowledge I’m here with Emerson, but it would be weirder if I didn’t, I think.

Right? I clear my throat and try again. “Here to get a steer for John Wright.”

“Ah, good,” Coach Asher says, a warm smile on his face. “So you’re still working for the Wrights then?”

I nod. “Yeah, don’t plan for that to change for a long time.”

“Good,” Coach Asher says and then turns to Emerson. “And who’s this? You didn’t play football for me, and I don’t remember seeing you in the hallways.”

“He’s Kelly and John’s nephew. He’s just here for the summer, then he’s leaving,” I say weirdly. My voice is so strange right now, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

It’s clear I’m freaking both my former coaches out, but they both play it cool. Coach Leighton wraps his arm around his husband. “We’re here to grab a donkey. Well, we were staying with my sister this weekend and saw there’s an auction this morning. Thought we’d look for a donkey.”

That actually makes me grin and momentarily shake off my odd behavior. “Really?”

Coach Asher shakes his head. “Chance wants a damn donkey, so I guess we’re getting a damn donkey.”

That makes me chuckle. I’ve looked up to both men since they started coaching me my freshman year. Them being a couple never bothered me. I’m not a homophobe or anything, I’m just not fucking gay.

That’s all.

We say our goodbyes, and they find a seat a few benches below us as we get settled. “Football coach?” Emerson asks.

I grunt, looking straight ahead at where they’re bringing animals out for the auction to start. “Yeah. They both are.”

“They’re a couple?” He doesn’t sound disgusted or anything but definitely surprised.

“Yeah. Married.”

“And they coach for Kensley?”

I’m uncomfortable beyond belief and wish he’d go back to silent mode but nod. “Yeah. They win state championships. They’re a good team.”

“You didn’t mention your high school football coaches were married.”

“Why would I?” I snap, still not looking over at him. I’m not proud of the shame I feel right now.

But I feel on edge, running into people from Kensley when I’m out with Emerson. Not that this is a date or anything. It’s work. But after what we did last night . . .

“Can we just stop the small talk? The auction is about to start,” I say, keeping my eyes off him. I feel itchy and like I can’t sit still, even though I’m not moving a muscle.

It feels like all eyes are on me here, and I know for a fact Emerson’s are. He’s watching me with agitation again. As if I’m not the only one uncomfortable with what we did last night.

He ignored me too. Now he wants to talk? No, thank you.

“Yeah. Sure,” he says, a defensive edge to his tone.

Whatever. I don’t care if he’s pissed off.

I don’t care about Emerson, period.