Page 2 of Love Game

Ishould just go home to shower. I’m in a terrible mood. I need to hide out and lick my wounds in private. But somehow, I’m heading over to the clubhouse showers, and Dane is following me. Like we always do. Everyone else has cleared off already. It’sjust the two of us. My hands are shaking with anger at what he just did. But the rest of my body is craving what usually happens after a match.

He throws his bag on a bench with a loud and gloating flourish. Then he strips down right in front of me until he’s completely naked. A naked cheater. He’s shameless. He grabs a bottle of water and tips it to his lips. Holds my gaze as he takes a sip and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I turn away, because my dick is already hardening.

I go into a shower and try to forget he’s there. Not happening. He’s whistling softly, and every note is like a siren song to my nerves. I turn around. He’s right there, smirking at me.

“What?” I say

“What yourself?” he retorts, like he’s about twelve years old.

I shove him into the wall of the shower. He moves fast. His hands come up to grab my shoulders, and his lips crash into mine.

“Want me?” he breathes into my mouth.

Fuck me, but I do. I should be shoving him away and driving as fast as I can in the opposite direction. But I kiss him back, letting him suck on my tongue, letting him bite at my lower lip. Heat ricochets through my body, amplified by the hot water pouring over us. It drips over his perfect pecs that hide that sneaky, treacherous heart.

He just stole my exhibition match. I should have more pride than this. I should be able to resist. I never can. Dane grunts, deepening the kiss, pressing me against the wall, his fingers digging hard into my biceps. At least he knows it doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s not that different to usual, I reason. My last rational thoughts before they slide away into lust. We hate each other, but we know it. Just using each other’s bodies. You can’t fight good chemistry. Doesn’t mean anything. His cheating doesn’t make much difference in the scheme of things.

I run my tongue around his nipple and it firms fast. He fists my hair and pulls my head back to look into my eyes. I pull free and take his nipple in my mouth again. He moans low and dirty. Just as he’s really getting into it, I bite down. He likes it when I nibble, but this is harder than usual. He gasps and jumps back. Stares at me for a moment. Then his hand flies up and grasps my neck. His eyes blaze at me. It suddenly occurs to me, a little late, that we’re alone, he’s much stronger, and I justbithim.

“Scared?” he whispers.

“Fuck off, Dane.”

He snickers, keeping his left hand on my neck, just resting there, applying no pressure. He might be a prick but he’s good at reading what I want. With his right hand he grabs our erect dicks, stroking them together with a rough edge of anger that rips right through me. I tip my head back against the tile wall as he works us. My breath shortens and I’m so angry with myself for enjoying this but I can’t stop. I open my eyes to see Dane looking right at me. I suck on the front of his neck, making a bruise right where everyone will be able to see. He’s only half washed and it’s a weird mixed taste of his cheap shower gel and salty sweat, which turns me on more than I want to admit.

I murmur angrily into his skin. “How are you gonna explain this, Dane? Going to tell people some girl did it?”

“Fuck you, Alex.”

But he doesn’t stop me. He works me even harder. The feel of his dick crushed against my own is red hot. I can’t tell where my arousal ends and my rage begins.

“You knew that line call was out,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Prove it.”

“Gobshite.”

“Sore loser,” he says.

“Cheater.”

He can’t handle the truth. He snarls and clenches my dickhard. It sends me flying over the edge. I come, spurting over my chest. My knees weaken and I collapse against the wall, breathing fast. Dane smirks, watching me, and strokes himself until he comes too. He sprays intentionally all over the tiled wall like the juvenile asshole he is. Then he wipes it with his forearm and holds it out to me.

“Wanna taste?” he says.

“Fuck off.”

My lines are getting repetitive, but there isn’t much else to say to someone like him. It’s not like he responds to reasoned debate or insight. Now I’m done, the afterglow fades fast. I finish showering as Dane cleans off the wall—he’s not a total reprobate I guess. I don’t look at him as he shampoos his hair. Much. If I were looking, I might notice the exact trail of each water droplet from cheekbone to chiseled jawline. Or how he shakes his head, dog-like, to get his wet hair out of his eyes in a way that could seem almost cute to some people. If I were looking. Which I’m not.

I shiver as I walk to my car. It’s freezing out here compared to the heat of the showers. Sudden tiredness weighs me down. My tennis bag feels twice as heavy as usual. I start the car with a sigh from the pit of my stomach. It’s only a game. I know that. Still, I really wanted to win. As I drive home, my mind travels down a dark path. I barely see the Christmas lights twinkling in every window on the familiar streets of the town where I grew up. I turn on the music and turn up the volume on Placebo. A wee bit before my time, but I’ve always identified with moody 90s indie, the music and the aesthetics. I sing along and it helps a little. But not enough. I feel sick, mostly with myself. It isn’t really about Dane’s cheating. It’s about the fact he would cheat to gain an advantage overme. Why did I give him the power to hurt me?Why did I ever start fooling around with him? It means nothing, but I can’t stop. And that makes me furious with myself.

When you think about it, his cheating is a blessing really. It shows me who he really is… as if I didn’t already know. I’ve had warning. Shit, I’ve known him since school, and he’s always been exactly the same. Selfish, weak, totally out for himself. His good looks don’t make up for that shallowness in his soul. He sold me out under the mistletoe at school, and now he’s doing the same thing again. I didn’t even talk to him for years after that humiliation at age fourteen. I should’ve stuck to my guns. Why did I ever let him speak to me again?

After school we both went to separate universities, me to Queens in Belfast and him to Derry. I fell back into his orbit when we came home for the holidays and occasional weekends. My town is small enough that it’s difficult to avoid people you know forever, especially people like Dane who hate staying still and would go anywhere, no matter how trivial, to get them out of the house. I saw him around town, at the corner shop or in the pubs, and he’d come over and say hello, ask how my uni course was going. He acted like now that school was over, the whole mistletoe mess should be forgotten. He never apologized. But he seemed more mature, even almost shy at times, as we talked. I wondered if he was finally growing up. Unlike at school, where he stuck with the sporty crowd and acted like he was too cool for any form of emotion, he really seemed to be listening to me.

He’s always been into tennis. I only started playing when I went to university. He invited me to join the town tennis club. I was touched. My heart beat a little harder at being singled out. I thought we could be friends. Idiot. He soon made it clear we would be rivals— he wouldn’t be giving up his precious place on the team without a fight. But after a while, Malachi started choosing me to play as often as he chose Dane, which really pissed Dane off. It’s not that far to drive from uni to the homecourts or wherever the matches are being played, so we’re both in contention even though we don’t really live here anymore. Now we’re locked in constant battle.

And then, just when I’d decided that he regretted asking me to join the club at all, Dane kissed me. We were at the courts alone late one night after he’d just narrowly beaten me in singles. I thought I was dreaming as his model-handsome face got closer and his eyes lasered in on mine. There was a soft and intense focus in them, as though a deeper, better person than the usual Dane was looking out at me. I’d never seen that expression in his eyes before. At least not since the mistletoe incident. Not since I embarrassed him with my too-obvious gayness. As his perfect lips curved up into a smile, I was lost. Hooked. One thing led to another and we would steal away to suck each other off in our cars or fuck in empty changing rooms. Never at each other’s houses, never in a bed. He’s never acknowledged what he have in public.