Page 21

CHAPTER 21

MARCUS

My back hits the wall as I slip around the corner, and I hold my breath, grateful Mr. James felt the need to get the last word in. Otherwise, he might have seen me escaping down the hallway, so I didn't get caught lurking outside Coach's door.

As I listen to footsteps disappear down the hallway, I allow myself to breathe and try to calm my heart rate.

Almost walking in on Ashton getting berated by his dad for volunteering was not on my bingo card for today. Overhearing the way his dad expects him to schmooze some underaged girl instead of acknowledging his truth made me feel awful for him, which also wasn't part of my plans. I've spent all week trying to deny that Ashton James might be a decent human being under the layers of pomp and privilege. As much as I've tried to fight it, it's been nice spending time with him, and I feel like I've gotten to know who he is as a person. Witnessing the interaction with his father put a lot of his ideals and behavior in perspective, too.

But the conversation I just overheard in Coach's office is the real mind-fuck.

He stood up for me.

Ashton put his own success, his own future, on the line to protect my well-being. He could have so easily said nothing, which is his go-to. He could have put his own self interests ahead of my own to boost his visibility and popularity.

Like he did before.

Except now I'm thinking he might not have done any of it on purpose. He didn't defend me, or stand up for me, or do the right thing in any way, shape, or form. He certainly benefited from my downfall, but maybe he didn't mean for it to happen.

Maybe he was just a scared kid, the same as I was. Too scared to stand up for himself, much less someone he barely knew, who could turn on him at any time if his father is to be believed. Too scared to fight back.

Sigh.

I really hate that maybe I don't hate Ashton James as much as I want to.

Me: Is everything okay? I saw your dad at the complex, and then you didn't show up to practice like we planned.

Me: I'm grabbing pizza from the SU. Want any?

Ever since he got my number, Ashton has texted me several times every day. Sometimes it's just a funny meme or TikTok video, sometimes it's sports articles that mention us. Sometimes it's just a hello. I've never had to wait more than a few minutes for him to return any of my texts, of which there are far fewer. But I get nothing from him. Finally, the messages show as read, but there's no response.

It's none of my business, it's really not. I know I shouldn't get involved with Ashton any more than I already am, but I'm actually worried about him.

With a pizza box in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other, I head up to the third floor. It might be my imagination, but I swear the smell of him is stronger than the scent of garlic and tomato wafting off the stupidly expensive gourmet pizza I bought from the student union.

I stand in the hallway in front of his door for a stupidly long time before I finally gather the balls to knock. For a minute, I don't think he's going to answer. Maybe he's not here. He could have left with his father to go get dinner or argue somewhere more private. Or maybe they're sitting down somewhere, negotiating how much of my future they're going to ruin in exchange for Ashton getting something he wants.

I don't want to have these kinds of intrusive thoughts, but at some point you just start to expect the worst from these kinds of people. People who find people like me expendable. And yeah, it's a personal bias of mine, but it's not like I don't have experiences to back it up.

You know what, this is for the best. I'm glad he's not here. This was stupid. I'm going to take my fancy pizza and cheap beer and put myself into a small coma so I can stop overthinking everything.

Turning away, I go back to the elevator bank and push the call button. The doors open almost immediately, but the elevator isn't empty.

"Marcus?"

Ashton steps out of the elevator, red faced and sweaty, dressed in a fitted, long sleeve white t-shirt and purple shorts that would be normal on an average height man, but are almost indecent on him. I quickly glance away in case I accidentally see something too interesting.

"I, uh, um… Have you had dinner yet? You bought lunch yesterday, so I got us a pizza," I say, holding it up like it isn't obvious. "And beer. You probably don't drink this stuff, but this has been hanging out in my mini fridge for a while, and I figured tonight was a good night for a cheat meal."

He smiles gratefully. "That sounds great, actually. I just got back from a run and I'm starving. Mind if I shower real quick first?"

"No, of course not. Want to meet me down in the common room?"

He shoots me an odd look, moving past me to unlock his dorm door. "Just come in here and chill for a bit."

Stepping into the space, I feel more awkward than the first time I was in here. Like I don't have a good reason to be here, an excuse I can give myself that makes up for my stupidity.

Ashton gestures to the living space with a small but comfortable looking sofa and coffee table facing a wall of built-in shelves and a mounted television. "You can find us something to watch while I get cleaned up. I'll make it quick."

He leaves me standing in the middle of his dorm apartment, trying not to watch his tight ass in those shorts as he walks away. Before he gets to the bathroom door, he peels his shirt off, exposing his long, lean, sweat glistened torso. When he shoots a glance over his shoulder and finds me watching him, he winks. Fucking winks. What a fucking prick!

It's enough for me to stop staring at him like he'll attack if I blink, and I plop down on the couch, which is as comfortable as it looks. I put the pizza and beer down on the coffee table and find a remote. By the time Ashton returns, wearing nothing but a pair of mother-fucking grey sweatpants, that goddamned sick bastard, I've settled on Ted Lasso . I've seen it several times before, but it's always a winner.

"Good choice. I love that show."

I smile and press play, trying to show more interest in the pizza and television than the dick print that I can see in my peripherals. Maybe it's my intrusive thoughts again, but I'm pretty sure it's looking at me.

The couch is no longer comfortable. It's too small for two men our size to be sitting on together. Ashton looks like he's sitting in a child's seat, he's so tall. And my wider body is taking up too much space.

He's too close. He smells like a sexy spa candle. And his dick outline is pointing at me. Rude.

Clearing my throat, I notice he hasn't helped himself to the beers, so I offer him one. It's my attempt at acting casual.

The look of pure disgust on Ashton's face when he takes a swig of beer is hilarious. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad."

"What is it? Or what's it supposed to be?" He looks down into the can. "I think mine might have gone bad. It tastes like carbonated piss that’s been filtered through a bunch of dirty, loose change.”

The mouthful of beer that I just swallowed nearly comes out my nose. "That's… descriptive," I say, laughing so hard tears are welling up.

He's laughing too, and waving his hands emphatically. "I'm serious dude, that is foul. You decide to have a cheat day, and that's what you choose?" He shudders and sets the can down, pushing it far away from himself. "Let me see what I've got."

Ashton returns from his small kitchen with a few cans of hard seltzer.

I chuckle. "We gonna get white girl wasted?"

"YOLO," he says sarcastically.

He hands me one, and I crack it open. To his credit, it's actually pretty good. It's on the sweeter side, but the citrus flavor is refreshing and washes down the salty grease of the pizza perfectly. Pulling the can back, I look at the nutrition facts. It's surprisingly low calorie and not high in sugar.

"This is witchcraft."

"You're welcome. Please never drink the piss water again. I'm concerned for your health."

"Ha. Noted."

We zone out watching TV for a while, and I relax into being so close to the guy I considered an enemy less than a week ago. He's grown on me this week, and after witnessing what I did today, I think I owe him an apology.

My chance comes when the episode ends, and instead of leaving, I accept another drink from Ashton. After cracking it open and chugging half of it for courage, I turn to face him.

"I owe you an apology," I say.

Ashton cocks his head. "We already talked about that. It's fine."

"I'm not talking about punching you. Or the… other thing that shall not be mentioned when there's any sort of alcohol involved." I hold back a grin at the way he smirks. He's still so proud of himself for that. For the way he took my cock so fucking good, while I absolutely annihilated his throat. I'm still a little in awe of how well he handled it. I want to ask questions I don't want the answers to, like how much practice he's had. There's no way in hell that was his first time.

"I'm talking about the way I've been treating you. I haven't been kind, or very fair."

"I think I deserve worse, Marcus. But thanks for saying it, anyway."

"You're not the one that beat me up, or the one that reported it."

"No. But I was there, and I didn't do anything. I just…froze. I couldn't make my body or my mouth move to make it stop." He turns so he's facing me completely, pulling one long leg up so his knee is against his chest. His body language is guarded, like he's protecting himself. His deep brown eyes are soulful and sincere. "I didn't know Kent was going to report you. I would have stopped it before it happened. He was always an impulsive asshole and really has an issue with not getting his way. Despite what you looked like walking away from that fight, that black eye you gave him let people around him know he'd been bested. And I made it worse, because when I finally found my voice, I called him on needing to have two people hold you down to get in any hits. I was so pissed. At him, at the other guys. Mostly myself for not speaking up and preventing it from escalating like that in the first place."

"We were kids, you couldn't have known?—”

"I knew what Kent was like, and those other guys followed his lead into whatever trouble he could stir up. Do you remember what he was like that summer at camp?" I nod, remembering how Kent was the one that would shoot wads of wet napkins at the back of my head, using a straw like a blow dart. I hadn't grown into my ears yet, and it made me a target for guys like Kent that need to find someone to pick on to feel good about themselves. "He just got worse the older we got. Did you know he went to Clemson?"

"Yeah, he got injured sophomore year, right? But he’s still playing, up in Canada or something, right?"

Ashton shakes his head. "That's just what his lawyer and their PR team came up with. He got in trouble for some kind of cruel hazing thing within the frat. I don't know what exactly, but it had to have been pretty bad, because I can tell you from experience that those frats get away with a lot of shit they shouldn't." A haunted look passes over his eyes, and I want to reach out and comfort him.

"In that case, I'm not sure I want to know what he got kicked out for."

He shrugs, but it's more of a defeated gesture than a display of nonchalance. "Doesn't matter. People like him never pay for their crimes. He's off living his best life, playing in the G League. He'll probably make it to the NBA before I do."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," I say, taking one last sip of my drink before putting it down. I'm nowhere near drunk, but I can tell that those things are dangerous, and it would only take one more to impair my decision-making abilities. I'm already far too relaxed. "You and me, right? We're going to take this team to the championship, show everyone what we've got. You have a real chance, and if I have anything to say about it, we'll get you there."

"So do you, you know. Maybe a better chance. You're more versatile on the court, and you make decisions like—” He snaps his fingers. "You can read me and tell what I'm going to do before I do it."

I scoff. "I can think of three times specifically that prove otherwise."

"On the court, I mean."

"Thanks," I tell him earnestly. "I don't really have NBA aspirations, though. Not as a player, anyway."

"What?!"

A huff of laughter escapes me at his incredulous expression. "I want to work for the NBA, but not necessarily as a player. I want to work in strategy and development, maybe even as a scout. There are a lot of young players out there that get overlooked because they're not on the AAU circuit, or can't afford to go to a good school with a successful basketball program, so they don't get noticed."

"You'd be great at that," Ashton says seriously. "But I still think you should play for the NBA for a little while first. Keep me company."

Ugh. Stop fucking winking at me.

"We have to get there first, then I can decide. For now, let's do what we need to to move on, so we can move forward."

"Move on?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "It's time to stop living in the past. Holding a grudge isn't going to get me anywhere."

I want to tell him I heard him stand up for me today, and how it made me feel. But maybe I can show him how impressed and grateful I am by moving past my hangups and offering him my friendship.

Ashton stares at my hand that I've jutted out towards him. "Friends?"

He takes my hand and shakes it gingerly. "Sure. Friends."

Neither of us releases each other's hand. Instead, we sit there with them grasped in an awkward, still handshake.