Page 4 of Phantom Faceoff (Daddies of the League #5)

Chapter Four

Malachi

It’s been one day, and I’m already sick and fucking tired of Zander Hale’s existence in my life.

From his god awful flirty texts to getting yelled at by Julian for interrupting their conversation, I’ve had my fill of the man for one lifetime let alone just today.

Yet here he is, standing by one of the store’s CD players with the mechanism smoking and stuttering. He’s got wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights, holding a pair of headphones in one hand and repeatedly jamming the stop button with the other.

“I didn’t realize there were over thirty tracks,” he says. “I figured it’d reach the end and loop, but it didn’t, and I got a little …”

“Carried away?” I supply as the vein in my temple pulses.

“Bingo.” He aims finger guns of all things at me, and never more have I wanted to add ‘murderer’ to my resume.

Not that the CD player is a big deal. They’re a dime a dozen and easy to replace.

Doesn’t make his presence any less annoying.

I walk over and open the compartment, pulling the CD out to see the back scratched all to hell. With a heavy sigh, I place it in the pocket of my apron to take it to the buffer in the back and see if it’s salvageable.

We have display records for a reason, but it’s still disheartening.

“Did you listen to any of them all the way through?” I find myself asking as the irritation forms an itch in my throat.

“Um …” Zander picks up the jewel case, tracing a finger along the track list until his face breaks out into a smile. “ But Daddy I Love Him .”

There isn’t a deadpan strong enough to hide the infuriating headache this man is causing me.

“Oh, I liked Fresh Out The Slammer. I Can Fix Him was good, too. I didn’t listen to more than thirty seconds of any of the others, honestly. Felt a little monotonous.”

“Monotonous?” I’m supposed to be on my best behavior at work, but would anyone blame me if I laid him out right here?

He’s looking at me with a wide grin that doesn’t fit the situation, but his expression morphs as his brows dip.

“Don’t tell me Mr. Doom and Gloom is a Swiftie?”

I cross my arms, feeling my skin prickle. “I can’t enjoy excellent songwriting?”

He seesaws his hand. “I feel like ‘excellent’ is a stretch.”

“No wonder you failed Music Theory. You have the taste of a caveman.”

Zander gapes, but his grin quickly returns. “You are a Swiftie.”

“And you are a disaster on legs.”

A sharp bark of laughter pierces the room, and my coworker—the hockey player—walks past me and claps Zander on the shoulder.

“He isn’t wrong, Halefire. Haven’t you ever owned a CD player?”

“I have had an iPhone for quite literally my entire life.”

Listening to the two of them bicker sets off the dinging bell in my brain that of course they’re friendly with each other. They play on the same damn sports team.

“I didn’t know you and Blanchard worked together, Micky.”

I pop back into the conversation as two sets of eyes turn to me.

“Yes, because I should know you have some kind of hate-boner fetish for a guy I speak a handful of words to a day.”

I quirk my brow. Hate-boner ?

Honestly, Micky and Zander could pass for brothers. Both blond. Similar fit builds. Zander is taller, almost an entire head above Micky. Different eyes. Micky’s are blue. Zander’s are a rich hazel.

“Blanchard is Julian’s roommate.”

Micky’s eyes flicker to mine with an air of understanding. “Ah. The underwear incident.”

Is that what we’re calling it now? The offending material is in the back of my dresser drawer, washed and ready to be returned because I’m a decent human being.

“Come with me to my dorm after shift,” I say before the gross weight of the words makes me rethink them. “Grab your nasty jock so I don’t have to touch them again.”

“Will Julian be there?”

“Probably.” Unfortunately.

He shifts his weight from side to side, like he’s weighting his options. Which only pisses me off more.

“Yeah, I’ll stop in.” Another face-splitting grin. “Might kidnap him, though. Micky has a virtual cafe date, so I could use the company.”

I’ve been told I wear my aggressive emotions on my face, and the way Micky chokes back a laugh and squeezes his eyes shut, I’d say I probably look downright murderous.

“One condition,” I say, stepping forward and forcing Zander’s attention on me. “You’re going to listen to all thirty-one songs on TTPD and write up a thorough analysis of the lyrics and storytelling.”

That overconfident grin falters.

I hold my ground. “Good practice for your class. Which I aced as a first year.”

The little gears in his head appear to be working so hard into overtime that there’s nearly visible smoke coming out of his ears.

“You are diabolical.”

I’m a fucking masochist is what I am.

If there was an award for eye-fucking, these two numskulls would be tied for it.

I have never in my life wanted two people to kiss and get it over with more than I do watching Zander’s eyes shift to Julian’s flirty smile every ten seconds.

They’re only pretending to acknowledge I’m still here, when I can guarantee they’re both thinking about much dirtier things.

How the hell did I become a third wheel in my own damn room?

I fish the underwear out of my drawer and chuck them at the oaf, the material hitting him in the chest just as his eyes wander again.

“Wha—Oh. Thanks.”

That’s only the entire reason I invited you over in the first place.

It’s the time of night that Julian usually colors or huddles under his covers watching anime.

I can see that part of him—the Little that thrives on routine—warring with the side that very blatantly wants to get laid.

They’re talking now. Zander rests his hip against Julian’s bed-frame. Julian leans closer from his perch on the mattress.

There’s the slightest flutter of Julian’s eyes mid-conversation. A glance in my direction. His fingers play with a loose string on his pajama bottoms. Repetitively. Anxiously. Another look thrown my way.

He wants permission. To break routine.

I don’t pretend to understand the appeal of this dynamic, but even I can’t deny the swell of emotion that fills my chest.

It almost feels like … pride? Relief? Not just that Jules trusts me with this part of himself, but that he actively wants me included even in situations that don’t call for it.

“You know the rules,” I say softly. Calmly. Firm in a way that draws Julian’s undivided attention.

He stares back. Blinks. Nods almost imperceptible. Shifts his focus from me to the man failing to appear as if he isn’t just as desperate for my best friend as said friend is for him.

It’s honestly quite difficult to watch.

So, why haven’t I stopped?

Julian climbs to his knees, pulls his long hair back into a messy ponytail, and grabs Zander by the neck until their lips connect.

I’m sure I’ve got papers to write and tests to study for, but my feet are rooted. My eyes won’t slide even a millimeter away from the scene before me.

Zander secures his arms around Julian’s waist, eyes falling shut almost in slow motion. His shoulders rise and fall with each swipe of their tongues into each other’s mouths.

He grips the hem of Julian’s over-sized t-shirt, fingers curling beneath and latching onto his skin. The shivers that break out are all too visible, a full body shudder.

“Getting better,” Julian pops away with a laugh. “D—Mal says he’d prefer if we hooked up here. So …”

The look he sends me is pure feigned innocence.

Not that he’s lying, but he’s … teasing? Pushing the perimeter of our boundaries?

“By all means,” I say, uncrossing my arms and forcing my feet toward my own bed. “I’ll drown you out with Sleep Token.”

There’s brief recognition in Zander’s eyes, and maybe for a second I think his taste in music isn’t completely abysmal, but it’s there and gone when Julian steals his focus back.

I turn away, grab my earbuds off the shelf and shove them in … but I don’t connect them to my phone. In fact, I stand there listening to the rustle of clothes and hushed voices until my body aches from the prolonged position.

Under the covers, I squeeze my eyes shut tight. In my makeshift darkness, Zander’s bare back heaves as he drapes across Julian, pinning him down. Each rock of his hips makes the bed creak and groan.

There’s hitched breathing, and my mind supplies the image of large hands wrapping around his partner’s airway. A pressure but not a restriction.

My body responds. Flushes. My boxers tighten and dampen.

I’m not embarrassed to admit that it’s been … a while since I’ve had anyone in my bed. Since anyone has looked at me with heat in their eyes and unbridled arousal in their touch.

I am embarrassed to admit I touch my cock to the sound of their gasps and grunts. Julian’s high-pitched pleas that he tries to muffle behind his palm. Zander’s ragged pants as the slap of skin rings unabashed through the otherwise silence of the room.

Shit. I forgot to turn my fan on. I never lay down without it.

Just have to hope Julian is too lost in the pleasure to notice or care. To realize I’m listening.

To my best friend and his fuck-buddy have sex.

Christ, I’m pathetic.

I’m hard and wet and fucking throbbing with each garbled moan that comes from Hale’s throat.

They could be doing any number of things beneath the sheets. An endless sea of possibilities as vast as my imagination.

“Gonna come.” Hale’s voice is crystal clear. Spoken just above a whisper. Deliberate.

Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself as my own orgasm washes over me. As it crests so hard and fast that I bite down on my lip to draw blood. That I tense every muscle in my body so the tremble that rocks me isn’t as apparent.

Not that anyone is paying attention to me.

I don’t let myself bask in their afterglow. In the buzz of my own sweet release.

I switch on my playlist, some hard rock song by SkyDxddy . God of War .

It drowns out whatever is happening behind me. In a bed I had no business eavesdropping on.

Guilt gnaws at the edge of my consciousness.

Sleep has never claimed me easier, and that only makes it worse.