Page 24 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)

SIXTEEN

AIDEN

The campus dining hall was packed with the usual lunch rush chaos, students weaving between tables with overloaded trays and the constant hum of conversation creating a wall of sound that should have been perfect white noise for eating alone.

I’d chosen a corner table specifically to avoid the social minefield of the busy lunch period, planning to grab a quick sandwich and disappear before anyone I knew spotted me.

That plan lasted exactly thirty seconds.

I saw him before he saw me, sitting at a large round table near the windows with what looked like half the hockey team.

Rhett was in the middle of some animated story, his hands gesturing as he talked, and even from across the crowded room, I could see the way our teammates were hanging on every word.

Lennox was laughing at something, nearly choking on his drink, while Elio shook his head with mock disapproval.

Patrick and Easton were both grinning, the easy camaraderie between the five friends obvious even at a distance.

My first instinct was to grab my tray and leave before anyone noticed me.

The last thing I needed was to navigate the complex social dynamics of Rhett’s friend group and how it balanced with us being teammates, especially when I was still processing what the hell this thing was that kept happening between us.

The memory of his fingers in my hair and my name on his lips was still too fresh, too distracting for me to trust myself around him in public.

The truth was simple enough. I couldn’t resist him any more than he could resist me.

And the second serving of truth was simpler still.

The fewer people who knew about it, the less the chance of my father collapsing again, but with a knife in his back this time.

But even as I started to stand, even as I told myself that avoiding him was the smart play, I found myself sitting back down. Because walking away felt wrong, cowardly in a way that went against every instinct I’d developed over twenty-two years of never backing down from anything.

Besides, what was I so afraid of? That I’d give away the fact that I’d spent most of the night with my face buried between his peachy cheeks, learning exactly what sounds he made when I licked him gently, then rougher, then gently again?

That I’d somehow broadcast to his entire team that I knew what he looked like when he was completely undone, cum spilling over his chest and eyes begging, lips forming my name with no voice to say it?

I was Aiden fucking Whitmore. I could handle a lunch conversation with my teammates.

Before I could second-guess myself again, I was on my feet and walking toward their table, my confidence returning with each step. By the time I reached them, I’d slipped back into the easy arrogance that had always served me well in social situations.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling out the empty chair next to Rhett. “The rest of this place is packed.”

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Lennox said with a grin, making room for me at their usual table. “We were just talking about the coach’s new conditioning drills.”

“The ones that nearly killed me yesterday?” I settled into my chair, close enough to Rhett that I could smell his cologne. Close enough to lick his earlobe if I didn’t stop myself. “I’m still recovering.”

“You looked like you were handling it fine,” Easton said, ever the diplomatic team captain. “Better than some of the guys who’ve been here longer.”

I let my gaze drift to Rhett as I responded, taking in the way his sweat-glowing skin caught the light, the way his lips curved slightly when Patrick made some joke about my Michigan conditioning. “I’ve always been good at adapting to new…environments.”

The words carried just enough weight to make Rhett’s eyes flick to mine, and I caught the slight flush that crept up his neck. He was trying so hard to act normal, to treat me like just another teammate, but I could see the awareness in every line of his body.

“So what’s the consensus on Saturday’s game?” I asked, forcing myself to focus on the conversation while cataloging every detail of Rhett’s appearance. The way his shoulders filled out his shirt, the strong line of his jaw, the way his hands moved when he gestured.

“Should be a good matchup,” Patrick said around a bite of his sandwich. “Their defense is solid, but they’ve got some weak spots we can exploit.”

“Especially if Morrison here stops overthinking every play,” Elio added with a teasing grin.

I felt something protective flare in my chest at the gentle ribbing. “Overthinking can be an asset. Shows he’s taking it seriously, considering all the angles.”

The defense of Rhett slipped out before I could stop it, earning me surprised looks from around the table. I covered by taking a sip of my water, trying to play it off as general team loyalty rather than the possessive instinct it actually was.

“Wow, Whitmore defending Morrison’s honor,” Lennox observed with amusement. “That’s unexpectedly sweet of you.”

“Just stating facts,” I said, but I could feel Rhett’s eyes on me, could sense his confusion at my protective response.

As the conversation flowed around topics of practice schedules and weekend plans, I found myself studying Rhett with growing intensity.

The way he listened to his teammates with genuine interest, the small smile that played at his lips when Easton told some story about his morning class.

Everything about him was magnetic in a way that made it difficult to focus on anything else.

Under the cover of reaching for the salt, I let my foot find his under the table. The contact was brief, experimental, and I felt him tense slightly at the unexpected touch.

“You okay, Morrison?” Patrick asked, noticing Rhett’s sudden stillness.

“Fine. Just thinking about that economics assignment.”

I seized the opportunity, using the distraction of general groaning about Professor Williams to slowly run the back of my foot along Rhett’s calf. The movement was subtle, hidden by the table, but I watched with satisfaction as color flooded his cheeks.

“That assignment’s brutal,” Elio agreed, oblivious to the way Rhett’s breathing had changed. “I spent four hours on it last night and barely scratched the surface.”

“The key is understanding the underlying frameworks,” I said conversationally, all while continuing my slow exploration of Rhett’s leg with my foot. “Once you grasp the theoretical foundation, the applications become more intuitive.”

Rhett’s hand gripped his water bottle tighter, and I could see him fighting to maintain his composure as I traced higher, just above his knee. The knowledge that I could affect him this way, even in public surrounded by our teammates, was intoxicating.

“Easy for you to say,” Lennox replied. “You probably had similar coursework at Michigan.”

“Some overlap, sure.” I pressed my foot more firmly against Rhett’s thigh, watching as his pupils dilated despite his efforts to appear unaffected. “But every program has its own…unique pressures.”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on Rhett, whose face was now definitely flushed. He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to dislodge my foot, but I simply followed the movement, maintaining the maddening contact.

“Speaking of pressure,” Patrick said, “anyone else notice how intense these seniors are getting? Like they know scouts are watching every move?”

“It’s natural,” Easton said diplomatically. “Final season, everything’s on the line.”

I let my foot travel higher, past Rhett’s knee to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and was rewarded by seeing him nearly choke on his drink. The control I was exercising over his reactions was addictive, dangerous in how much I was enjoying it.

“Rhett, you sure you’re okay?” Elio asked with genuine concern. “You look kind of flushed.”

“Just warm in here,” Rhett managed, his voice slightly strained. He shot me a warning look that only made me want to push further.

“Maybe you should get some air,” I suggested innocently, all while continuing my torturous caress. “Fresh air can be…good for you.”

The conversation continued around us, but I was completely focused on Rhett’s reactions, on the way his body responded to my touch, even as he tried desperately to maintain his composure.

This was reckless, stupid, exactly the kind of behavior that could expose us both, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

The need to touch him, to claim him in some small way, even in this public setting, was overwhelming every rational thought I had.

And the way he was struggling to maintain control, the flush spreading down his neck, the slight tremor in his hands, it was all driving me toward the edge of my own composure.

“I should head out,” Rhett said finally, standing and reaching for his backpack. “I’ve got Professor Martinez’s class in twenty minutes.”

“Contemporary Latin American Literature?” I asked and immediately regretted revealing that I knew his schedule.

“Yeah. How did you…”

“Lucky guess. I’m taking it, too, just later in the week.” Another half-truth, but it seemed to satisfy his teammates’ curiosity.

“Cool. Maybe we can compare notes sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

The group began to disperse, guys heading off to classes and practice and whatever else filled their afternoons.

I should have left with them, should have said goodbye and gone about my day like a normal person.

Instead, I found myself following Rhett as he headed toward the exit, unable to let him go without at least a few more minutes alone.

“Rhett,” I called out when we were far enough from his teammates to speak privately. “Wait up.”

The corners of his lips ticked upward as he turned around. “Following me to the lecture?”

“To the end of the world, if you’ll wait there for me on your knees,” I purred.

Rhett’s eyes widened with surprise, mouth forming a little O of speechlessness.

“I was thinking. Come over to my place tonight. I’ll cook for you if you want,” I told him. “Besides, nobody knows us there. We don’t have to keep it quiet.”

Rhett laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t worry that pretty head of yours,” I said with a naughty grin, then braced myself for the shoulder punch I totally deserved. “See you around eight?”

Before he could respond, before I could do something really stupid like kiss him in the middle of the campus dining hall, I turned and walked away with a grin.

He didn’t have a chance to say no. But I could feel his eyes on me until I disappeared around the corner, and that knowledge carried me through the rest of the afternoon like a drug.

I was supposed to be keeping this simple, supposed to be maintaining the careful distance that would protect both of us from the complications of whatever this was becoming.

Instead, I was falling harder every day, becoming more possessive, more territorial, more willing to take risks just to be near him.

One of these days, I would have to sit across from my father, and I would have to tell him. Because I didn’t fool myself into thinking this would be over soon. I didn’t look at an easy escape route of this thing fizzling away and me never having to confront my father about my choices.

The difficult part was still ahead of me, but I knew it was unavoidable.