Page 30 of Show Me

“DP is…I thought that was something else.” I licked a big hunk of chocolate from my cone. Heaven.

Jesse fought a smile. “I was trying not to say it out loud because…” He gestured around and leaned closer. “Family types.” His breath smelled like strawberry ice cream and blew cool over my ear as he spoke. “Dick print. Actually, hang on.” He popped off the bench and held up a finger as he dug out his phone. “Lower the cone just in front of your chest. Little to the left.Perfect.”

I scooted my legs closer together to make room for him when he dropped back onto the bench next to me, angling the screen so I could see. I checked out the photo he’d taken and laughed, shaking my head. “That’s obscene.”

Jesse had captured me from the neck down, the chocolate ice cream cone perfectly centered over my chest, legs spread wide, and yeah, he’d been right, the dick print was on full display.

I handed the phone back and nudged my dick around to make it less obvious for innocent passersby.

“Still looks like it’s trying to make a jailbreak.” Jesse smirked and waved the phone. “It’s perfect. Can I put it on your Insta? C’mon. Marketing, remember?”

“Really?” He’d helped me set up an Instagram account and a Twitter and insisted people loved daily updates when I told him I didn’t see the point.It builds community and engenders familiarity, he’d said, like some marketing specialist. But he’d been right. I’d seen a steady uptick in subscribers for my OnlyFans, and I’d gained a lot of new followers.

“Watch and learn, my friend,” Jesse promised, with all the confidence of an expert. “Who doesn’t love ice cream and dick prints?” He fiddled with the phone and squished closer to me in a fresh waft of strawberry tinged with the metallic bite of sweat, which was strangely enticing. As we stared at the screen, the likes came flooding in almost instantaneously.

“What the hell?”

Jesse grinned triumphantly. “Told you.”

I checked out the caption which read, “Wanna lick?” and cracked up. Then I noticed the wall of hashtags and gave him a stern look. “How do you know all these hashtags and you didn’t know what a manther was?”

“My brain has very selective retention.” He tilted his chin toward the phone. “Bet you get at least ten new subs out of this. Oh, you know what we should’ve done? A clothed version and a naked version.” He frowned. “We’ll do that next time. I should’ve thought ahead.” Jesse was still staring at my crotch thoughtfully, though, and I got a little distracted by him licking his ice cream cone as he did it. “So all the guys wear those tights to practice in? Can anyone come to practices?” He wiggled his brows and laughed when I nudged him with my shoulder.

“We usually wear cups or jocks, too, so it’s not the dick buffet you’re probably imagining.”

Dick buffet, he mouthed, then said aloud, “Let’s change the subject. I’m wearing the wrong shorts for it. So how’d you even get into football?”

I told him about my dad being the coach at our high school, all the sports he’d coached when I was growing up, and about my big-ass family. We had that in common. “I was pretty good early on, and it was just one of those things where…I dunno. It was something my dad and I could share together. It’s hard to stand out in a big family, you know? So I ran with it. I liked having that with him. My younger brother, Tanner, is a baseball phenom and Cassie, my sis, is awesome at hockey.”

“What about the other three? You said there are six of you, yeah?”

“Yeah, they’re not into sports, so we don’t acknowledge them. It’s hard for me to remember their names,” I joked, then told him about the rest of my siblings.

Jesse caught a drip of ice cream on his tongue. “I wish I’d had something like that, though. My claim to fame was just keeping everything running smoothly.” He wrinkled his nose. “Boring.”

“What about cooking? You’re good at that.”

He snorted. “No one says, meet my son, he’s good at cooking.”

“They probably do if you’re Grant Achatz.”

Jesse’s mouth fell open. “You know who that is?”

I nodded after a lick of my cone. “And Anthony Bourdain and a few others. I watched a documentary one time when we were on a bus heading to a game. Sounds cutthroat. But if you love cooking so much, why aren’t you doing that?”

“I dunno. I mean, I’ve thought about going to culinary school next year, and I just started that sous chef job at Fuego that Chet helped me get. We’ll see, though.”

“What’s so funny?”

“I dunno, I guess it’s just…if you’d told me I’d be sitting outside Slurpy’s eating ice cream with a football player, who happens to be my roommate and who also happens to film jerk vids and knows who Greg Achatz is…it sounds a little crazy.”

“You mean because I’m not a one-dimensional football player? I’m a real boy, Gepetto?”

Jesse blanched. “No, I just mean…or maybe a little bit, yeah. But I…” His cheeks flushed. “I just mean I like hanging out with you, even if you created a lake of sweat in yoga class, threw your shirt on the floor and—”

“You didn’t mention the no-talking thing,” I reminded him. “I felt like an idiot.”

“I figured that was a given. No one talks. Ever. Even if someone accidentally farts, you don’t acknowledge it.”