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I found an empty locker to shove my duffle into temporarily, and that’s when I heard it: the sound of a shower turning on. I quietly peaked around the corner of the lockers to see who had stuck around.

To my eternal dismay, none other than my biggest rival stood underneath the steamy spray, his back turned to me: Jason Alvarez, now the second best point guard in our league who was also the shortest.

Jason had always been Eastvale’s golden goose, the kind of man who’d enjoyed success as a teen at this very school years ago and didn’t stop peaking ever since.

His family had built their wealth over the course of several generations, and he was continuing down the same exact path.

He owned a swanky restaurant in downtown Eastvale, the kind of place people from Westvale drove thirty minutes to so they could enjoy something chic and modern instead of the old school mom and pop places we had.

Serving as the captain for one of the best teams was just another feather in his cap. He was used to success, to winning.

Except tonight’s game hadn’t gone according to his plan in the slightest. He was taking the loss hard, his whole body rigid, his hands curled into fists against the tile wall of the shower.

With a competitive, type-A personality, Jason was likely analyzing every moment of the game, wondering how his team could have won had they played differently.

Some small ( very small), empathetic bone in my body wanted to turn and leave, to give Jason the space he needed, forego showering, and head out to meet my teammates like I’d promised them I would.

Yet another pettier part wanted to stay and gloat, to shove myself into his space and make him see me for what I was—the better player, and most importantly, the better team captain.

I was driven by the same competitive spirit which drove Jason to play his heart out on the court. This was just another challenge from Jason, and I wasn’t going to back down.

So I undressed as quietly as possible and placed my clothes into the locker. I didn’t want him to realize I was here and spoil the surprise. Seeing the shock on his face would be as satisfying as our win.

Besides, I had no issue with showering with other guys before; this wasn’t the first bare ass I’d seen.

Being in sports meant being used to a whole lotta skin on display.

Even though I was gay, it didn’t mean my eyes wandered to just anyone.

I had a type. I knew what I liked, even if I was too busy to date.

With my head held high, I walked into the showers with a bar of soap, stopping beside Jason, and turned on the shower head to his left.

“Oh, hey Jason,” I said, nodding my head and trying my best to smother my shit-eating grin with an air of class. “Good game earlier, huh?”

If Jason heard me over the water, he didn’t make it known. He kept leaning under the spray, letting the hot water wash over his bare, stiff body, ignoring my blatant taunt. Since Jason didn’t take the bait, I upped the ante.

“Do you have any advice on charities we should donate to this year?” I cupped my chin as if I was deep in thought. “I’m thinking the Westvale Children’s Hospital, but I’m open to suggestions.”

Still, Jason didn’t budge. He was the guy who always talked so much shit during the game. But now, when it was just the two of us? He was silent.

In an act of irritation, I began humming the Westvale High School anthem to myself while scrubbing my arms with my bar of soap, expecting Jason to snap at last and tell me to shut up and fuck off. Once I got a real rise out of him, I’d be able to gloat freely about Westvale’s victory.

But once again, Jason didn’t react, even as I hummed louder, more aggressively. He didn’t even turn his head to glare. He just kept looking at the water swirling down the drain. When the song came to an end, I let out a sigh.

Fine, so we’d shower in silence then.

Man, Jason was boring when he was upset.

Couldn’t the guy lighten up? I didn’t shut down after last year’s loss.

I went to work the following Monday without acting like a baby.

He needed to man up and learn to take a loss in stride.

When the roles had been reversed last year, Jason had acted like a tool and paraded the trophy around the arena for all his adoring fans.

The Westvale Wildcats hadn’t stooped to pouting.

We were dignified in defeat, leaving the gym in silence.

Idling under the spray for so long, I grew restless. I needed to get as far away from Jason Alvarez and his piss poor, Debbie-Downer attitude. His moping was bringing me down, and I had won the game.

Yet in my haste, I made a critical mistake.

While washing my chest, I lost my grip on my soap. It was almost cinematic how slow the bar swan dived through the air. For all my skills with a ball on the court, I was butterfingers, fumbling and scrambling, unable to grab a simple bar of soap.

When time caught up, the soap crashed down to the tile floor with a pathetic anticlimactic splash.

A tense beat passed. I glanced over at Jason, and his attention was on the bar.

Of all the things to pique his interest since I’d stepped into the shower, of course it would be this slipup.

Jason noticed my hesitation in picking it up, the smug prick, and let out a soft chuckle. Annoyed, I knelt down to retrieve it.

Yet as I moved to stand, my eyes fell to Jason’s body, fully on display, and I was unable—unwilling?—to look elsewhere.

Jason made up for his height with thick, powerful thighs.

I could only assume the kind of workout and nutrition routine he put himself through to get so muscular.

Whatever he was doing at the gym, the man clearly never skipped leg day.

To my surprise, he had a large, nasty scar on his thigh trailing down to his knee, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of injury could have caused it.

My eyes were already in the area, and they inevitably drifted to the soda can he had for a dick hanging between his legs.

As if the universe hadn’t blessed him enough already, Jason Alvarez was hung too.

But if I was being honest, this wasn’t a shocker; I’d brushed up against him a few times while trying to penetrate into the paint or going for a rebound, and I’d felt it by accident.

Still, it was different seeing it in person.

If only I could forget who it was attached to.

“See something you like, Swanson?”

Hearing him call me out by my surname in a mocking sultry voice jerked me out of my stupor.

I stumbled to my feet so fast my hand lost its grip on the sudsy soap bar that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

How could I not look? Anyone would have, gay or otherwise.

It wasn’t like Jason was trying to cover himself for modesty.

“I get it,” Jason feign-reassured, slowly running a hand down his slick chest and abs. His fingers slid through a wet trail of hair leading downward. With him facing me, nothing was left to my imagination. “You can’t help but look. I know I’m hard to miss.”

His comment was all the encouragement my body needed to betray me. My gaze couldn’t help but follow the path his hand made down his body, and my mouth watered at the sight of him touching himself.

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen Jason without his shirt; I should’ve been immune to it by now.

Around the court, Jason was always eager to flash his abs to the ladies in the stands.

Every game, a group of women showed up to ooh and awe at him, calling themselves his unofficial fanclub.

It was so annoying to play against Eastvale because his mobile cheer-squad always banshee shrieked whenever he made a great play.

Whenever he wiped the sweat off his face with his jersey, he would show a little flash of skin and toned muscles, and it would only make them scream louder.

Everyone in the league said Jason was a notorious playboy.

People claimed Jason had a woman for every single day of the week, but if this was true, none of this seemed to smudge his gold-star reputation across the county.

Even the older moms who managed the booster clubs for the local high school sports teams loved him and thought he was the “pinnacle of manhood.” Their husbands could only look on in pure envy, wishing they could mimic whatever workout routine Jason had mastered in order to earn a similar body.

It was nauseating to witness, even if I could understand the feeling.

I had been down this road before. When I first met Jason, yeah, sure, even I could admit I’d checked him out in a moment of weakness.

Back then, I thought I would have to reign in my desire if I had any hope of playing against him in this league.

Thankfully, Jason made it easy by opening his mouth and squashing whatever seedling of attraction had tried to grow in my heart.

Alone with him in the shower, I was having a hard time focusing on anything other than the rhythmic movement of his fingers as they rose up the meridian of his chest, stopping to draw circles on his sternum.

It was mesmerizing, and I realized I was losing ground fast. If I wanted to keep the high ground, I had to catch myself before it was too late.

What the fuck had he said? That he was hard to miss?

“That’s… That’s not what your shooting percentage says,” I mocked.

Jason’s smirk fell, and his hand dropped to his side. “We scored the same amount of points.”

He was right, but I couldn’t help but rub it in. Westvale had won, after all. He hated being reminded that there was a slight discrepancy in our stats now after tonight’s game. Worse, the numbers would remain that way until basketball season returned next year.