Page 3 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

CHAPTER

TWO

Zeke

Then

I like to think I can hold my liquor well.

I admit I drink. A lot. Started in high school, continued in college, and never really stopped once I made it to the NFL. Partying has always been my thing. Well, partying and hooking up. With my years of experience, I excel at both.

Tonight, though, I’m pretty fucked-up, and I’m blaming it all on the sexy bunny who has been following me around for the last few hours.

Micah.

I’ve met him a couple of times before. My best friend, Tahegin, has a massive hard-on for our grumpy new teammate, Hendrix. Micah is Hendrix’s best friend. Since Tahegin has been inviting the socially awkward Hendrix to all of our parties, Micah has been tagging along as well.

This party, in honor of Halloween, is not only at my house, where I feel most comfortable letting loose to alcohol, but it’s a costume party, too. We’re all dressed for the holiday—me as a cherub angel complete with rosy cheeks and a diaper I already regret wearing, Tahegin as cupid, Hendrix with a lone pair of devil horns on a headband, and, of course, Micah as a sexy bunny.

When Micah entered my house earlier with Hendrix in tow, I was already comfortably buzzed, and the arrival of such a tempting man nearly had me full mast while surrounded by all my teammates. My inebriated, primitive brain locked onto Micah and refused to disengage, no matter how many drinks I tossed back.

I’ve wanted Micah since the first time we were introduced. His body is smooth and lithe, petite and delicate, sensual and dangerous. Though he looks sweet with his porcelain doll-like features, he portrays himself as anything but. His white shorts reveal miles of long, smooth legs and the deep crease between the backs of his upper thighs and ass cheeks. He’s also wearing a corset—a fucking corset . It cinches his waist, accentuating the arch of his spine and the flat expanse of his belly. He’s so small compared to me, so perfectly done up with makeup and accessories that I can’t decide if I want to perch him on a shelf like a prized possession or rip his clothes from his body so I can see if he tastes like the sweet strawberries he always smells of.

I want to know what product makes his shoulders shimmer under the lights. I want to know if his lavender-colored hair feels as soft as it looks. I want to lick the pink gloss from his lips and repaint them with my?—

Damn it. No.

Tossing back another shot, I remind myself that Micah is off-limits. At least, I think he is. His best friend and my best friend are this close to dating, which means I shouldn’t go leading Micah on and potentially risk Tahegin’s chances of being with Hendrix. Right?

Time and objects blur while I swim in cloudy thoughts of should I , could I , would he . The four of us end up playing a drinking game, which doesn’t help my attempts to think clearly. Everything is muffled and fuzzy around the edges, and I think I’m smiling—maybe—at Micah. I’m definitely looking at him. Can’t keep my eyes off him. Can’t keep them off his lips as he licks the gloss there before forming words that take a second to register.

“Never have I ever kissed Ezekiel Aleks.”

He hasn’t? Well, fuck, he’s right. I kiss everyone—hence why both Tahegin and Hendrix are already taking a drink. It’s my thing . I should totally kiss him, shouldn’t I? Should I? Maybe he wasn’t asking me to kiss him. God, I want to kiss him. “Never have I ever kissed a sexy bunny,” I fire back.

One of our friends, who even cares which, tries to continue with their own “Never have I ever,” but Micah interjects with, “Seen Aleks’ bedroom.”

My mouth goes impossibly dry, and all I can do is stare at him harder. That was a hint, wasn’t it? I take a leap of faith. “Never have I ever fucked you.”

I’m not blind. I know I’m attractive, and I know the way Micah has looked at me since day one means he’s interested. I just . . . I had a reason, didn’t I? I wasn’t going to hook up with Micah because . . .

In the blink of an eye, Micah is on me, straddling my thighs, fingernails scraping my scalp as he grabs me with desperation. Our lips are inches apart when we’re gently separated by our friends. Panic crashes over me, and I remember now why I’ve kept my distance from him. Is this going to ruin the chances of our friends getting together?

No, that isn’t their concern. They simply make sure we’re both coherent enough to consent before letting us be on our way. I’ve never loved my best friend more. I guess Hendrix is okay, too.

After somehow managing to carry Micah to my bedroom despite the way the world is spinning, I finally get my mouth on him. It should come as no surprise that we both taste like liquor at this point. I barely remember to check in with him to make sure I’m not doing anything he doesn’t want, but there’s an itch in my pants that I need to scratch already. It’s only once I’ve ripped off his corset vest and the diaper from my costume that I realize the itch is literal.

I’m literally covered in a horrendous red rash from the stupid diaper.

It’s awkward, yes, but we manage to ignore it for now. His attempt to blow me also gets ignored when he nearly vomits on my dick.

I wince sympathetically. Been there, done that. Don’t wish it upon anyone.

Making sure to prep him well, I enjoy the few minutes he’s able to ride me—taking in every dip and curve of his body and thumbing the small heart-shaped freckle below his nipple—before a sickly green takes over his face. It’s obvious we aren’t in any condition to do strenuous activities, so I tuck him into my arms, turn us on our sides, and spoon him as my cock slides inside him again. He’s petite and bendy, letting me push and pull and arch him just right until I’m pegging his prostate with each thrust. I overindulged in alcohol tonight, so any quick movements have me feeling nauseous. Instead of pounding him into the mattress as I usually would, I simply fuck him—slow, deep, and with my palm planted firmly over his rapidly beating heart until we come. He’s warm and solid in my arms, his body small, his skin soft, his scent overwhelming in the best kind of way as it wraps around us. I’ve never fucked someone like this, and while it’s great, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like next time if we weren’t too drunk to move efficiently. My imagination runs on overtime, picturing a wild, explosive experience better than any I’ve ever had. Fuck. I need to know if that’s how it would be.

In the morning, neither of us speaks as I clean him up, and he graciously applies cream to my ugly diaper rash. I should be embarrassed, but that emotion simply isn’t present. Micah doesn’t judge me. The small smile he sends my way is compassionate—no pity or disgust.

I regretfully hand him his ripped corset along with an old T-shirt of mine for him to wear. He nods his thanks as I try to convince myself I don’t feel something as he covers himself in my clothing in my bedroom. I tell myself I am not still imagining how mind-blowing sex with Micah could be sober.

And then there he is. Dressed in my too-big shirt, heels, and smudged makeup, about to leave my bedroom after a night of messy fun and gentle understanding. And I, much to my surprise, find that I already kind of miss that easy feeling he gives me, so I do something I never do.

I ask for his number.