Monday night. America’s night. Lights. Cameras. Crowds.

Football.

I love every single fucking minute of this game.

But tonight, I seriously consider maybe finding a new line of fucking work.

The clock was winding and I snap the ball, heading back, looking for my receivers.

Too late. The Stepbrothers Defense has been on us like nothing else all night and broke past my right tackle.

I have maybe two seconds. But before I can do anything I see fucking stars. Pain shoots through my entire fucking body and I fall towards the ground.

My brain registers what happens without words. Someone must have gotten through and come up my blind side.

They got around the left tackle.

I land on the ground, trying to keep the football. I can’t let go of the football.

I fail.

It leaves my hands and bounces off.

That’s probably the only thing that saves my life. There’s a pileup of guys that fall on the ground, chasing the fucking ball.

But I’m past caring at this point. I take a few deep breaths, moving my legs and arms to see if everything is working. It’s good.

The pain subsides. Nothing broken. Nothing torn.

I stand up and realize that that we’ve turned over the ball.

Fucking again.

With a sigh, I run off the field as Ethan leads the defense out.

This has got to be like the ninth time we’ve traded spots on the field.

Ethan hasn’t spoken to me since the night he and I both had Julianna. In fact, he up and left before we could do anything more. Like a fucking light switch went off after he came.

It’s not like Julianna and I kept at it. We lay there for a little bit, kissing and shit, before we realized that we were pretty exposed in all this. With the way things were going with our sex lives, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that some fucker with a camera somewhere had taken a picture of us. I don't even know where or how. But we decided it was probably best to call it a fucking night.

We left the stadium in separate cars. Going to separate beds.

When all my body wanted to do was to be near her. To hold onto her and never let her go.

But it wasn’t just fucking Julianna that I wanted.

I couldn't stop thinking of Ethan.

That fucker who’d been around my whole life. The one who I’d competed with the since we were kids - who always had been trying to steal my thunder. I couldn’t stop thinking of his fucking body.

Of his goddamn cock.

I mean, don't fucking look at me like that, okay?

I’m not fucking gay. I know I’m not gay.

I like fucking women too much. All fucking shapes and sizes. I’m an equal opportunity fuck machine.

I guess equal opportunity even extends to gender too.

I mean, it’s not like I want to jump every fucking guy that I come up to. I’ve seen cocks all my life in the locker room. I bet you were going to think I was going to say ‘the cocker room’ didn’t you?

But that’s not what I was thinking then.

Until Ethan and I took Julianna together.

Fuck, that was so fucking hot. It was so fucking dirty that even now, as I’m exhausted and reaching the side-lines, my cock is fucking twitching as I think of kissing Julianna’s tits and running them all over my face while Ethan rubbed his cock all over her ass cheeks.

Fuck. Now is not the best time.

Especially the way we’ve been playing.

I know what you’re going to say - I’m supposed to be the fucking best, right?

But I can’t be the best if I’m supposed to be constantly on the field. That’s what the defense is for. To keep the other team’s offense from scoring.

But it also gives me a chance to breathe. Sure, if we have a turnover or shut them down, that’s one thing.

But when we keep having to go back on the field over and over again.

When we keep getting called in because the ball turned over too soon, me and my offensive line get fucking exhausted.

It’s one thing if we were going over because our defense was shutting them down.

But we were allowing them to score.

By the time I head back out in the middle of the third quarter, we’re losing. The Stepbrothers lead us 36 to 7.

I’ve thrown three interceptions because I’ve been worn out by the end of the first Quarter.

Our defense is giving up too much. They’re letting too many things get through.

What the fuck is Ethan thinking?

Why is he playing like shit? I can’t keep doing this without him.

There, I said it, okay? I need the fucker. I can’t do it on my own.

My heart’s fucking sinking as my offensive line basically crumbles and I have to throw away the ball. Again.

We barely make it past a minute before we’re out of downs and have to punt the ball again.

The Stepbrother return it for a touchdown.

That means I’m back on the field. Fuck.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep going. Even our second string QB is exhausted.

* * *

The water is falling in waves against my body as I close my eyes and point my head up towards the shower head.

Everybody was mostly silent as the game ended. One of the worse losses in New York Nailers history.

I know I just came to this team this season, but I’ve grown to think of these men as my brothers. As this team as my fucking family.

And I feel like I’ve let the team down today.

Not even Coach Karl has anything to say to us. Maybe that’s the worst feeling of all. That even the coach doesn't want to fucking talk to you because he’s disgusted.

The shower is definitely cooling me off - calming me down and making me feel a bit more normal. Fuck.

21 to 7.

I decide to stay under the water until I feel calmer. Until my brain is focused again. I can’t keep on being distracted by thoughts of Julianna. Thoughts of Ethan.

The locker room is pretty deserted by the time I get out of the shower. That’s fine with me. Just the way I fucking want it.

I walk past rows of deserted lockers heading towards mine. Towels, jock straps, socks, helmets, all line the floor. All waiting for the maintenance folks the team hires to come clean up.

I don’t know why, but I make a turn to go the longer way, seeing if anyone is around.

And that’s where I run into him.

Ethan fucking Blake.

I have my towel on but he’s still naked, putting on deodorant.

Fuck. The fucking sight of his naked fucking back - muscled and chiseled - makes my cock twitch. What the fuck! I know I’m not gay, but what the fuck is it about this motherfucker that’s getting me fucking hard.

Hearing movement, Ethan turns towards me.

Our eyes lock. I stop walking past him and turn towards him.

“Ethan…” I manage to croak.

Don’t you fucking get caught up at laughing at me, bro. You know I fucking hate that motherfucker.

You cannot fucking forget that. I want you to burn that into your brain.

But the normal Colt Stackford is gone. Instead, my heart is fucking beating a mile a minute.

Ethan brings his eyes down, not meeting my gaze, “Sorry about the game tonight, Colt…” he begins.

“It’s okay, man,” I say, not knowing where all this is fucking coming from. I should be skewering his fucking ass right now.

But I don’t.

“No,” Ethan says with a deep sigh. “No, it’s not alright.”

I’m silent as a troubled look goes through his face. “It was my fault. I saw you play and I saw how exhausted you got by the end of the game,” Ethan say. “I couldn’t hold them back. I couldn’t shut them down.”

Ethan’s shoulders slump.

My nemesis since I’ve been six years old is defeated. The one kid who was able to always stand up to me when we played peewee football in our small Texas town is broken. The one kid who didn’t care that his father worked for mine on the ranch is now giving me a vacant fucking stare. The one guy in high school who I had to share the MVP award with on our football team. The only other person in the history of our high school who had their jersey retired. The one guy who was good enough for Delta Sigma Rho - the most prestigious secret society at Ole Miss to offer two spots and not one to someone from the football team. The one guy who was drafted with me. Who has played across from me. Who was used with me in tandem by the Dallas Devils to take us to victory time after time after time.

He’s standing before me now.

Defeated.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Ethan says and I can’t bear to see him like this.

I don’t know why I do what I do and what the fuck I’m doing but I take a couple steps over to him.

“It’s like my head isn’t in the fucking game,” he says more to himself than to me. “I can’t stop thinking about…”

He stops himself and I know at that moment that the same thoughts going through in my head - those same thoughts that are distracting me during my game - are wreaking all holy hell in his head also. Except with defense, loss of concentration can destroy a team from its underbelly.

I know Ethan well enough by now to know that he’s thinking and kicking himself about what we did. He’s not like me. Anything goes with me. But not him. He had a crazy ass dad that fucked up his brain. I gotta bring the motherfucker back before he loses himself in despair.

Before he starts viewing what happened with the three of us as something bad.

“Hey,” I say softly and Ethan looks up.

I’m inches from the dude. I can smell him - his cologne - and I inhale deeply.

Fuck, this guy pisses me the fuck off.

He’s everything that I want to be. He’s solid. Stable.

He doesn’t need to try to be the center of attention. When he walks in the room, he has a fucking gravitas that attracts everything in it to him.

My hand reaches over and I bring it to his chest.

Ethan draws a sharp breath and looks at me.

My eyes meet his and we lock our gazes.

I’m not breaking this stare. Let’s see if he does.

Let’s see how far this fucking goes.

I bring my hand down and trace my finger down his abs before descending to his crotch.

I can feel his pubes on my hand and in a second, not even having to look down, I feel his cock.

Fuck I’m fucking hard.

I grab his cock in my hand and squeeze it.

He wanted me to be real? He wanted me to be genuine.

Let’s make this fucking real.