The moment my lips touch Shane's, everything around us just becomes an extension of that kiss.

I can feel the water as it parts, no longer flowing between us, but around us. The breeze that rustles past the banks of the creek only cools my overheated skin for a moment. I can't even tell if my feet are on the ground, the near weightlessness of the water and my own spinning head turning my world upside down in the best possible way.

There's urgency at first. His mouth crushes roughly to mine, his stubble scraping my skin. His lips are soft but demanding, parting as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth. His hands clutch at me, short nails digging into my skin. The heat between us has been building and building since the day I saw him in that grocery store. I've imagined this moment so many times, my hand fisting my cock as I played out the scene, but there's more passion between us than I could've ever guessed. It's like we've been dancing around each other for years instead of just days.

I give back as good as I get, pushing him back against the bank, the length of my body against his. I roll my hips, grinding against him, the thick line of his erection so easy to feel beneath his wet briefs. He moans into my mouth, a rich, delicious sound, and I use that moment to draw his lip between my teeth and bite down, loving the way his nails curl tighter, harder against my slick skin, his legs lifting to wrap around my waist.

"Shane," I breathe, my voice rough as I skim my teeth along the sharp line of his jaw.

His fingers move into my hair, gripping and pulling, and I grind against him, my face buried between his neck and shoulder, my hands supporting his ass.

I could come just from my cock sliding over his. Nothing but thin, soaked fabric separating hot flesh. But he pulls me up by my hair to give me a hard kiss, and when it ends, I find myself just looking at him. Watching him as we move together.

His pupils are dilated, his lips parted, and every time my dick rubs his, he moans. I slow my movements, and instead of rutting against him with the intent of getting off, I stroke his cock with mine.

"Fuck," he manages, rocking back against me.

His hands move to frame my face and our eyes meet. I feel exposed, like I'm bearing every secret to this man. And at first, it feels… liberating.

Shane doesn't know me as Travis Morrison, All-American running back. He doesn't know me as the sweet and sexy boy next door everybody wants but few can have. He doesn't see me as the guy who shocked a nation by actually having a sex life that wasn't just lights-off missionary with a woman.

Or the guy who had his heart ripped out because the man he was going to marry wanted his fifteen minutes of fame.

That last thought starts to cool the fire in me, not because I'm thinking about Jeremy—there's no room for him in all the fantasies I've been having about Shane—but because whatever I see in this man, it feels like more than the quick, hot fuck I set out to have when I first met him.

And acknowledging that is enough to get me to let go of him suddenly, a rush of cold spreading through my body when he's no longer pressed against me.

Shane looks at me, wide-eyed and confused. I remember feeling the same way yesterday when he went to kiss me. I wanted it. I wanted it so, so much.

But I was scared then, and I'm scared now.

"We shouldn't… I can't…"

I stammer out the words like I've never spoken before in my life.

"You're my brother's best friend…"

Even as I say it, I feel like trash. I can't blame this on Jake. He doesn't have anything to do with it. But the lie works. Shane's expression sobers and he shuts down right in front of me.

"Yeah. Sure," he says, pulling himself out of the creek, his back to me.

"I'm sorry," I say weakly.

He waves me off, already putting on his clothes despite the fact that he's soaking wet. "It's cool. We should get back anyway."

And that's the last he says of it. We're still dripping water as we mount our horses, and it's probably the single most uncomfortable thing I've ever felt. We ride in silence back to his ranch, he offers me a towel, and then goes to put up the horses without a word.

I want to say something. I want to tell him the truth. But instead, I get in my car and I leave.

* * *

Jake's car is in the driveway when I pull up, and I glance at the clock on the dash. He must've just gotten home. I try and get my shit together, raking a hand through my messy hair, frowning at my kiss-swollen lips.

I wish I could say it doesn't matter what Jake thinks of me, but I don't want him to think my life's any more fucked up than he probably already does.

I head toward the door and consider my options. I can tell him I'm exhausted and go straight for my room, but that'll probably end up being weirder than just trying to talk to him. Then again, Jake and I really haven't been able to talk for more than five minutes at a time since I got here…

The choice is made for me as soon as I step through the door.

"Hey, didn't expect you back so soon. You guys finish the paddock already?"

"Yeah," I say, forcing a smile. "Took a lot of work, but it should be ready for Apollo to start being turned out in tomorrow."

Jake laughs, looking up from his stack of papers. "Look at you learning the lingo."

"When in Rome, right?"

"I hear you," he says. "I've learned more about horses than I ever wanted to know thanks to Shane. Did you know you can use artificial light to make stallions produce more sperm?"

That's so, so far out of the realm of anything I'd possibly think of my brother saying that I'm knocked completely out of my own thoughts.

"Dude. What?"

"They usually breed when the days are longer, and their sperm count drops off toward the end of the summer," he says, as if he weren't talking about horse jizz.

"That's… super gross and super weird," I say with a laugh.

Jake grins. "Welcome to twelve years of being Shane's friend."

It's such a random, crazy thing to know that I just bust out laughing. Loud, side-splitting, can't-breathe laughter. And Jake joins in, both of us unintentionally egging the other on.

When I finally catch my breath and wipe the tears from my eyes, I feel… better, until I remember this fun little laughing fit comes courtesy of Shane.

Jake must see the change, because he asks, "Is everything okay? You seem… I don't know. A little distant today."

I start to tell him everything's fine. I start to force a smile, because that's what you do when you're hurting. You suck it up and carry on.

But despite my best intentions, I find myself saying, "Yeah. Not really."

"You wanna talk about it? I've got some beer in the fridge."

I let out a sigh. I've already got one leg ankle-deep in quicksand, but I feel like things could get even rockier between us if I don't give him a heads up.

"It's about Shane."

His brows lift, and for a second it almost feels like he's going to tell me he can't deal with it. Especially when he says nothing, stands up, and walks toward the kitchen. But I can hear the clink of bottles, and when he comes back, he's handing me a beer.

"As long as you're not going to talk about how much sperm he can produce in a summer day, we're cool," he says with a smirk.

I laugh at that, another unrestrained guffaw even as my cheeks heat up. "You're just full of sperm talk today, aren't you."

"Can't be helped. It's the one week a year Kentucky actually lets us teach about reproductive health," he says, unscrewing the cap off his bottle and heading over to the couch.

"Don't you teach history?"

"What is history but a lot of people fucking, fighting, and fighting about fucking?" he asks, making a gesture I can only describe as philosopher-like.

Jesus. My brother's actually funny. Like genuinely, surprisingly funny.

"Is that going in the textbook you write once you're retired?" I ask, joining him on the couch.

"My memoirs," he says with a wink, taking a sip. After a beat, his face grows serious. "So. Shane. You're still into him?"

I wish I could stammer through some kind of denial, but I've been into Shane since I laid eyes on him.

"Yeah," I mutter, swiping a hand through my still-damp hair. "I figured it would work itself out. He's your friend, we have really different lives, and I'm not supposed to be here all that long."

Jake looks at me with a frown. "First off, it's not going to bother me if you and Shane hook up or date or whatever. You're both adults. Second, if you're worried about that, it sounds like you're past the 'that's the hot guy I saw in the supermarket' stage."

I take a long drink of my beer, the liquid sloshing in the bottle. "Yeah. I don't know what it is, but it's more than just… that."

We're both quiet for a moment, and for the first time, I'm realizing that I'm actually talking to my brother. We're having a meaningful conversation that isn't awkward as hell—beyond the subject matter, anyway.

I think that's what ultimately gets me to say more.

"After what happened with Jeremy, I'm just not sure I'm ready for things to get all fucked up again," I admit.

Jake leans over his knees, bottle in his hands, and looks at me for a moment. "What if they don't? I know I'm biased here, but Shane's a good guy; as loyal as they come. He's been through a lot, and I think he'll understand more than you give him credit for."

I frown, thinking of what Shane told me earlier. "I know."

"You're worried about getting attached, right? When you don't know where you’re going to be in a couple months, and when everybody's already prying into your personal life?"

"Yeah," I say, though neither of those things are as big a deal for me as what happened with my ex.

Jake's right, though. Shane's no Jeremy. Jeremy was a selfish, self-centered prick who always wanted to be at the center of everything in my world and everyone else's. But while Shane isn't that needy, I think he's less aloof than he lets on.

And he obviously got his hackles up about the idea of me googling him and knowing about his past. If we do anything more than discreetly fuck, the press will find out about it, and Shane's story will be all over the news.

"I'm not saying those things don't have weight, but… what would you do if you were just a normal guy?"

His words cut through my thoughts and I tense. "What does that mean?"

"It means you've been doing things for other people your whole life, Trav. Maybe you should do something for you."

"You think that's what football is to me?" I ask, bristling.

Jake's posture changes, his shoulders taking a hard line as he straightens. "Come on. You can't tell me you wanted to spend six hours a day practicing when you were eight years old."

"I was good at football. It was the only thing I was ever good at," I say, my tone defensive.

"Yeah, and Dad exploited that for everything it was worth!"

I sit there, stunned. Stricken. Hurt. Is this how he sees me? Just some pawn in our dad's quest for fame and glory? No wonder we can't talk to each other. No wonder we can't relate at all.

He doesn't even see me as a person.

"Trav, I didn't mean—"

But I'm already standing, my beer left behind on the table. "Don't worry about it. Dad's pet project will be out of your hair soon enough."

"Travis, I'm sorry!" he calls after me.

I duck into my room and close the door, my emotions a tangled mess. Longing. Confusion. Pain. They’re all wrapped up together, and all I want is a way out; a way to not think about my feelings. To not worry about the past or the future, and just live for the present.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open up my contacts and tap out the most to-the-point text I've ever sent.

I want to see you.