Once a Nerd Ch. 11 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 11

... suffocating, and making merry with my teammates is at the bottom of the priority list. I can do thatanytime, but I only see Sam once a goddamn week.

Frantically searching the stands, he's up.

Sam'sleaving.

The feeling that shocks through me is downright violent, and it takes a considerable amount of restraint to not start swinging a path out of the circle. Before too long, the clump starts to thin. Thankfuck. The guys are breaking away, and I seize my chance to do the same. There's only one excuse that'll see me back to the clubhouse, no questions asked. I thump a fist against my lower stomach as I jog past, addressing anyone who's looking: "post-game shit!"

This gets a few sympathetic nods.

Fast forward about forty minutes, and John is side-eyeing the shit out of me as we depart from Sam and his tag-along. Casey seemed like a good enough dude, easy to charm. From that brief interaction, I couldn't sense anything amiss concerning his friendship with Sam. It wasbeyond obvious he knew nothing of our relationship, which comes as no surprise. Sammy would take it to the grave if I let him. John, of course, has learned a few new things.

"Spit it out, man."

"Dude—" The epithet is a burst from his mouth, a breath he'd been holding. "...he was yourEnglish teacher?"

"Yup." I pop the 'p' sound, looking ahead as we pass back into the stadium.

John glances around, then leans in to whisper: "Did you...blackmail him or something?"

"The fuck—" Wait.

Did ...

... I?

I mean, I made a few insinuations here and there. He just needed a little nudge. Nodding to myself, I say, "no, Jesus Christ, I'm not blackmailing him. He was a bit...uncomfortable with it, at first."

"Uncomfortable?! Dude, he looked like he was about to pass out!"

It's true. Sam was like...a tiny, shivering mouse camped out in the bottom of an overturned mug, scrunched back from a bird of prey pecking at the rim. God, I could've fucked him right there on the sidewalk. I can't even explain what he does to me. "He doesn't want anyone to know."

"Then why'd yousay it? I never would've known! He looks—uh, how...old is he?"

I grin, cutting a look at him. "How old do you think he is?"

"I mean, even in person, I thought he was, like...twenty-one? Twenty-two?"

"I've got my reasons, alright? But, no, he's not under goddamn duress. Heis going to be unhappy about this dinner, though."

"...please don't make me go. I already feel bad as it is."

I sling my arm around his neck good-naturedly, and he grunts under my weight. "Sorry, man, I need you."

With the game's end comes relative freedom. Some guys will take the bus back to campus, others will find their own way. The immediate post-game festivities are starting to die down, and while most of the team is itching for a shower, some are just as desperate to crawl out of their gear and into sweats. The clubhouse is loud with overexcited conversation, laughter, music, and a tearful speech from Nelson that's being ...