“How old were you?” I brush my lips over his scar.

  “Nine.”

  “Nine? You were a kid. Why did she need to teach you anything?” I gently tug him onto my lap, wrapping my arms around his torso.

  Jamal curls into me, tucking his head under my chin so he’s not looking at me.

  “Being young is a privilege that many of us didn’t have. We grew up too fast and saw too many things to consider ourselves kids. Gangs start recruiting at a young age for small jobs, paying money to deliver messages or drugs. It’s easy money and gets kids in deep before they realize they can’t get out. My auntie said if I could learn to take punishment without pulling away or crying, I’d be able to avoid the gang life.” His chest heaves. “In her twisted way, she was trying to help me.”

  “Help you? She tortured you and scarred you for life!” Rage boils so hot my bones are in danger of melting.

  Jamal nods, and I hold him close. His shea butter scent and the feel of his braids against my chin are the only things keeping me from spiraling.

  “As soon as my moms found out, we left. Couch surfing and homeless shelters. But it didn’t last long. My auntie OD’d a couple of weeks later, and we went back to the apartment. The family blamed my mom for turning her back on her sister. My mom hasn’t forgiven them for not taking my side.”

  “Your mom’s a warrior, the way she stood up for you.” There’s a pang of jealousy, wishing my mom gave a shit about me.

  “I’m very lucky. By refusing to take money from my DNA donor, he couldn’t control her, and she found us a new family. As a kid, I resented her for a long time,” he confesses. “I didn’t understand the problems that would come from taking money from my bio-father. I only saw the solutions it could provide.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. You were young.” I rearrange him so he’s not sitting on my dick. This would be an inopportune time for a hard-on.

  “But I wasn’t a kid. I love my moms, but I don’t think I truly appreciated her until recently.”

  I don’t need his pity. “Glad I could show you how fucked up you’d be if you had money.” I stand, but Jamal won’t let go.

  “That’s not what I mean. Listen to me.” He grabs my jaw and forces me to make eye contact.

  My fucking cock loves it and plumps right up.

  “I didn’t truly understand that a mother’s love isn’t a guarantee. It’s not something to take for granted. The reason we had extra security in Detroit was because Lucky’s family, especially his mom, is trash. Family can be assholes, but my moms saw what was up and protected me. I thought she made excuses for us being poor. But John is a narcissistic bastard and might have…” He trails off.

  “Turned you into me,” I finish for him.

  His grip on my face tightens. “No, I like you exactly how you are. Mostly. When you’re not being a dick.” His gorgeous, full lips turn up.

  “Got it. You like me but not my dick.” It surprises me when he shoves me back onto the couch and straddles my lap.

  “Now don’t get crazy. I don’t know your dick well enough to be friends. Yet.” His hand slides to my throat.

  “He’d like to be more than friends.” I close the distance, kissing him, showing him how much more we could be. That adds pressure to my throat, and my cock jumps to attention, ready to salute or follow any order he gives me.

  “Hmm.” Jamal reaches into the sticky mess of my pants, closing his fist around my length.

  Chapter 23

  Jamal King

  For once, I’m not overthinking. Theo got me feeling things on a whole different level. Extreme highs and lows. I’m not built for uncertainty; in fact, it gives me panic attacks.

  But my hand reaches into his pants to grip his growing hard-on.

  “We could shower and go for round two at the same time.” He closes his teeth around my bottom lip, and I’m ready to agree.

  “I don’t…” I pause, figuring out how to explain that I don’t have any experience or know what I’m doing.

  “It’s fine.” He gets up and tugs me along. “You can shower before you go.” He leads me into a room that I only know is his because of his hockey clothes on the floor and extra equipment piled in the corner.

  I stop to take it all in. The bedspread is cream with gold-stitched gaudy flowers. It’s decorated similarly to the rest of the apartment.

  “Yup. It’s butt-ugly. And no, I had no say in it.” He points to the open bathroom door. “There are clean towels in the linen closet. Help yourself.”

  I stand in the middle of the room, contemplating how to ask him to shower with me. But I’ll probably embarrass myself.

  Theo stares at me in confusion. “Would you rather not shower?”

  “I don’t have clean clothes here,” the germaphobe in me blurts out.

  “I got you.” He tosses me clothes from a drawer. “You good?”

  My mouth won’t work, so I escape to the bathroom, shut the door without locking it, and take the fastest shower in history. I want him to come in as much as I need to be alone. Except being alone means my mind runs wild, overthinking.

  What are we doing? I must be insane. Does he actually like me? Like, like me, like me? Could my dad tell I’m into Theo? Did he mean he’ll understand if Theo and I… What would we do? Hook up? Friends with benefits? My nerves are shot, and I need to bounce.

  When I snap out of it, I realize I’m smelling Theo’s used towel. I should not be allowed out in public.

  I pull on his clothes commando because it’s too weird to wear someone else’s underwear.

  “You look good in my clothes,” Theo says as I emerge from the bathroom. He’s got wet hair and is wearing a different outfit. “I used another bathroom to give you privacy.”

  His nose flares when he sees both pairs of underwear in my hand.

  I open my mouth to tell him I’m a recovering germaphobe, but that’s not what I say. “I don’t have experience with live people.”

  Instead of laughing like I expect, he tilts his head to the side. “I shouldn’t kink shame…but necrophilia?”

  As I’m covering my face, I realize I still have my cum-splattered clothes in my hand and toss them as if they’re burning me. “Why am I like this?” I ask rhetorically, but I can’t flee because he’s standing between me and the door.

  Theo laughs. “I ask myself that all the time, but you’ll have to be more specific. Are we talking necrophilia, awkward, or going commando?” He steps closer and snaps my waistband as if trying to sneak a peek.

  “I didn’t think awkward until now. Thanks for that.” Self-consciously, I step out of his reach. “Not into dead people, but I don’t hook up. I’ve tried, but my anxiety gets out of control, so I stick to camboys.”

  I watch his expression for disgust or rejection, putting more distance between us.

  “That’s smart. Wish I’d thought of it. But John would cut off my credit card.” He bends down to pick up my dirty clothes, and I grab for them. “I’ll wash them for you, Your Majesty.”

  “Your Majesty?” I repeat.

  Theo bows his head. “You’re my king, aren’t you?”

  He has to be kidding. Not meaning it. A joke. My head bobbles on my neck, and my brain goes from overthinking to zero activity. I’m not sure how I’m breathing on my own.

  Theo smashes his lips to mine. When we break apart, his smile is breathtaking. “Can you make it home okay, or do you want to spend the night?”

  Yes, spend the night. Of course. All night. “No, I’m good.”

  “Yeah, you are.” He kisses me again.

  After I leave, I have no idea what we’re doing. I call Tyrone on the way home and ask him to distract me. He doesn’t disappoint and gives the latest apartment complex gossip.

  We have a light skate the next day, and my stomach is in knots over seeing Theo. If I didn’t have his clothes, which I washed, dried, and placed in a small plastic bag, I could have convinced myself last night never happened.

  I’ll sneak his clothes into his locker when no one is looking. Especially Benz, because he’ll give me shit for using a plastic bag.

  There’s a gift bag in my locker, and at first I think it’s a mistake, but it’s labeled “Your Majesty.” There’s a white Jordan hoodie, which makes no sense. Why would Theo give me… My old hoodie was hanging on a hook by the door of my apartment. The pocket is ripped off, and I was going to see if my moms or a cousin could fix it for me. He must’ve seen it.

  Theo’s loud when he enters the locker room, and I feel his gaze but don’t turn around. My body doesn’t fit me, and I can’t act normal.

  “What the hell is up with you?” Mav asks.

  “He’s smiling, he got laid,” Brant answers.

  “Wait,” Benz yells, and I freeze. “O’Keefe has on the rookie sweats from last year. How did you get those?”

  Fear cripples me as I turn to him. Theo’s shock lasts half a second before he covers it with a wink. “I stole them. Check your closet.”

  I snort, unable to keep the sound in.

  “What’s that, King?” The way Theo says king sets me on fire. I can’t get hard in the locker room. It’s rule number one.

  Looking at him, gorgeous and cocky, is a mistake, so I stare into my locker. “Not likely,” I say.

  “What’s unlikely?” Theo prods.

  “You get what you want. If you want those sweats, all you’d have to do is ask. Stealing is beneath you,” I say, covertly telling him he can keep my clothes.

  Brant groans, and I assume it’s because he thinks I’m starting a fight with Theo by saying something is beneath him.

  “Whatever you say, Maj.” But he draws the word out so it has more syllables, and it goes straight to my dick, thinking about him calling me Your Majesty.

  “That must’ve been some sex.” Brant shakes his head. “Gave O’Keefe a personality transplant.”

  Thankfully, it’s hard to tell I’m blushing. This team doesn’t need any more ammo for the situation.

  Practice flies by, and Theo makes it fun. He challenges me with passing games, and we connect for a bunch of goals.

  “Have you replaced me as your work husband?” Griff tosses a dirty sock at me.

  “Nah, I don’t wanna make Benzy cry.” I kick his dirty sock away.

  “Funny,” he yells after me as I disappear into a private shower stall.

  The hot water beats on my shoulders, and there’s a rustling sound behind me that I ignore. If someone on my team besides Theo sees my scars, they won’t judge me. They’re my friends.

  I’m lost in my head and jump when a hand cups my ass.

  “Shhh, no one saw me.” Theo nudges me forward under the spray.

  As I spin around, my thoughts are screaming for him to get out, but my dick becomes the weapon he teases me about.

  “Someone’s happy to see me.” Theo’s soft lips drag along my clavicle, and he reaches to stroke my length. “Come back to my place tonight.” He fondles my balls and sucks on my neck as if our team isn’t separated by an extremely thin plastic barrier.

  “I can’t.” I’m distracted by all his white skin dotted with a few random freckles. My hands explore his shoulders and upper back, committing all his muscles to memory. It doesn’t take long to forget about the team and concentrate on his hands on me.

  Last time, I was nervous about doing something wrong. This time, I’m going to focus on him and the way he turns my dick to stone and my insides to mush.

  “Why?” he growls, but doesn’t let go of my dick.

  I want to see him. We didn’t take our clothes off last time, and I feel cheated. His hand is in the way of seeing his dick. If I had any experience at all, I’d drop to my knees and explore with my eyes and mouth.

  Theo’s steady tugs send zings of pleasure through my entire body, and I forget how to breathe.

  “Why?” he repeats, and I have to remember the question.

  “I’m going to get my hair braided.” My brain shorts out as he twists his wrist and swallows my moan. My grip on his ass is so tight, I’ll probably leave marks.

  I’m drunk on him and never want this to end. I want him in my bed to have him to myself. Theo’s intensity engulfs me. My mind slows, and my body is in tune with his.

  “Hmmm.” Theo’s teeth sink into my shoulder, and my knees go weak as I whimper. I’m less concerned about getting caught than I am about him stopping. “I’ll come with you.”

  I nod, not sure if we’re talking about coming or my hair appointment. My legs stiffen and I shake.

  “Come for me, Your Majesty,” he says seductively, and I do. He backs us out of the water and aims my release at him. I coat his pretty ruddy red cock while gasping for breath.

  Green pools of desperation meet my stare, and I close my hand around his dick. He’s long and thick, and I drop my gaze to watch. His head pokes through my fist, and his slit winks at me. My cum is the perfect lubricant for smooth strokes. The overthinking part of my brain tries to warn me I’m figuring it out as I go. It doesn’t matter. He moves, I move, like a choreographed dance our bodies are spontaneously aware of.

  Theo’s holding me as if I’m his. I’m dying to drop to my knees, but I can tell he’s close, and I’m intent on watching him come. Nicknames effortlessly roll off Theo’s tongue, and I wish I had one for him. Maybe his name means something that would be the perfect tag.

  “Give me your cum.” I nuzzle into his neck and use my other hand to trace his crease.

  Theo groans low in his throat. I capture the sound with my mouth and work him through his orgasm. We fall against the shower tiles, clinging to each other.

  “You okay in there, King?” Griff asks.

  Theo and I blink at each other. A slow grin breaks across his face, which I can’t understand.

  “Good.” I clear my throat. “Be out in a minute.”

  Theo kisses me hungrily, then pulls away. “Don’t leave without me.”

  Chapter 24

  Theo O'Keefe

  Jamal steals another glance at me, and his hand twitches. I’m telling myself he wants to hold my hand, but I’m being ridiculous. It’s sex, nothing more.

  He says it’s a shorter ride on the train than to drive, so once again, I’m on the subway. A couple of orgasms have scrambled my brain.

  Joining him in the locker room shower was the worst, best idea I’ve ever had. Now I’ll want him every time. The covert operation was worth it to feel him come in my hand. Ten out of ten would do it again and again.

  “You didn’t have to get me a hoodie.” He nudges me with his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to wear old, ripped sweatshirts, and clothing is something I can buy without getting John’s attention. I nod and change the subject.

  “You going to the same cousin who’s an artist?” I ask to hear his voice.

  “Yup. She’s a magician.” He pulls on a braid. “Hey, does your name have any significance? Like a family name, or what does it mean?”

  I shake my head, piecing together how the conversation has taken such a sudden turn. “Not sure.”

  “No wonder you’re so cocky,” Jamal scoffs with a hint of a smile as he shows me he searched my name on his phone. “Your name actually means God.”

  I scan the definition. Theo is Greek in origin and derived from Theos meaning God and Doron meaning gift. Often short for Theodore or Theodora. “Oh yeah.” I pat myself on my back. “If the shoe fits…” I trail off, cracking up with laughter. “Why do you want to know?”

  “This is our stop,” he says, ignoring my question. We get off the train and climb the stairs to street level. “Nevaeh’s meeting us at her friend’s shop.” Jamal leads me to a storefront with black wigs and long lashes in the window.

  “Who the hell didja bring in here?” a petite Black woman with her hands on her hips calls out.

  “Be nice. I told you.” Jamal wraps her in a hug. “Theo, this is my cousin, Nevaeh.”

  I stick out my hand, and she looks between my hand and eyes before saying, “Shit. Sit over there, pretty boy.” She points to a chair a thousand miles from where Jamal has taken a seat.

  No one’s talking. They’re all staring at us. I rarely feel self-conscious, but this attention makes me sweat. In the elite social circles of Boston, I am constantly judged for my looks, clothes, and manners. I don’t give a shit about them, but here, I’m unsure and uncomfortable.

  “Stop staring at the fine white boy. Y’all act like you never seen one before.” Nevaeh huffs and fastens a cape around Jamal. Everyone resumes their conversations, but I’m out of place.

  Nevaeh moves deftly as if she’s done this a million times. She sprays a mist over Jamal’s hair and then works oil into the braids. She clucks her tongue as she holds it up for inspection. “Not bad.” She snips the ends off each braid, and I watch them float to the floor.

  “Told you she’s got skills.” Jamal meets her eyes in the mirror.

  They talk about family and gossip while I soak it in. From what I can tell, Nevaeh’s all bark and no bite. She clearly loves him. It takes well over an hour for all the braids to be undone.

  I’m drawn to him, unable to stop myself. His hair…it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s crimped and sticks out in all directions.

  Nevaeh’s slap on my hand brings me out of my comatose state. “Can I?” I ask Jamal’s permission to touch his hair.

  I run my hand through the strands by his ear, but it’s too tangled to get to the ends. Jamal leans into my touch.

  “We’re not even a quarter done, Mr. Pretty. Go sit down like a good little boy.” Nevaeh waves a comb at me. “Combing this out is a beast.”

  Jamal’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I don’t go sit like I’m told. I stand behind them, out of Nevaeh’s way. We stare at each other until I feel my pulse in my throat, and I don’t recognize the smile on my face.

  Jamal shifts. I bet he’s hard, but I can’t see under his cape.

  “We ain’t playin’ this game.” Nevaeh steps into my view. “You all can send each other fuck-me eyes when I’m done.”