Matched By My Rival by DJ Jamison

4

SIMON

Tracks was slammed, and Keri—a relatively new hire—was barely keeping pace. I rushed through a drink order, eyeballing how much liquor I sloshed into the glass, while Keri meticulously checked cocktail recipe cards and measured everything out. Typical of a new bartender, but not ideal in these circumstances.

On top of that, the band tonight was a real doozy. Some sort of punk metal nightmare with their volume dialed up to eleven.

“Can I get some fucking service already?”

I whirled, ready to tell someone to take a hike. We were working our asses off, and I had no idea Thursdays were such a madhouse. I didn’t envy Rhett this schedule one tiny bit.

“Listen, we’re—” I stopped short, recognizing Darnell and a couple of other defensemen. “Man, fuck you.”

He laughed. “Nice to see you too.”

I hurriedly finished the Cosmo I’d started, handing it off to a woman with short, spiky hair dyed a vivid pink and piercings in her eyebrow, nose, and ear cartilage. One thing that was kind of fun about Tracks was that we never knew what kind of crowd we’d get. The music brought in all kinds of people, and not just the college crowd.

I managed a half smile, and she shoved a one-dollar bill into the tip jar. Well, better than nothing.

Turning back to Darnell, I leaned in over the bar. “What’s up? This isn’t really your scene.”

Darnell scanned the room, nodding. “What do you know about my scene? These people look fun.”

I snorted a laugh. “Okay. What’ll you have?”

“Eh, we’ve had enough. I just came to give you a head’s up about something. We were across the street, and I was thinking, my man Simon should know what’s about to hit him.”

“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word because I couldn’t imagine what the fuck he was talking about. “You could have texted.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to see your face.”

Well, that didn’t bode well.

I glanced to the side. Keri was drowning. Holding up a finger, I moved to rescue her with a few drink orders, then returned to Darnell. “Okay, what is it?”

He grimaced. “Remember I mentioned Coach tearing us a new one?” I nodded. “He was pissed half the team turned up hungover for drills. He’s making us do volunteer work to teach us some discipline.”

“No kidding? Well, you can come out to House Pledge—”

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” he said emphatically, and I saw that he was indeed a little tipsy. Coach’s plan was clearly working, I thought dryly. Although they’d only be watching game footage the next day, so Darnell would probably fly under the radar. “Reed signed up for your frat’s charity!”

“Wait. Parker fucking Reed?” I demanded.

A half dozen emotions flashed through me in quick succession—everything from resentment to regret—the anger and guilt twisting up in a complicated knot I had no idea how to unravel. Or if I even wanted to.

Darnell nodded. “And listen, okay? I know you’re holding a boulder-sized grudge against this dude, but you cannot kill him.”

Clearly, my actions with Parker had given me a bad reputation if Darnell was seriously worried I’d commit homicide. Not that I wasn’t pissed. Logical or not, fair or not, I didn’t want Parker on my turf. After everything that went down between us, why couldn’t he keep his distance?

The thirsty crowd wouldn’t leave me alone to fume, though, and soon I was pulled back into the rhythm of work. Darnell and his boys took off, and I tried not to think about Parker while I pulled beers from the taps, mixed cocktails, and helped Keri when she got overwhelmed.

By the end of the night, I was exhausted.

But there was also a restlessness simmering in my veins. An energy that wanted release. Short of tracking down Parker Reed and confronting him, which was a terrible fucking idea, I wasn’t sure how to handle it. Much as I tried to ignore it, it built up, winding me tighter and tighter as I closed up the bar and made the walk home.

By the time I got to my room at the frat and stripped down for bed, it had transported itself into a need to do something, anything. My blood pumped hot and heavy. My skin prickled.

My cock hardened.

I can just jerk off and get this out of my system,I thought.

But Parker was still on my mind. I couldn’t do it with the memory of his smirk front and center.

I pulled out my phone, clicking the stylized T icon on my home screen. Thrust, the hookup app for queer men I’d taken to tentatively scrolling through. Such a tacky name and yet...accurate, I supposed.

There was an overwhelming number of chests, abs, asses. Not so many faces, but some.

I scrolled through them, my body reacting—not that it would take much tonight. But this was what I wanted, what I’d been craving. To explore my attraction to men. But always, when I got to this point, I stopped short of reaching out.

I wasn’t ready to hook up. But I needed something more than a quick scroll and jerk. I wanted to connect with a real person, even if only through a screen.

I checked the match requests that had come in, stopping on one that intrigued me.

His body was nice. Trim but muscular, with tanned, toned arms and a pale belly under a sandy brown fuzz trail. The photo cut off, and I found myself gazing at the bottom edge of that image, where I could just make out the grooves on either side of his pelvis. I kept trying to imagine the rest of him. His cock, his thighs. My mouth watered—and that was a strong response. Damn.

Maybe I was just sex starved.

Yeah, sex starved for a man, I scoffed at myself, unwilling to hide in denial anymore. I’d been questioning my sexuality for years. I’d stumbled into some gay porn in high school and watched quite a bit in the name of curiosity.

Football had always come first, and it had always brought girls to my doorstep too. I’d played it safe. Let myself be pursued and taken the path of least resistance.

But now... Well, my cock throbbed between my thighs, and that really said it all. I reached down, squeezing myself, as I checked the drool-worthy guy’s profile. I half hoped he’d be another turnoff, so I could just jerk off and go to bed as usual. The other half of me hoped he’d impress me so that I’d finally take some action.

His profile could have almost been written by me.

Quietly bi/pan guy looking to explore but keep it discreet. Crazy busy schedule. Patience required. Nothing too personal. Not looking for a relationship.

He had his guard up, but that appealed to me. Before I could overthink it, I swiped his pic, agreeing to his match. It was the first time I’d done that. My heart jumped. What if he wanted to meet up right away? What if he said he’d come over and suck my dick right now? Was I ready for that?

I stared at my phone, but nothing happened.

I didn’t know if I was disappointed or relieved. The guy was probably asleep, for fuck’s sake.

But at least now, I had new imagery to go with the hard-on begging for attention. I set my phone aside and stroked my cock, groaning as thoughts of another man’s hand moving up and down my shaft sent me spinning into pleasure and fantasy.

Finally, my blood stopped boiling. My tension eased.

And I slipped into sleep.

But not before deciding that if Parker Reed wanted to toy with me, he better be ready for the consequences. I couldn’t be trusted when it came to that guy. He’d gotten under my skin, burrowed too deep to shake.

Even if I did feel ashamed of lashing out like I had.

* * *

PARKER

Friday night, I passed on hanging with the guys, wanting to be rested for an early morning at House Pledge. It was a house rehab program, so I knew there’d probably be some labor involved. That didn’t faze me much. If I could handle football, I could handle a little construction work.

What did faze me was the possibility of seeing Simon Prentiss.

I’d signed up on impulse, wanting to make things right between us. But Darnell’s reaction had unsettled me. We’d never been super close, Double D and me, not like he was with Simon. But we were teammates and dorm neighbors, and I didn’t think he’d steer me wrong. If anyone knew how Simon would react, it was him.

I figured I’d better be braced for anything to happen—even another fist to the face. So instead of drinking and waking up hungover, I settled in early with one of my favorite movies, Groundhog Day. It drove my mom crazy that I enjoyed watching a movie that repeated the same day over and over again—but there was something comforting about that. I wouldn’t mind going back to one day in particular and re-doing it. Maybe find a better outcome for everyone involved. Besides, Mom had no room to talk after watching Sophie’s Choice. At least my movie wasn’t depressing as fuck.

While the movie played, I scrolled social media and returned texts from friends. I was on a group chat with some of the guys, and they were hyped up since it was a Friday night and they were guaranteed a morning to sleep in—unlike me, since I was a glutton for punishment.

It also annoyed Mom to watch me multi-task like this, but hey, it was a skill. If I could watch a movie, talk to friends, and catch up on the latest Reddit post, more power to me, right?

In that spirit, I added the Thrust app to the mix. I had no intention of hooking up tonight, but it’d been a while since I’d checked it. With my need to stay on the DL, I couldn’t exactly jump at the first offer that came my way. But at least the app gave me the opportunity to flirt a little. Maybe exchange some pics (no face, of course) or sext now and then. It wasn’t much, wasn’t enough, and eventually I’d try to find a discreet guy. There were always guys who wanted to be as anonymous as I did, but as a recognizable sports star on campus I had to be extra cautious.

My app was jammed with match requests, along with a few messages from guys I’d approached first. ExtraTopping, a beefy guy with a cute grin and dimples; xxbottomsupxx, a slimmer guy with gorgeous ivory skin set off by dark hair; and BiCuriousStud, a more built version of the last guy. Oh yeah, I liked him. He hadn’t included his face in the pic, but I could tell from his skin tone and the hair that trailed down from his navel into an elastic waistband that he also had dark hair. I definitely had a type.

This last guy intrigued me. His photos were sort of crappy, like he wasn’t practiced at taking sexy selfies. The lighting was dim, but the man was fit. This being a college town, there were plenty of young, hot guys—but not many with this level of muscle definition. He hit the gym a lot, maybe was an athlete too. He was a man of few words in his profile, saying he liked to stay active but worked too much to date.

I opened the message he’d sent after agreeing to my match.

Liked your profile. You sound like me.

Hmm. Interesting. My profile had mentioned I was busy as hell, so he could mean that. Or he could mean that he wanted to remain discreet. Which would greatly improve my shot at actually taking this offline.

I slid into his DMs.

Are you a narcissist?

Two seconds after I sent it, I wished I could snatch it back. What if he took me seriously and blocked me for being an asshole. I quickly added: You said you liked my profile because I sound like you... sorry haha.

BiCuriousStud: You’re a charmer.

HotPan22: Bad joke. Sorry. One of my charms?

BiCuriousStud: Well, it’s a step above wanna trade dick pics, I’ll give you that.

HotPan22: There goes my pickup line.

There was a long enough pause I had to wonder if he got my humor. Something got lost in translation with texting. Despite exchanging only a few words, I didn’t want to fuck it up before we even got started. There was something about his acerbic delivery I liked.

Before I could rush out another comment to clarify I was kidding, a message from him came through.

BiCuriousStud: To answer your question, I might be vain, but I’ve got zero desire to fuck myself.

HotPan22: Really? I quite enjoy a good self-pleasure session ;)

BiCuriousStud: It’s more a necessity of life at this point. Gotta get to sleep somehow.

HotPan22: That’s sad. Sounds like you need some excitement in your life.

I exhaled in relief. There we go. Better. Smiling to myself, warming up to the flirty banter, my thumbs flew over the screen. I was invested now. I felt a little flutter in my gut, a warmth that suffused my body.

I’d always loved flirting. There was something about flirting online that was nth level though. You couldn’t rely on your looks or your body language. It was all in the words, your wit, and there was a fun challenge in that.

BiCuriousStud: This where you ask to see my dick?

HotPan22: I’m not opposed...

BiCuriousStud: I want to be upfront here. I haven’t done this before.

HotPan22: Hooked up via app or...

BiCuriousStud: Been with a guy.

HotPan22: Looking to change that?

BiCuriousStud: Maybe but not right now. I’ve got to crash, and I’m still figuring out some shit about myself. If you don’t have patience for that, it’s cool.

Well, this guy was fucking perfect, wasn’t he? He wasn’t looking to rush into a hookup. Sure, being uncertain of what he wanted wasn’t exactly ideal. I didn’t want someone who was gonna freak over dicks touching. At the same time, it opened up a world of fun possibilities. I indulged myself in a brief fantasy of taking this dude under my wing, tutoring him in the ways of man-on-man loving—via messages, of course. Bit by bit, I’d uncover his turn-ons, the little things that made him harder, made him want more.

And when the time was right, maybe—just maybe—we’d both be ready to take it off-screen. Oh yeah, this could be fun.

But I had to tread carefully. I didn’t want to scare him by coming on too strong. The situation called for a delicate approach, not my forte.

After a little thought, I texted back: tbh my schedule is pretty packed. I’m not in a rush to hook up right now. I just need an outlet, you know?

He was quick to respond. You look hot enough to get outlets anywhere you go.

My lips curled up. He was taking the bait.

Aha, so you’re the charmer.

I added on:I’m kinda on the DL.

Oh right, your profile said.

He added: I gotta run, but... maybe we chat again?

Oh, hell yeah. I was counting on it. Whoever BiCuriousStud was, he’d definitely captured my interest. I couldn’t wait to see how this played out.