Matched By My Rival by DJ Jamison

5

PARKER

Saturday morning, I caught a ride with Darnell in his 1984 Chevy Caprice.

We didn’t usually hang out, but we lived in the same hall, and this morning he’d been oddly insistent about giving me a lift to the House Pledge work site. I didn’t really want to walk the mile across town, so I followed him to his parking spot and got in.

I smirked when I saw the interior—crushed maroon velvet.

“Don’t be laughing at my ride,” he said as he crammed himself behind the wheel. Darnell was a big guy, and the space inside the car seemed to shrink by the second.

I held up my hands. “I would never.”

He snorted. “You white boys have no taste. You’d probably prefer to be riding around in a dumbass convertible Porsche or some shit.”

I laughed. “Nah, I’ll let Barbie keep her car. I like your wheels. Better than the nothing I’ve got at any rate. I just love this velvet interior.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’d be a great porn scene, right? Sexy times on all this velvet.”

He side-eyed me before reversing out of the parking space in front of the dorm building that housed most of the school’s athletes. “I don’t know about all that. Talking porn with dudes isn’t really my thing.”

“Pfft, yeah, I don’t want to talk porn with dudes either.”

Not dudes on my football team anyway. Definitely not Darnell. He was a good guy, but he wasn’t even remotely my type. Deciding it was in my best interest to change the subject, I said, “Why are you giving me a ride anyway? I thought you were against me volunteering with Prentiss?”

“Figured I’d better be on hand in case I have to pull him off your sorry ass again. It might be the off season, but Coach won’t be happy if he loses another wide receiver.”

“He didn’t have to lose the first one,” I muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just…you know I didn’t want Prentiss gone, right?”

Darnell considered me as he rolled to a stop. “Yeah, I know. That’s one of the reasons we’re still cool.”

I knew he was tight with Simon, so I appreciated that he hadn’t iced me out. I never should have shown my face with Kristin. I realized that now. She’d given me a song and dance about how distant and angry Simon had become, and how she just wanted to go out and have a nice break from their drama. We had a class together and had been friendly. I’d believed she was genuine at the time. Now, I was pretty sure I’d been a pawn to make him jealous.

It’d worked too. A little too well.

I rubbed a hand over my mouth, remembering the right hook that had laid me out flat and turned Simon’s scholarship to ashes. He had a temper, and I’d be testing it again by intruding on his project. Still, was there any other way to make peace than to venture out on that olive branch?

Darnell pulled up in front of the work site, an old two-story Victorian in very sorry shape. It was splotchy from where the paint had unevenly faded, and flaked away in some places, with the upper floors even worse than the lower. There were a number of rails missing from the porch, and some of the siding was torn away beneath it. But all that sort of faded when compared with the sheer amount of junk that littered the front yard.

There was an abandoned porch swing with rusted chains sitting on the lawn, along with a tire, no fewer than three televisions, what looked like an old freezer, a rolled up rug, and a ton of rusted out tools and gardening equipment, including a lawn mower that probably hadn’t worked for a decade.

It looked like we had our work cut out for us.

D grabbed my shoulder before I could get out. “Keep your distance today. He ain’t ready to make nice.”

Well, crap. Had coming here been a mistake?

“Distance is my specialty.” I said lightly, waggling my brows. “I always leave those defensemen in my dust, don’t I?”

Darnell grinned. “Yeah, well, Simon is no slow-ass tackle. You’ve got nothing on him.”

Before I could formulate a comeback, he killed the engine and got out of the car. I followed him across the yard toward the small crew gathering for instructions. Despite D’s warning, I hadn’t volunteered for House Pledge to keep my distance…but maybe I could ease my way in. I also hadn’t come here to be a dick.

I could take it slow. I could give Simon time. I could—

Oh, damn.

My first glimpse of Simon Prentiss in months hit me in the solar plexus.

I forgot how gorgeous he is.

His hair was a little longer, more on the shaggy side than when he’d been on the team, and the dark strands danced in the wind. He raised a hand, shoving it back from his eyes as he talked with a guy beside him, looking as serious as ever. Simon had always had an intensity about him that was captivating. He’d poured that intensity into his game, working harder than anyone I’d ever known. If it weren’t for injuries, he’d have been one of the best wide receivers a place like Hayworth had ever seen.

He’d had shit luck, there was no disputing that.

I was a good wide receiver too. Faster than Simon, a little more agile on turns. I had the talent. What I didn’t have was the discipline. Football wasn’t my future, and I was okay with that. More than okay, I was eager. I wanted a life that involved more than weight-lifting, running drills, and keeping my sexuality on the DL. Football had been fun—until it’d become more work than play. Now, I was mostly over it. I had a whole life ahead of me.

My mom, on the other hand, was likely to be heartbroken when I stopped playing and moved on to other things. Which is why I hadn’t shared my feelings with her—or the thoughts that kept creeping in that maybe I should quit sooner rather than later.

Simon glanced up. “Okay, guys, today we’re—uh…” He faltered briefly as his brown eyes connected with mine.

Darnell hip checked me, tossing me a few feet aside and grinned. “Hey, Simon, hope you got enough work for me?”

Simon raised his eyebrows as he glanced from Darnell to me, but he didn’t seem shocked that I was here. Someone—most likely someone with a name starting in D—had warned him.

Simon glanced at the clipboard in his hands. “I don’t see your name on here, D.”

“Yeah, I’m just tagging along with Reed.”

Simon scrutinized the list, his lips pressing into a flat line. He did not like seeing my name there. Despite my plans to mend fences, something about his hostility caused my pulse to speed up. Would he try to punch me again, rather than accept my help? And why did that idea seem more exciting than scary?

I remembered the moment Simon had dropped down over me, straddling my waist as he yelled into my face. His eyes had been full of rage—but something else too. There and gone. A flash of lust.

Or maybe I was delusional. Simon tore his eyes from me and pretended I wasn’t there. That rankled.

“All right, all helpers are welcome,” he said, keeping his gaze on Darnell. “We’re clearing the yard today. The owner has given us the go-ahead to take all of this stuff to the dump. Tomorrow, we’ll work on the porch to make sure the rails are replaced and there are no safety hazards. Then, my friends, we’ll be scraping and painting this bad boy.” He flung out his arm, like freaking Vanna White displaying the prize. “It’s not a small job, but we’ve got a few weeks to do it. And imagine how great this place can look. The owner, Howard, is actually an alum of Hayworth. He’s worked hard his whole life, but his health isn’t up to this kind of work. He deserves our best, so let’s give it to him.”

Simon continued with directions, assigning jobs to each of the volunteers as they approached, sending them off in different directions. Some to push wheelbarrows, others to bag up trash, and still others to load the work pickup that was parked in the drive. They’d have to make several trips to the dump.

“Where do you want me?” I asked as Darnell and I reached the front of the line.

Simon looked up at Darnell. “D, can you join the guys moving those old appliances in the back? They’re gonna need some more muscle.”

“Sure.” He hesitated. “Want Reed to join me?”

“Nah. I’ve got another job for him.” His dark eyes sliced into me. There was nothing but malice pouring off him now. Not a single hint of attraction. That punch to my face must have knocked a few screws loose. Simon wasn’t hot for me, just hot under the collar.

“Good luck,” Darnell murmured as he left me to my fate.

I smiled broadly. “So, how can I help you, Simon?”

He looked a little startled to hear me say his first name. On the team, we mostly kept to last names and team nicknames. But I liked the way it rolled off my tongue.

“Why are you here, Parker?”

Oh, hell. I liked the way my name rolled off his tongue even more.

I tried to play it cool. Darnell was right. Simon wasn’t ready to kiss and make up. If only he wanted to kiss. That wouldn’t be a hardship.

I cleared my throat. “Coach gave us an ultimatum to volunteer somewhere. So here I am.”

“There’s a lot of places to volunteer.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I liked the sound of this project.” I licked my lips. Despite my bravado, I was nervous. “You did say you could use all the help you could get.”

He groaned. “Yeah, but I didn’t mean you.”

Okay, that stung. He was shaking his head. Fuck. Was he gonna boot me to the curb? “Thought you said you had a job for me.”

That malicious gleam re-entered his gaze. “You sure you want to stay?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “What happened with us, it was a fluke. I’m not holding a grudge.”

He barked a rough laugh. “That’s great, Parker. Such a fucking relief. I’m glad you’re not holding a grudge that my whole fucking life went up in flames and you got to fucking benefit from it.”

“It wasn’t—I didn’t want—”

“Whatever.” His anger seemed to deflate, there and gone. “Come with me.”

He turned, marching toward the front of the house, so I trailed along, wondering what punishment he had in mind for me. I might not be holding a grudge about taking a fist to the face, but his resentment was as sharp-edged as ever.

I’d wanted to make peace, but the animosity vibrating off him in waves tempted me to knock him on his ass instead. Drop down over him, like he had me the night he’d lost his shit and decked me.

I imagined locking my hands around his throat and giving him a good strangle. It was satisfying. Then I imagined kissing that fucking hard mouth until we were both breathless.

“Climb under there.” Simon slapped a pair of work gloves against my chest and pointed to a small opening under the porch. “You’re about to get dirty.”

Oh, I was already fucking there. But my dirty mind wouldn’t do either of us any favors. When I squirmed under the porch to clear out more trash and rotting food—the must and dust and a fear of creepy-crawlies almost overwhelming me—I wondered what the fuck I’d gotten myself into.

Why did I care if Simon Prentiss hated me? He’d always been a bit of an intense, hot-headed dick. He’d been unfriendly at every turn, calling me out for fucking joking around on the field like it was a fucking crime to have fun.

He was—oh fuck, is that a dead skunk?

I didn’t quite muffle a startled squeal, and Simon’s husky laugh drifted through the porch beams, raising goosebumps on my skin.

He was sadistic; that’s what he was. Simon Prentiss was playing with me, getting his jollies from making me swim through filth, and I was letting him. Because hell, hearing that laugh, it did something to me.

It made me want to wallow for him—if only he’d give me another chance.

* * *

SIMON

The mic squealed with feedback, jolting me where I stood zoned out behind the bar at Tracks.

“Fuck,” I muttered, taking in the line that had formed while I’d been lost in my head. Lost in remembering the sheer pleasure that had washed through me when a thoroughly filthy Parker Reed had crawled out from under that old, sagging porch. Mud had stained the knees of his jeans and the elbows of the hoodie he wore with the Hayworth mascot, a cartoon-style Haymaker with a disturbing grin, on it. Dust had fallen from his hair when he ran his hands through it, shuddering and cursing and dancing around like he had ants in his pants. Hell, maybe he did.

I’d laughed until he’d looked up, his baby blues burning bright in his dusty, sweat-streaked face.

“That’s your one free shot,” he’d said. “And it’s one more than you deserve, considering you’ve already bashed my face in.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration. I hadn’t hit him that hard. But I did regret it—and not only because it had cost me my scholarship and place on the team. I hated that I’d lost control like that. I didn’t want to be the sort of guy who let his temper rule him. The sort of guy to get violent.

And I wasn’t—usually. I’d never been in a serious fight before that night. Something about Parker got under my skin. Maybe because he represented everything I wanted but had lost: the top wide receiver position on the field, a body that didn’t betray him with injuries, the confidence that things would go his way. And why wouldn’t they? He was the golden boy. That had never been me, no matter how hard I had worked for it.

“Simon! Where’s your head at, man?”

I glanced at Rhett, surprised by his impatient tone. We usually got along well, but he didn’t like slackers, and I wasn’t keeping up tonight.

“Sorry.” I forced my hands back into action, finishing the drink I’d started before I spaced out. “Just had a weird day.”

He made a noncommittal noise, most of his focus on the drink he was mixing, a margarita by the looks of it. They were a hit with a lot of the women, and Rhett had a pretty brunette leaning against the bar, smiling in his direction.

“Tip alert,” I mumbled as I slipped past him to grab the rum for my next order.

He snorted quietly, smirking, then smoothly transitioned to a flirty smile as he slid the margarita onto the bar before her. “Enjoy.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, pushing a napkin forward. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

She melted back into the crowd to be replaced by another thirsty patron and another. I grabbed a bottle of Heineken and thanked all that was holy for beer drinkers. We’d never keep up if they all ordered mixed drinks.

“Damn,” Rhett said as he held up the napkin displaying a name and digits scribbled in blue ink. “I got a phone number, but no tip.”

I laughed. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got bills to pay.”

“Don’t we all.”

Tracks remained jammed till last call, and neither of us wasted words beyond the necessary shop talk to navigate around each other in a small space. When the last round of drinks finally went out, I sagged, dropping my head onto my crossed arms on the bar.

“Don’t crap out on me now,” Rhett said. “We still gotta close out.”

“I know.” I groaned, pushing myself up.

Rhett watched me speculatively. “Burning the candle at both ends?”

“Yeah,” I said tiredly. “I’ve got this volunteer work I do. It involves a lot of manual labor.”

He whistled low. “School, bartending, and volunteering. What are you, some kind of superhero?”

I laughed, thinking of my behavior today. “More like a supervillain.”

Rhett’s forehead creased, obviously not knowing what the hell I was talking about. I waved a hand. “Never mind. I’m delirious at this point.”

“I can see that. I hate to be a hardass, but I’ve got a cram session when I get back to the dorm and a test Monday morning, so…”

He didn’t have to spell it out. I grabbed a rag and started wiping down the bar while he snagged a mop to clean up spills. A couple of servers also worked on weekends, and they’d help set the outer room to rights. With any luck, I’d be in my bed within the hour.

And that’s when I remembered HotPan22 on my hookup app. My heart beat a little faster. Would I have another message? Did I want one? He’d said he’d be patient. I hoped that was true, because I wasn’t sure how I’d handle a tacky come-on or unsolicited dick pic.

I kind of wanted to see the guy’s dick if I was honest. But I was still trying to come to terms with that fact. I wasn’t sure I was ready to dive headfirst into sexting waters. I needed to dip my toes in, wade a little. I wasn’t the type to jump in the deep end and see if I was going to sink or swim. I learned how to swim—with lessons. I trained for it. I prepared for it.

But I had no idea how to prepare for this.