Page 55 of Built To Perform

“G-guys, I need to breathe!” The protest, issued grudgingly, squeaked out from between those mountains of flesh.

Laughter then, and a slight easing - enough, anyway, for enjoyment to accelerate past the risk of expiration - of the pressure. I wriggled contentedly, choosing to ignore the guilt that my own foolish decisions were what had culminated in this celebration of my reprieve.

They’d been waiting for me - Jefferson, Brayden, and Donny; Carlos was apparently at class - in the hallway. The expression on Jefferson’s face, the way it lit up with something akin to relief when I walked out of Coach’s office and shyly smiled at him, was already burned into my memory.

And then the hug: a bouncing, hooting, hollering sort of celebration that half-blocked the corridor. My teammates apparently deaf to the sighs and grumbles of people trying to walk past, and which I myself could only part-hear given the wall of meat that enveloped me.

“Fuckin’ A, lil bro,” Brayden declared, ruffling my hair.

I grinned up at him, knowing my face would be flushed and that I must look pretty disheveled overall, but equally certain that it wouldn’t dampen my joy.

“What did he say?” Donny’s expression was ripe with curiosity.

I glanced back at the door to the sports center, picturing Coach sitting in his office at the heart of it. Wondered whether he was currently regretting what he’d told me, the degree to which he’d opened up. Or if he’d decided that blurring those lines - and intentionally this time - hadn’t been so terrible, such a threat to the two worlds he held dear.

I had a strong feeling that I’d never find out the answer to that; not in so many words, anyway. And if Coach wanted those details shared with his team, that was down to him to decide, and to do.

“Just that he realized he’d... overreacted,” I said, carefully.

Donny nodded. “Too right. So that’s it, no punishment?”

I snorted. “Hardly. You’re looking at the guy in charge of cleaning out the supply room.”

He winced. “Ouch. That place is a dump.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be real fun,” I said, sarcasm dripping. “Which is why Coach said Brayden should help me.”

The senior raised an eyebrow. “Oh, did he now?”

I laughed. “No. But he should’ve. You owe me, remember?”

Brayden slipped his fingers around the back of my neck, squeezing just a little. Enough to grab my attention in its totality, and hold it.

“Come on, lil bro... you know I can think of more imaginative ways to pay you back, right?”

“Dude!” I hissed it, conscious of the flow of people around us.

Brayden seemed unconcerned with the potential for an audience, though. Kneading at my neck, soothing muscles I hadn’t even realized were so tight. Staring at me in a way that suggested I was on the menu, and he was now very, very hungry.

“Fine, lil bro, fine. Though I hear you put on quite the performance.” He winked, amused at my renewed blush. “But we can take this elsewhere to celebrate properly.”

I glanced around us, still worried we might be overheard. The words weren’t particularly incriminating, but something about the way Brayden said them certainly was.

“I... I think I have class,” I stuttered out.

He chuckled, indulgently. “Then I guess we have to make it a very quick, hard, intense celebration, don’t we.”

I opened my mouth, but he shook his head to silence me before I could get a word out.

“Bring your boy,” Brayden told Jefferson, then ignored my squeak of shocked outrage as I was hoisted unceremoniously over my team captain’s shoulder and - with no sign whatsoever that my yelps of protest were being heard, much less considered - carried into the locker room.

#

I expected to be put down. Was planning my “this new trend of picking me up and moving me around wherever you please has to stop” speech, even. Only Jefferson showed no inclination to release me.

“Damn, lil bro,” Brayden drawled, behind me. “You have a lot of great angles, but I think this is one of my favorites.”

“Funny,” I snapped. I tried wriggling again, knowing that it was futile - if Jefferson wanted to keep hold of me, Jefferson was going to keep hold of me - but feeling obliged to at least attempt it.