A TASTE OF SIN

LIAM'S POV

Sweat practically streamed down my face like a waterfall, soaking into the padding of my helmet and sliding down my temples as I angrily bit down on my mouth guard.

We were in the last minutes of the game but  I was completely fed up.

It was just a friendly match but my team was  losing so badly. 

I groaned at the sensation, when my teammates gathered around me during the brief pause, helmets off, sweat-soaked and panting. A few of them patted my shoulder, some of them gave me a tight nod, silent gestures of encouragement, of shared misery and moral support.

It didn’t help.

We all knew how this was going to end. You could see it in their eyes, in the sag of their shoulders, in the way no one bothered pretending otherwise. The loss was already settling in.

My eyes shifted and landed on one person, someone who irritated me throughout the entirety of the game - number 12.

Of course.

He stood a few yards away, hands on his hips like he owned the damn field, chest rising steadily like he hadn’t been part of the chaos at all. Just seeing him made something hot and ugly twist in my gut. He had irritated me the entire game, every selfish play, every time he refused to pass, every moment he acted like the ball belonged to him and him alone.

It was his fault.

He was the reason we were here. It was his fault Coach was screaming his lungs out on the sidelines, veins bulging like he was about to explode.

My glare stayed locked on him, sharp and accusing, but then traitorously my gaze drifted lower. Down the strong line of his back, along the curve of his waist, until it landed on his ass, perfectly outlined by his tight uniform pants.

My body reacted before my brain could stop it.

I stiffened instantly, heat pooling low in my stomach, muscles going tense for an entirely different reason. I hated that. Hated how easy it was, how automatic. No one could blame me, though not really. His body was unfair. Solid, sculpted, the kind that came from hours of brutal training and dedication. Those pants should’ve been illegal because they were  making my situation worse.

I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes away before anyone noticed.

Being on the football team and confessing that you're gay doesn't really go well. We're practically naked, or half naked, most of the time and with most of them being overly dramatic.

So I buried all the stupid thoughts then looked at him with anger again as we walked back to the field to play. Besides, the attraction, I still didn’t like him. He was only person that always makes my team look  disorganized, while the other side actually understood what the word “teamwork” meant.

The final whistle cut through the air and my shoulders sagged immediately.

The game was over and yes we lost it as expected. Instantly I yanked my mouth guard out and spun toward the source of about ninety percent of my rage.

“Hudson,” I snapped, not bothering to lower my voice, “fucking stop for a moment and be a goddamn team player, would you?”, I added. A few heads turned but I didn’t care.

“If you don’t quit being a ball hog,” I continued sharply, “Coach is going to have our heads!”

Hudson barely reacted. He just smirked, actually smirked and shrugged his shoulders like none of this mattered, like the loss hadn’t happened because of his constant need to play hero.

“I’m the best on this team,” he said easily, confidence dripping from every word. “And if you can’t handle that, then leave. We don’t need you.” When I heard his words, my hands curled into fists so tightly that my knuckles ached.

I was the goddamn captain.

The captain of the team. I’d earned that position. I’d worked my ass off for it, bled for it, trained for it, sacrificed for it. I knew what it meant to lead, what it meant to work as part of something bigger than yourself. Apparently, Hudson didn’t.

Sure, he was good. Better than me, even, if I was being honest with myself and I hated that fact more than anything. That was the only reason Coach Matthews kept him around. Talent outweighed attitude in his book.

We were seniors. This was our last year.

Before we’d gotten to high school, our football team had been a complete joke. That was why Coach wanted the best of the best now, why he tolerated Hudson’s ego and selfishness.

If only he knew how exhausting it was to work with that pretty-boy nightmare.

“I’d say otherwise,” I shot back finally, “but I wouldn’t want to hurt your fragile feelings.” I scrunched my face up deliberately, mocking him like a whining baby. Hudson’s smirk vanished instantly, replaced with a hard glare.

Good, I liked that.

By the time most of the guys walked toward the locker rooms, helmets tucked under their arms and shoulders slumped with exhaustion, my attention locked back onto Hudson.

His face was flushed red from the heat, sweat glistening along his jaw and neck, and somehow infuriatingly he still looked complacent. That smug, satisfied little grin tugged at his mouth like he was pleased with himself.

I hated it.

I hated that he didn’t care we were running late. Hated that he didn’t care we had lost. Hated that he seemed to live for making my life hell during practice.

It wasn’t even personal off the field. He didn’t bother me then. But on the field? He made it his mission to challenge me, undermine me, test my authority.

I didn’t understand him.

He was confusing, arrogant, reckless and I hated him for it. He was stupid because he just wanted to see me suffer, even if it meant him suffering too!

“Now,” Coach Matthews’ deep voice snapped, dragging me sharply back to reality. He stood near the sideline, arms crossed, eyes hard as stone as he looked between the two of us.

“You lost,” he said bluntly. “And I don’t reward losing.”

My jaw clenched, getting annoyed again. “Running,” he continued. “Laps. Consider it punishment.”

A hot flare of irritation burned through me instantly. This was Hudson’s fault. Coach’s eyes lingered on Hudson just a second longer before he finished, “I’m heading to my office. When you see me leave the building, you can stop.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing my hands behind my back so no one could see them shaking with anger. Hudson, that bastard  took off running immediately without a word, like he didn’t care at all.

Grinding my teeth, I followed.

After I had practiced for almost three hours in the blistering sun, getting brutally beaten by the opposing practice team, I was now running around the field in my shoulder, knee, and elbow pads and fucking tights. It wasn't exactly heaven, you know, so I guess you could say I was livid as I stayed at a steady pace behind Hudson.

The cheerleaders were also annoying me. They  were still here, their voices echoing across the field.I knew exactly why they hadn’t left yet.

Olivia Bieber ,the cheer captain was Hudson’s girlfriend which meant they weren’t going anywhere until he was done.

That, too, annoyed me. I didn’t like her at all