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SETH'S POV

“You'll be captain this year, Miguel, and please. for the nationals, I want to see you both work together. If one of you starts a fight on the ice again, I'll bloody bench the both of you,” the coach threatened. He was pissed-four years of putting up with our crap, and I'd never seen him this worked up.

Bloody hell. Just kill me now.

I fought off every urge to roll my eyes. I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back every sarcastic comment bubbling in my head. This wasn't the time to be a smart mouth, especially after our fight cost us the first game of the season.

I hated Miguel.

It wasn't new. I hated always being second to him. I hated being stuck behind him. For all these high school years, from the first to this last one, I was second fiddle. Coming in second in everything while the golden boy with his rich daddy basked in first place. Absolute bullshit.

"Do you both hear me?" Coach asked again.

“Crystal!”

“Understood, sir!” Miguel and I chorused.

"You're both dismissed," Coach barked without so much as sparing us another glance. I grumbled, making sure to shove my shoulder aggressively into Miguel's as I headed to my locker to get ready for a bath.

My eyes followed him as he walked over to his stall. He stopped and turned around, glaring at me, his eyes wide with irritation. I didn’t look away. If he wanted to play a staring game, fine.

For some reason, amidst our dumb competition, my eyes caught his stormy blue eyes. They were the most chaotic yet captivating shade of blue I had ever seen.

He was perfectly built. We were both six-foot-four—I knew, because today was the first day of our last year, and Coach had mentioned it just that morning during roll call. Miguel had a perfect eight-pack, which wasn't surprising since he was always working out. After all, he was *captain and perfect.*

I didn't know why, but I couldn't stop staring. My eyes trailed lower, to his briefs. Of course, sharing a locker room meant I'd seen him naked plenty of times before. But why did it feel like he'd grown even more. impressive over the holidays?

He was beautiful-I had to admit it. Not just handsome, but beautiful in a way that made me uneasy. Masculine, but almost delicate. There was a mole on his thigh that made me wonder how many more were hidden… yet.

Seth, shut up. For crying out loud, relax.

My eyes darted back to his face, and there it was-a smug grin plastered across his lips.

“Done eye-fucking me, Seth?” he asked, his voice oozing with sarcasm.

"Bloody bastard. you wish," I snapped, storming into my stall. My ears were burning at the tips, embarrassed to be caught ogling. I turned on the shower and heard him do the same. My hate for him spiked by the second.

But I just couldn't get him out of my mind.

I told myself it had nothing to do with him. That it was only because I hadn't had sex in months. Heather and I'd split over the holidays; she'd met someone else and declared they were soulmates. I didn't care. I dove headlong into practice and studies, keeping busy.

Yet, here I was, my cock semi-erect, my mind flashing back to Miguel’s perfect form.

A low groan escaped me as I pumped my length, convincing myself it was only because I'd been celibate for so long. But my thoughts betrayed me—images of him filled my mind: his packs, his smooth skin, the outline of his dick in his briefs.

"Fuck… oh my fucking god," I groaned, spilling into my palm. As I leaned back against the stall door, shame washed over me.

I needed sex. And fast. There was no way I'd just jerked off while thinking about *him.*

I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. His was still running. I couldn't help but hope he'd slip, maybe crack his head or choke on bathwater.

As I went past his locker, his phone buzzed loudly. A smirk tugged at my lips. I could take his phone and mess with him-make him sweat for a bit. I grabbed it and quickly dressed.

The phone buzzed again. I let out a frustrated sigh at the incessant beeping and unlocked it; I had seen him put in his password a thousand times.

The messages caught my eye.

“Babe, coming yet?”

“Taking forever, babe.”

“I am at your house; your roommate grilled me before allowing me in.”

I don't know why, but it annoyed me. He had a lover? I'd never seen him with anyone. Of course, the golden boy would keep his personal life squeaky clean for the public, while secretly having someone. But why was I agitated?

Then I saw the next message.

“I’m hard.”

What?

A picture popped up, and I froze. There was a man's arm wrapped around a cock, balls cupped, the mirror reflecting everything but his face.

My heart was racing. I scrolled further, and more messages, more pictures appeared. My chest tightened as the realization dawned on me.

The voice in one of the clips stopped me cold. It was Miguel. He was moaning and groaning and whimpering.

"Why the bloody fuck do you have my phone?" Miguel's voice boomed as he stormed toward me. He sna tched it from my hand, his glare sending chills down my spine. Finally, the expression I’d longed to see—shock, panic, vulnerability. Six years of knowing him and I'd never seen him look so undone. The Adam's apple bobbed nervously as the sound of his moans echoed from the phone.

“Miguel…” I drawled, shocked but pleased. “You’re a bloody fag. You’re gay!”