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Desperation without thought.
Mike throws up his hands and says about the only thing you can, given the situation. "He's all yours."
Romero just looks confused.
"What the fuck have you been telling Efrain? The fuck is wrong with you? Are you jealous 'cause you can't get anyone on your dick? Is that why you're talking shit?" he demands. "Or is it because you were too much of a pussy to fuck Cory when you had the chance and now you don't want anyone else to?"
"But..." I start. He grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me down. I'm a whole head taller than the guy, but he's pretty fucking strong. I look to Mike and Romero for support. The former looks like he's trying really hard not to laugh, the latter looks like an over-excited Labrador with a new toy.
"Bitch, I don't give a shit about your sad fucking excuses. Cory likes Efrain. A lot. And you're sticking your ass in where it doesn't belong. I swear to mother-fucking God, if you screw things up for them, you pretentious wine-drinking hipster fuck..."
"...then he grabs Norman's junk and threatens to twist his cock up like a balloon animal and make him suck his own dick."
"Oh God." I can't imagine Preston James Finnegan, bow-tie and all, threatening to make someone self-fellate.
"Damn. Fucker is stone cold," Gio says.
"That's not the scary part."
"He literally has the guy by the balls and is ripping him to shreds. He even details the exact Brazilian jui-jitsu moves he plans to use on him. Did you know he was into that shit?"
I shake my head.
"So, yeah, he's maddogging the fuck out of Indie, who looks like he's about to piss himself, but we hear Dr. Collins coming up the hall and he pulls a complete 180. He's suddenly all chipper chipmunk and trying drag me off for coffee so he can show me videos from his last tournament."
Al laughs. "I can imagine."
"He seriously used the words 'testicular torsion.'"
"Sounds like an awesome name for a band," Gio comments.
"Oh, hell yes!" Al's band already has a name, but they've been arguing about album names for a couple weeks.
The guys move on to another topic and I stop paying attention. I still haven't talked to Efrain, and I probably need to talk to Preston, too. But, all I really want to do is turn off my phone and go back to bed.
"Oh, before I forget." Something in Romero's voice grabs my attention. I have a bad feeling about this. "We have an ID on Cory's Wolfie."
As if the situation couldn't get worse.
My shoulders and legs are sore enough that I feel it's a good enough excuse to skip football practice. Vuis agreed to let me off the hook as long as I visit the trainers so they can look me over. I figured if I went before the guys started coming in for practice, I could avoid seeing Efrain. My head is still too fucked up to deal with him, or anyone else for that matter.
Unfortunately, he's waiting for me when I leave the trainer's office.
He drags me into an empty room and locks the door. His body presses me against the wall and he holds my face in his hands. His mouth slants hungrily across mine. Against my better judgement, I kiss him back. This only further knots my jacked up emotions.
"This isn't the best place to talk," he says and looks like he's about to say more. Instead, he shows me his cellphone where he has a text message from someone he has labeled as "Epic Douchebag."
"Tell your boyfriend to call off his attack twink," I read out loud. He moves it away, but not before I read his answer - Consider yourself lucky. My boyfriend's attack twink isn't the one who wants to strangle you.
"So, you have an attack twink?"
"Kinda sad that I missed that," he rests his forehead against mine. "You turned off your phone."
"How much did you hear last night?"
"More than I wanted to."
"Why'd you leave?"
I take a fortifying breath. "This isn't a smash-and-dash," I start and he winces. "But it isn't a relationship either. My hurt feelings are above your pay grade."
"It's not fine."
"I just need to cool down."
"We need to