Hot Jocks Read online

  Van’s smile brightens as he adjusts the front of his swim trunks. His fist closes around his shaft, outlining it in fabric for a brief second before his hand falls away. “Saw you and just let it lead the way.”

  Behind Colby, Van’s sister Vallery snorts. “You guys are perverts. Can we talk about something other than your dicks while I’m right here?”

  “You could always go away,” Colby offers.

  When he turns toward her, the look on her face reminds him so much of Megan’s that he has to grin. Van’s arms come up around his waist, hugging him back against the hard body behind him. “I like the way you think,” Van murmurs. He plants a quick kiss on Colby’s ear before he lets Colby twist free.

  Not here, Colby wants to say, but who really cares? Most of the people on the beach today horse around, goofing off half-naked, nothing more than a flimsy bathing suit between them and their friends. Van kneads the muscles in Colby’s arms, warming them, working his way down to Colby’s hands, which he takes in each of his own. Colby moves forward as the line nears the vendor booth and pulls Van along with him. If he isn’t careful, he could fall for this guy, big time.

  Nodding at the number on Vallery’s vest, he asks, “You guys here to play?”

  “Won the first match,” she says brightly. “You should’ve seen my final spike. It was like facial!”

  She mimes pounding a ball over the net, into the ground, and spreads her hands as if it bounces back into her face. With a glance over his shoulder, Colby catches Van’s eye and the two men start to snicker. Vallery looks from her brother to Colby and back again. “What? It was awesome.”

  Van ducks his head onto Colby’s shoulder, giving into his laughter. Vallery’s eyes narrow as she catches on. “Grow the fuck up, Vander. I’m not talking that kind of facial.”

  Now Colby’s dying, too. He leans against Van as he laughs, savoring the hands that ease around him so intimately, the warmth of the body against his. Tonight, after the tournament, he’s definitely going back for seconds. And he’ll get Van’s number this time, too. The guy lives in Philly, which is just about local enough for him.

  Pissed, Vallery turns her back on them and flicks her blonde ponytail over one shoulder as she raises her head high. “I’m not talking to you two anymore until you get your juvenile minds out of the gutter.” The line moves forward again and Vallery steps up to the booth’s counter, ignoring them. “Yes, I’d like to have—”

  “Hey!” Colby elbows her aside playfully. “How’d you get in front of me?”

  Vallery pushes him away, as ornery as his cousin. “Ladies first.”

  “Age before beauty,” he mutters.

  That earns him a swift kick in the shins. Her bare foot doesn’t hurt, but the indignation in her eyes is worth Van’s rich laughter and his hands on Colby’s waist again.

  * * * *

  Megan finds them sitting on the wooden rail that edges the beach. As she approaches the vendor booth, Colby sees her and stands, waving. “Meg! Over here!” She switches direction in mid-step, scowling when she sees who he’s with. Colby grins at her as he sits down next to Van again. “Look who I ran into.”

  By the look on her face, he can tell she isn’t pleased to see the twins again, but Colby just laughs as he hands her a bottle of Gatorade. Where he sits, his thigh presses against Van’s with an almost delicious warmth that has nothing to do with the sun overhead. Let Megan sulk. They won their first match and Van’s arm surreptitiously rests on the rail immediately behind Colby’s ass. The sky is cloudless, his drink cool, and the way Van looks at him makes Colby feel invincible.

  Turning to Megan as she sits beside him, he asks, “When are we up next?”

  “Court two at ten.” She hands over her program for him to look at while she opens her drink.

  The booklet’s already turned to the rankings page. The tournament bracket looks like an inverted pyramid—a row of numbers at the top of the page indicate the original teams playing in the event. The next level down has boxes filled with Megan’s meticulous handwriting; Colby scans the line until he finds their team number, and below that, Megan’s note about the time and place of their next match. His gaze trails along, looking for Van’s number. “You guys are in court four.”

  From Van’s other side, Vallery stops slurping her drink to mutter, “That’s where we played last time.”

  Colby traces the lines that extend down beneath his team number. If they win the next round, and the next, and if Van wins, too…with a laugh, Colby says, “There’s a pretty good chance we might play against each other. If we both continue to advance.”

  Suddenly Van leans against Colby. He’s removed his numbered vest, so Colby’s arm tingles where Van’s bare chest rests against it. Propping his chin on Colby’s shoulder, Van blows playfully into Colby’s ear, ruffling his hair, before he asks, “When? Show me.”

  Setting the program in his lap, Colby points out both their numbers, then draws imaginary lines down until his fingers meet. “Like what, three games from now?”

  Van prods the program with his forefinger, his hand dangerously close to Colby’s crotch. If the program weren’t in the way… “Here?” he asks, smoothing down the paper. “Not the next game, but maybe two after that?”

  “Yeah.” Colby’s voice cracks at Van’s closeness and he clears his throat. In his shorts, his dick stiffens in response to Van’s touch and he’s glad he didn’t wear that cock ring after all. If he stands now, the whole beach will see how hard he is for this guy beside him. Van rubs over the program gently, his hand drifting closer and closer to Colby’s groin.

  Without warning, Megan snatches the program away. Van places his hand flat against Colby’s stomach, just the briefest of touches, before he sits back. “You two are a mess,” Megan sighs. “Get a room already, will you?”

  “We’re just sitting here,” Colby says in his defense.

  “All over each other.” Tucking the program into her bag, Megan shrugs out of her numbered vest, then stands to tug off her shorts. Even though she wears a bathing suit beneath them, Colby still turns away. “Don’t worry, no girl parts for you to see. I’m going down to the water to cool off a bit. Watch my stuff, will you?”

  She troops off, heading for the distant waves. Colby pulls her bag closer to him so no one else will take it. “Good riddance,” he mutters, but when he catches Van’s eye, they both grin. “Now if only—”

  From Van’s other side, Vallery shrieks, “Ow!”

  Colby glances around Van to find Vallery on her feet, rubbing her hip as if something pinched her there. Glaring at her brother, she tosses her drink bottle at him—it hits him square in the chest, then falls to the sand.

  “What?” he asks, stifling a laugh.

  Vallery narrows her eyes but doesn’t say anything. Stripping off her vest, she balls it up and throws it into her brother’s lap, shakes her blonde ponytail, and pulls up the straps of the sports top she wears. “Fuck you,” she growls before heading after Megan.

  “You didn’t have to chase her away,” Colby says. But secretly? He’s glad Van did.

  Scooting back, Van raises one leg and repositions himself so he straddles the rail facing Colby. As he leans on the rail with both hands, he rocks forward and kisses Colby’s bicep through Colby’s mesh shirt. Van’s wide eyes look like sea glass, a magical non-color that makes Colby’s breath catch in his throat at the way the sunlight winks in them. “I don’t want to play against you,” Van sighs, his words ticklish and hot along Colby’s skin.

  Colby laughs. “It’s just a game.”

  Van kisses Colby’s arm a second time, and there’s something exaggerated and sad about his eyes when he meets Colby’s gaze. “What if I win? You’ll never want to see me again.”

  Another laugh, this one surprised. “What if I win?” Colby asks. “You’ll avoid me like the plague.”

  The hint of a smile curls Van’s lips. “Let’s make a bet.”

  “What?” Colby shakes his hea
d, giddy at Van’s nearness. “I’ll still want to see you no matter who wins. What kind of bet are you talking about?”

  “Well…”

  Van scoots closer, legs widening, arms easing around Colby’s neck. One leg butts up against Colby’s ass at the back of the rail, the other bends up and around to rest on Colby’s thighs. Van has him enveloped, trapped, and suddenly Colby doesn’t know where to put his own hands. He settles for rubbing Van’s knee, the one angled above his lap, running his hands over the fine light hairs along Van’s thigh and calf, brushing at the hem of Van’s swim trunks, dipping down lower to touch something hard and unyielding hidden beneath the material. Despite the crowds, all Colby can see is the man draped around him.

  Setting his chin on Colby’s shoulder, Van stares at him one long moment before he murmurs, “Whoever wins advances in the tournament.”

  Colby nods, yes. “And whoever loses…?”

  Van’s mouth pulls into the same sexy smile Colby fell for the night before. “Whoever loses gets whatever he wants from the winner.”

  Colby’s still not following. “Such as what?”

  Those pale eyes widen. “Whatever pleasure he wants.”

  To punctuate Van’s words, one hand drops down from Colby’s arm and grabs the front of his biker shorts, giving the bulge there a healthy squeeze that sends shards of delight shooting through Colby’s body. Colby grasps Van’s leg as he thrusts his hips up into the hand encircling his cock. His voice is nothing more than a guttural moan. “Yes, please.”

  “So it’s on?” Van asks, withdrawing his hand.

  “Only if you do that again.” Colby grabs for it but Van just closes his fingers over Colby’s own and won’t be drawn back.

  With a laugh, Van promises, “Only if you lose.”

  * * * *

  Trouble is, Colby can’t decide which he’d prefer. If he loses, he gets a chance to call the shots, and after the few hours they spent together last night, he can think of quite a few things he’d like Van to do to him in the buff. But if he wins, then he does whatever Van wants him to do. That can’t be bad. As long as it involves the both of them naked, Colby doesn’t foresee a downside to either outcome.

  But if he loses, then he can’t continue on in the tournament, and he’ll have to deal with Megan’s sulkiness for the rest of the day. Hell, the rest of the week, most likely, and it’s hard to live with her when she’s angry with him. Which she will be, he’s sure—she’ll think he went easy on Van no matter how well he plays against the twins.

  In the end, Colby decides he wants to win, very much. He and Megan have been practicing all summer, and the prize money awaits at the end of the weekend like the fabled pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. As much as he and Van connected the night before, Colby won’t let his feelings, his lust, get in the way of his game.

  The second round is tougher than the first. Both teams won their respective opening games, so the guys Megan and Colby face off against really know their stuff. But Megan is quick on her feet and Colby’s never more than a step behind—they win the first match by seven points, and that euphoria carries them midway through the second match, as well. By the time the opposition starts to catch up, the cousins are already in the lead. The final score is real tight with just one point separating them, but in the end the announcer calls out, “Seventeen takes the game!” and Megan almost crushes Colby in her fierce victory hug.

  Because Van’s game runs into a tie-breaking match, Colby doesn’t get a chance to catch up with him before the third game. Megan wants a salad for lunch—“Something healthy,” she says—but the two of them walk up and down the stretch of beach where the tournament is being held without finding a vendor that sells anything but junk food. Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, Megan squints across the street at a small deli nearby. “Let’s head over there and see what they have.”

  “Meg,” Colby whines. With his hands on his hips, he’s busy searching the crowds for some sign of Van. It’s difficult—everyone seems to have blond hair that wisps across their brow, and he’s tired of the adrenaline surge he gets whenever he sees another hot guy only to realize a moment or two later it isn’t the one he’s looking for. He thinks if they go back to the same vendor booth where he saw Van the first time, he’ll run into the guy again. “Can’t we just get a hot dog?”

  Apparently not. Turning on her heel, Megan stomps off toward the street and the deli nestled a little more than a block away. Because he doesn’t want to lose her in this crowd—and, more importantly, because she’s the only one with a little cash between the two of them—he follows behind her. Their next match isn’t until one, so they have plenty of time to grab a bite to eat.

  Van isn’t at the deli; Colby didn’t think he’d be. After they eat, Megan wants to sit in the stands at the court where they play next. Colby would rather continue his search, but it’s fruitless. How he hopes to find one sexy dude out of several hundred is beyond him. With his chin in his hands, he frowns at the court before them as he sits on the bleachers, Megan at his side.

  “You watching this?” she asks.

  He tries to glare at her from the corner of his eye but it isn’t a very effective gesture—she’s sitting back and doesn’t see the look. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “Moping.” Nudging him in the ribs, Megan leans forward and points at the tournament bracket in her program. “I hope you’re paying attention because whoever wins this game plays us next.”

  Colby’s interest is piqued. Without moving a muscle out of his disaffected pose, he tunes into the game before him. After a few passes, he begins to notice things that might help him in the next game. The teams are both mixed, a guy and girl on either side, but in one, the girl plays the back row. This leaves her partner open to more spikes, and he punches the ball over the net whenever he can, forcing it down to the sand and sending the other team scrambling. When he switches it up, he fakes a spike, then hits the ball hard over the head of his opponent in the front, making the guy on the back row back peddle to keep it in play. More than once, his opponent brushes the ball with his fist but doesn’t manage to save it in time. As it bounds out of the court, the point goes to the big guy in front because his opponent touched the ball last.

  They’re good.

  It’s no surprise they win the game. When the final whistle sounds, Colby sits back, impressed. “Damn,” he mutters.

  Beside him, Megan laughs. They have fifteen minutes before the next game begins. “Shyeah. We’re gonna get creamed.”

  “Just play it close to the net,” Colby tells her. “I’ll stay back so he can’t throw me off guard. We have this in the bag. Even if we aren’t better than they are, there ain’t nobody who wants to win more than me.”

  * * * *

  He’s right, of course, and the quick strategy he came up with before the game starts works to their advantage. Each time their opponent spikes the ball, Megan’s already squatting in front of the net, hands laced together to keep the ball off the sand. She bumps it into the air and Colby steps in, punching it over the net and back onto the opposite side of the court. Their teamwork is flawless—they win both matches mostly by surprise, because even by the final count, the opposition didn’t expect anyone to counter their signature move so easily. When the game is over and they shake hands under the net, Colby’s is almost crushed in a fierce grip by the guy playing the front row. “Jerk,” Colby mutters, glancing back over his shoulder as he follows Megan off the court.

  Another step and he runs smack into someone. For a fleeting second, he thinks it’s the guy from the game—somehow he heard Colby and wants to take it up with him here and now. But when Colby turns, he feels warm lips touch his forehead in a rough kiss and strong arms drape over both shoulders, holding him in place. “Great game,” Van says, resting his sun-warmed curls against Colby’s temple. His eyes look as faded as the sky above, but they light up at the quick grin that flashes across his face. “You two look real good out there. It’
s almost a shame you’re going to lose the next round.”

  Colby laughs. “It’s you who’s gonna lose. We’ll wave at you from the stage tomorrow when we accept the grand prize. So it’s official? We play you guys next?”

  Dropping one arm, Van keeps the other around Colby’s shoulders and leads him away from the court. “Val’s checking it now, but we’ve won and you’ve won, so…”

  “Court one!” Megan yells as she races up to the guys. She snags Colby’s hand in passing but doesn’t slow. “We’ve got three minutes before we’re up. Come on!”

  Colby catches Van’s hand so they don’t lose him along the way. “Where’s Val?” he asks, trying to see back over his shoulder as the cousins drag him along. “You didn’t see—”

  “Probably already there,” Megan hollers. She’s breathless with excitement that races through the trio like a flame.

  It ignites Colby’s own emotions, spurring him on, until he’s the one in the lead, his friends flanking him on either side as they hurry to make the next game. It’s mid-afternoon and the crowds are at their thickest; sunbathers and kids from the beach and boardwalk have wandered over to see how the tournament’s going. People stand in clusters, eating Italian ice or hot dogs, sipping slushy drinks, watching kites or the distant advertisement banners being towed by small airplanes off the ocean. Colby ducks and weaves his way between them, angling for the court marker that flaps up ahead in the breeze. As he barrels through, he laughs at how silly they must look, then at the thought of being late. Would the officials be able to forfeit a game if neither team showed up on time?

  He won’t get an answer to that because at the last minute Megan breaks away and dodges through the crowd to reach the court. As predicted, Vallery’s already there, scuffing her bare feet into the sand by the net to smooth it down. She glares at Colby as he and Van skid to a stop at the edge of the court. “About time. Here I thought I’d have to play by myself.”

  Van claps Colby on the shoulder. His hand is warm against the vest Colby wears and leaves a trail of heat where he rubs down Colby’s back before pulling away. “They just finished their game. Jeez, Val. Let us at least catch our breath.”