Owned by My Best Friend’s Stepdad

Used by Him. Shared with His Stepson.

They say football is about discipline, endurance, and brotherhood. But for me, it was always about the moments after the game. When the noise faded, the lights dimmed, and the boys hit the showers. That’s when the real tension showed up—sweaty, raw, unspoken. And there was one man who kept showing up.

Dean.

My best friend Tariq's stepdad. Built like a linebacker, eyes like he’d seen too much, and lips that stayed tight unless he was smirking at me from behind the wheel of his truck. I never told him to stop.

Tonight, I was done pretending. I was done waiting.

The locker room was empty. Steam clung to the ceiling, sweat and soap hanging thick in the air. I stayed behind, my cleats echoing against the tile as I walked toward the back row of lockers. I yanked off my jersey, the number 87 clinging to my skin like a second layer.

I wasn’t in a rush. I had a plan.

I knew Tariq's stepdad was picking him up after practice. I’d seen him before. The man always wore a tight polo, sleeves strangling his thick biceps, with a jawline that looked like it could cut cinder blocks. His name was Dean. Always came late. Always gave me those lingering, unreadable looks. Like he was sizing me up. Or down.

Tonight, I was gonna find out.

Tariq stepped out of the shower, towel low on his waist, still dripping. "You good? Thought you left."

I smirked. "Waiting on you. Heard your old man’s outside."

Tariq rolled his eyes. "He’s not my real dad. Just mom’s latest project."

I stepped closer, voice dropping. "You think he ever notices how I look at him?"

Tariq froze, one eyebrow rising. "You mean that weird shit you do when he pulls up? Yeah. I notice. So does he."

I didn't flinch. "Good. Makes this easier."

The locker room door creaked open. I didn’t turn. I already knew who it was. Dean walked in, boots heavy on tile, ball cap pulled low. "Tariq. You ready or what?"

Tariq turned toward him, towel still barely clinging. "In a minute. Jose forgot his ride."

Dean's eyes shifted to me. "That right?"

I stepped forward, shirtless, glistening under the flickering overheads. "Yeah. Might need a lift. But I got something else I need first."

Dean arched an eyebrow, not even pretending to look away. "That so?"

I reached down and adjusted myself through my compression shorts. "You tell me. You’re the one staring like you wanna fuck me."