He gasps. "Okay, okay, but the cop, dude! What the fuck? How'd you manage that?"

"Okay that part was true," I smirked, crossing my arms proudly. "I did meet a cop, and he did ask me to pass that message on."

"Right... and how does one meet a cop on the way to school?" Ian questions. 

 I stifled a smile while I shut my locker and looked around for eavesdroppers before fessing up.

"I was speeding, okay?" 

Ian exhales a boisterous laugh. "Dude, you got pulled over?" His voice begins to rise in excitement, and I cringe, shushing him emphatically.

"Yes, now keep it quiet! He let me off with a warning, but the part where he asked me to say hi to her; well, that part of the story was all true.

Ian shook his head in disbelief, a cheeky grin on his handsome face. "That shit is funny as hell. I still can't get over how The Witch reacted. She had to have hated him." 

I shrugged. "Dunno know, man. I'm thinking it could've been the opposite. Guy was a total stud."

Ian's grin turns wicked. "Heh, what if he boned her like Cam Gomez did that student teacher his senior year; 'member that?"

"Shit, I do remember. Didn't she get pregnant?" I shift on my feet, watching the clock in the hallway—only a few beats left before we must head to our respective classes.

Ian nods. "Yup, neither of 'em were smart enough to wrap it up. She lost her teaching license and skipped town two months later, heard she kept it though. Cam got expelled for the rest of the year and lost a scholarship because of the whole thing."

"Damn."

"Right? Gomez was promising, was supposed to play for the Huskies you know, U.W. and all that. Heard he's been going to community college and working at the local Walmart." 

"Damn, one mistake is all it took..." I mutter, mind wandering to my own uncertain future. 

"Whaddya think though; you think The Witch was hot? Back in the day, you know? I could maybe see it." Ian's brain switches gears again, and I can only laugh at his expression.

I feigned a retching noise, "hell no."

He cackles and smacks me on the back as the bell rings, and we prepare to part ways. "Heh, you never know man! Anyway, see you at practice this afternoon, asshole."

"Likewise, shit-bag!" I call after him as he files down the hall towards his English class, and I head across the hall to AP History.

Mr. Gallagher is sitting on the edge of his desk nursing his coffee, glasses perched on his balding head. As always, the bags under his eyes are significant, and I wonder often if the man ever actually sleeps. So far, I really like his class, but that's a give-in considering who's teaching it, and history is my favorite subject. Mr. Gallagher is amazing, and he's got to be the teacher I appreciate most in this place. History comes alive the way he teaches. I don't feel like I'm just learning boring facts, it feels like I'm experiencing events as they happened, and my imagination always runs wild. This class has felt a safe place for me, one I'm hesitant to leave every morning.

"Morning Teach!" I grin, dropping my finished paper on his desk.

"Morning Luca, happy to see you." Gallagher responds with a yawn, running a hand over his face as he looks to examine the growing pile of completed work landing on his desk. Everyone in here loves Gallagher, so turning in completed work on time seems to be the norm—not a normalcy other members of staff could claim on the regular.

Gallagher is a raging insomniac, but he always perks right up once he begins teaching. This week we've been learning about the Ottoman Empire, and Mehmed the Conqueror. Specifically, his revolutionary use of massive cannons in the siege on Constantinople. According to Gallagher, Mehmed was a total badass, not to mention grew up with Vlad Tepes, who he later fought in Wallachia. The men were sort of like brothers growing up, but Mehmed got his, and Vlad's headed ended up on a Pike years later. That shit sort of blew my mind and learning history with Mr. Gallagher means going down the rabbit hole every time. 

I'm always a bit disappointed when this class ends because it's the one I look forward to most every day.

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, and Soccer practice went well. 

My head didn't connect quite right with the ball when I went to head-butt it earlier though, so I've found myself nursing a sore neck. My thighs ache from running, but it's that after-practice burn that feels so good, and I relish the hot water on my body as I rinse off.

Ian is being a joker per usual, and I look on in amusement as he flits over to crack a wet towel across DeWitt's ass. DeWitt screeches in response, and spins around to yell at Ian. I scrub my hair absentmindedly and watch as the pair wrestle. Ian's dark curly hair has fallen into his eyes, and there's a devilish grin on his face when DeWitt unleashes a, "oh it's on!", putting him in a head lock.

I really try not to be a creeper, but they're both bare-ass naked, and it's kinda hot watching them screw around. 

It makes me feel sort of dirty and guilty... what would Ian think of me if he knew I was low-key checking him out right now? Am I wrong for admiring his body? He works hard to stay in peak physical condition, heck, we all do. It's our senior year, and college scouts are now coming to games to watch some of the guys play. 

 Ian wants a scholarship, and I think he's going to get one easy—he's one of the best, and nobody has legs as fast as his on this team.

I shake my head as Ian begins yelping for backup, because DeWitt has got him by the hair. Ian is very particular about his hair, and I don't blame him. It's perfect.

"If you wanted to suck my cock all you had to do was ask!" DeWitt laughs, forcing Ian to his knees. DeWitt's a lean guy, and not super tall, but he's deceptively strong. He used to wrestle earlier on in Highschool but decided to drop it in sole focus of Soccer, but it's times like this that he gets to put it to use.  

 "Who's the bitch now?" He taunts, Ian's face twisted into a grimace, careful to move his head, because DeWitt has his ear in hand uncomfortably, and a fistful of his perfect hair. 

I know they're just playing, but the whole scene makes my cheeks flush a bit. My cock wants to get hard, and that makes me feel like a sick fuck. 

 These guys are my friends, and I'm sitting over here getting a chub on their banter like a total pervert. "Yo, Luca! Give a brother a hand?" Ian begs. 

"Nah, I'm good, you got yourself into this one!" I laugh, smirking as he flips me off. 

I sigh and drop my thirsty, perverted blue eyes to the tiled flooring. 

Ugh.

How do I not look, though? I hear more commotion and dare to glance up. DeWitt pulled Ian to his feet, both guys laughing and shoving one another playfully. Ian looks good. His brown skin is still wet from the shower, curls messy, with a few unruly ringlets falling across his brow. He's sort of a gorgeous guy if I'm honest. His mom is Nigerian, and his dad is Japanese. The couple met in college while studying, and well, the rest is history. As a result, they made a beautiful son. I can't help but allow my eyes to wander down his body. He's toned and lean, with strong thighs and calves, plus an ass I could probably crack a walnut with. An ass I've been staring at a lot lately, and most of all, a cock most of the girls have had or wanted at some point. 

I guess I'm included in that demographic now, because I've wondered what it'd be like to take it from Ian.

I drop my head again feeling the heat in my face—I'm so messed up. He'd probably be disgusted with me if he knew I was looking at him in such a way. I've even jerked off to the thought of him fucking me—yeah, I'll admit it—I got a bit drunk sneaking dads scotch while he was passed out, and my mind wandered to places it shouldn't have. Post-nut clarity is a bitch. 

I grimace and shake my head, as if to loosen my very thoughts from my brain and turn to face the wall. I enjoy the sensation of the hot water on my body, watching it fall from the ends of my hair while I try to conjure thoughts that will kill the hardness below. 

I hope to God nobody notices.

Exhaling in self-disgust, I think about Dad and his bitchy girlfriend, Penny.

 Penny makes these awful noises when they fuck; the kind of shit you hear in a cringey porno. 

Yep, that did it.

I cringed at the sound replaying in my mind but my cock chills instantly. With that, I turn the shower head off, and make a beeline for my locker. I nod at Ian as I pass by. He nods back while he pulls his boxer-briefs on, still conversing with DeWitt. Usually, Ian and I leave practice together, but today he doesn't follow, and I'm thankful.

I took my phone out of my locker and double checked the time; 5:45 P.M. 

 There are no missed calls or texts from dad, and I'm hoping that means he was never informed of my tardiness. I've got to be home no later than 7, or he'll have yet another reason to kick my ass.

I dried off, slipping into some black joggers, tank, and a sweatshirt. "Gotta bounce assholes," I shout over the chaos. 

 I get a few goodbyes, a random "fuck you!" and a, "love you shit-bag!" from Ian. 

 Coach is on the phone right now but gives me a wave and a nod on my way out.

Bag slung over my shoulder, anxiety starts to form in the pit of my stomach, like it always does at the end of a school-day, because I'm afraid of what I'll come home to, and which version of my father I'm gonna get.