Warning
This ebook contains adult matter, including frank and explicit sexual scenes. These ebooks are only for sale to adults, as per the laws of your country of residence. Please do not let minors access these files.
Disclaimer
This book is pure fiction—fantasy. If engaging in any of the practices found in this book, please do so responsibly and in keeping within the laws of your country of residence. No characters were harmed in the making of this book.
This ebook is a fictionalized work and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, establishments, or actions depicted in this book is coincidental.
Dedicated to anyone who has ever been drawn to the forbidden.
Tight End
Copyright 2012 by Alix Storm
ISBN: 978-1-4660-5845-3
Smashwords Edition
This book is licensed for your use only. As tempting as it may be, please don’t share or give this file away to friends (or even strangers), though Alix certainly hopes you’ll recommend her stories to others. Thanks!
Edited by C.A.L.
Alix Storm
Author Note
This is a reedited version of this book, created in order to comply with restrictions PayPal has placed on various websites. If you’d like to read this in its original incarnation, please check out my blog for current and updated sale links.
Will had always seemed a little strange right before the Super Bowl, and Brock wanted to know why. His normally outgoing next-door neighbor, Will was the life of the party—their March Madness basketball parties were legendary—but Will never wanted to do much for the Super Bowl. He never had the guys over, didn’t even want to go anywhere to watch the game, though he was a fairly big sports guy. Brock just shouldered his way in to Will’s and theyt watched on the big TV alone, Brock never wanting to leave Will to go to parties of his own.
Will’s quietness was a was a mystery, and Brock loved solving these.
He and Will were a pretty damn tight unit, and they were as talky as guys got. It had only been the two of them for a few years now, since Mom had died suddenly, and Will had taken Brock, then a struggling college student, under his wing.
Brock didn’t like to think about losing Mom; she was all he’d had family wise.
But having Will as a friend/confidant was a good thing. And they got along great. Now that Brock was in his mid twenties, he and Will related on a strong level. Will and Mom had met at work, where Will was a pediatrician and Mom had been a physician assistant. They’d started dating when Brock had been fourteen, and though it hadn’t worked out, they’d maintained a tight friendship.
He’d helped Brock to navigate teenaged waters and had been a supportive shoulder when Brock’s mother had died, and they’d learned to look out for each other.
They’d settled into a routine, sharing dinner-making duties, spending time together watching the games on most weekends. Though they both had their own social circles, they enjoyed each other’s company and neither was particularly suited to many days alone. Brock really liked Will.
This side of Will was strange—Brock could see there was something going on. Will had downed four beers last night—three more than his normal total—and his expression was tense, unhappier than Brock had seen him in a long time. Will had run his hands through his hair so much it was standing on end, even as he’d puttered around his driveway this morning. It was all very uncharacteristic, and made Brock want to know more.
Brock wandered around the kitchen, trying to settle his mind. He finally made a coffee and flipped through the papers, one ear attuned to sound of Will moving around his yard. When the car door slammed, it was so unexpected that Brock jumped, wincing as Will’s car started up and he left.
Where the hell was Will going at ten on a Sunday morning?
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and flipped idly through the mail, trying to settle his mind. He wasn’t Will’s keeper, the old man could do whatever he wanted to and with whoever he wanted.
A bright yellow and blue banner caught his eye, and he pulled it out of the pile of junk mail and bills. “UCLA Alumni Association,” he read, noticing the envelope had been sliced cleanly open. It was addressed to W. Jarrett Glade next door, and something—some niggling thought—took up residence in Brock’s head. He’d heard that name before, but not in the way he expected. And why had the piece of mail been opened by someone other than Brock.