The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Zac texted her twenty minutes after she got home.

Zac: I can’t go home yet.

Roxie stared at the message from the edge of her bed.

Her cheer uniform was gone. Her hair was loose. There was still faint glitter near one eye because she had been too tired to scrub it properly. The house was quiet around her, the kind of quiet that made every small sound bigger.

She bit her lip. She remembered his family.

His mother with the photographer. His father standing stiff beside him. Nathan clean and calm like he had stepped into the picture because someone told him where to stand.

Roxie had hated the look on Zac’s face after they left.

She hated it even more because a mean little part of her had thought, at least they came.

At least someone showed up for him.

That thought sat ugly in her chest.

She looked down at her phone again.

Roxie: What about Mason’s party?

The reply came fast.

Zac: Don’t want Mason.

Her stomach tightened.

Another message came.

Zac: I want you.

Roxie stared at the screen until the words blurred a little.

Then she typed back.

Roxie: Then come here.

Zac: Are you sure?

Roxie: Yes.

She set the phone down and stood.

Then she sat again.

Then she stood.

"Pathetic," she muttered to herself.

Her room looked worse than usual. Clothes on the chair. Homework on the desk. A pile of clean laundry she had folded halfway and abandoned. Her blanket was twisted from where she had dropped onto the bed after showering.

She kicked a hoodie under the bed and pulled the blanket straight.

Then she stopped.

Why was she fixing anything?

Zac had been in her room before. He had seen the old desk, the cheap lamp, the uneven curtains, and the chair that collected clothes no matter how many times she swore she would keep it clean.

A blanket was hardly the thing that would ruin the illusion.

A soft knock came from the door.

Roxie froze.

Her heart hit once, hard.

Then she moved.

She crossed the small living room quietly. The open kitchen sat dark beside it except for the weak stove light. Through the glass, she saw him standing outside.

Zac looked too big for the porch.

He was still in his team hoodie, hair damp from the locker room shower, duffel hanging from one shoulder. His face had the drained, bruised look of someone whose body had finally realized the game was over.

Roxie opened the door.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then her eyes dropped to his ribs.

"You look like shit."

His mouth twitched. "Hello to you too beautiful."

Her face warmed. "You look like you got hit by a truck."

"Linebacker."

"Same thing."

That made him laugh once, short and rough.

Then the laugh left his face.

Roxie stepped back. "Come in."

Zac entered and set his duffel near the back door. His eyes moved over the open living room and kitchen, familiar now, but careful tonight. Like stepping into her house after winning a regional final meant something different.

Roxie shut the door and locked it.

"Did anyone see you?"

"No."

"Your team?"

"They think I’m showering."

"You are the worst liar on that team."

"Mason is worse."

"Mason wouldn’t make a day."

She tried to roll her eyes, but he was closer now, close enough that she could see the fatigue under the adrenaline. He had won and still looked like he had lost something on the field.

Roxie’s voice softened before she could stop it. "Are you okay?"

Zac looked at her for a long second.

Then he said, "No."

That single word hit harder than a whole speech.

Roxie pushed off the counter. "Come on."

His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed tired. "Yes, captain."

She turned before he could see how much that got to her.

Zac followed her down the short hallway to her room. She heard the slight hitch in his breathing with every few steps. He tried to hide it because of course he did. She let him have that.

In her room, he stopped near the bed.

Roxie looked back. "What?"

"Nothing."

His eyes moved over the room, slower this time. He had been there before, but tonight it felt more intimate.

She pointed at the bed. "Sit."

He obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge with a wince he failed to hide.

Roxie pointed at him. "Stay there."

His mouth twitched. "Bossy."

"You still like me."

She left before he could answer. The second she stepped into the hallway, her face heated.

They had never even said the word like out loud. They were together but saying that still made her feel exposed.

Stupid.

Plus now, he’s here.

He had been in her room before. This was familiar. He had sat on her bed before. He had kissed her in that room before.

But tonight felt different.

Tonight, he was in there after winning a regional final, hurt and tired and choosing her instead of Mason’s party.

Roxie opened the fridge and grabbed the ice pack from the freezer.

The old fridge hummed too loudly in the quiet.

She stood there for half a second with the freezer door open, staring at the frost along the plastic edge.

"Get it together," she whispered.

She shut the freezer, wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel from the counter, and went back to her room.

Zac was still sitting where she left him, elbows on his knees, head lowered. His shoulders looked wider in the small room. His duffel sat near the foot of the bed.

He looked up when she came in.

For some reason, that made her nervous all over again.

She held out the wrapped ice pack. "Here."

He took it but kept it in his hand.

Roxie narrowed her eyes. "Zac."

"I’m waiting." He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes, took the ice pack back and pressed it against his right side.

He sucked in a breath.

"Sorry," she said, softer.

He shook his head. "It’s fine."

"It’s allowed to hurt."

His eyes lifted to hers.

Something in the room shifted.

Roxie’s hand was still against his side. His hand covered hers over the ice pack, warm and rough from tape and grass and whatever else the game had done to him.

He looked up at her like the whole night had stripped him down to the part of him he usually kept under the helmet.

Roxie’s breath caught.

Zac leaned forward.

She met him halfway.

The kiss started soft. It lasted maybe three seconds.

Then Zac’s hand slid to her waist. The softness broke.

He pulled her closer, careful of his ribs but desperate everywhere else. Roxie’s knees hit the edge of the bed. His mouth moved against hers harder, more urgent. She gripped the front of his hoodie to steady herself.

He tasted like toothpaste and heat and the sharp edge of adrenaline still burning through him.

Roxie climbed onto the bed without thinking.

Zac followed her down. One hand braced beside her shoulder at first. Then she pulled him closer and his control slipped. His mouth found hers again, deeper this time. His tongue brushed against hers like he had been holding back since the field.

His knee settled between her legs.

His hand gripped her hip through her shorts, fingers digging in.

Roxie’s breath broke against his mouth.

He froze for half a second, checking.

She pulled him back down by the front of his hoodie.

That was all the answer he needed.

Zac kissed her harder. His teeth caught her bottom lip for a second.

Roxie’s back pressed into the mattress. His body was warm and heavy over hers. He stayed careful around his ribs until her leg hooked around his hip. Then his breath changed. It came out rougher.

He was kissing her like he could forget the field, his father, the camera, the family picture, all of it, if he just got close enough.

Roxie knew that.

She let him anyway, because she wanted to forget too.

His mouth left hers and moved along her jaw. Then lower, to the side of her neck. He kissed her there open-mouthed, hot and slow.

"Zac," she whispered.

He made a low sound against her skin.

Her fingers slid into his hair. She held on.

He kissed below her ear. Then dragged his mouth lower along her neck. Her whole body tightened under him.

His hand moved from her hip to her thigh. He gripped it hard, like he needed to anchor himself.

She should have said something smart. She had nothing.

His hips pressed against hers. Once. Slow. The hard shape of him rubbed against her through their clothes. The pressure hit right between her legs.

Roxie’s eyes shut.

He did it again. This time his breath shook against her neck.

Her hand tightened in his hair.

He lifted his head enough to look at her.

His eyes were dark. His mouth was swollen from kissing her. His face was flushed and wrecked and still full of the game.

Roxie’s body wanted him closer. She wanted more of that pressure.

Her brain caught the way he was breathing. Hard. Uneven. Like he was still running.

He kissed her again before she could speak. Hungry. Messy. His tongue slid against hers.

His hand slid under the hem of her shirt. Just enough for his palm to press flat against her waist. Skin to skin. His hand was warm and a little rough from the game.

Roxie gasped into his mouth.

Zac stilled.

Then he kissed her neck again, slower, almost like he was trying to calm himself. It wasn’t working.

His hips pressed down once more. Firmer. The friction made her hips lift to meet him without thinking.

Roxie’s whole body reacted. Heat pooled low in her stomach. She felt slick between her legs now, aching every time he moved.

"Zac."

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Yeah?"

The word came out rough.

Too rough.