Chapter 132 DAMN YOU DANTE KING

Chapter 132 DAMN YOU DANTE KING
MICAH'S POV

I decide not to tell Dante anything about Max, or what he's threatening me to do.

That's the conclusion I come up with in my head the next day, as I'm taping my ankle.
It's better now, practically healed, but I still want to tape it for good measure.

I can, and I will handle it all by myself.
I will be independent, plus I can do it by myself, just as I handled Alison and she backed off.

If I involve him, he'll just take it to the extreme, with how far he'll take it.
If I run right back to him just because Max threatened me, then nothing’s changed.

I have to prove that I can handle this my way.

So at practice, I try to look normal and pretend all is well.

When Max tries to crowd me on a stitch, I ignore him and just play through it.

Part of me already hates the idea of intentionally missing rotations later, ones I can catch easily even in my sleep.

Part of me hates that I'm giving him the spotlight he desperately wants, it feels like I'm being forced to swallow glass.

But if that's what it'll cost to keep my private life away from the public's prying eyes, I guess that's what I'll do.
I'll figure it all out without involving Dante.

The problem is Dante isn't one to stay away.

He's not cornering me, or even demanding… anything from me.

He just stays… close enough that I can see him.
I know he's doing this on purpose, but I can't bring myself to say anything.

We live together anyway!
During drills, he'll appear over my shoulders with a water bottle, saying nothing until I take it, then he'll leave.

During the film part where we go through several of our old games, he calmly takes a seat beside me, resting his knees just beside mine under the table.

He doesn't press or push me, he just leaves it there.

The genius bastard probably knows how much it's fucking me up mentally!

I should shift my legs away, or probably switch seats with someone else's, but… I don't. How hypocritical of me.

The yeast emanating from a hot Dante after a long day of practice, reminds my body of what it feels like to be under him

Erotic flashes of him holding me down and doing several things suddenly flash in my mind, making me stare fixedly at the screen, trying to ignore the pull low in my guy

After practice, he lingers around, taking his time to loosen and tie his already perfect show knot, talking to Caleb who happens to be just where I'm stretching.

He has on that call unreadable look like he's doing something mundane, yet everytime i look up, he's already looking at me.

With how calm and free he is, you would mistake him for a nobody with millions of things to do.

I hate how much I’m devoutly taking notice of it all.

In the locker room later, I catch myself tracking down the sound of his voice right behind me, and how his low murmurs are causing my ears to vibrate as he speaks with hushed tones to Tyler.

What is he even talking about that would make him sound like that?

When he clears his throat, that gravelly baritone makes me tense up and swallow audibly.
Clearly my body hadn't gotten the memo that it's over yet

I change faster than I usually do, feeling a prickly sensation of someone's eyes on me as I rush and before I do something stupid like turn around and meet his stare.

Me rushing to run away from him in the close areas of the locker room doesn’t help at all.

When I get back, he's right there in the suite, cooking up something that's warm and garlicky.

The suite smells just like how we were when we were still together, feeling all warm and safe.

Damn you Dante King!

When he's done with whatever he's doing, he still doesn't announce it or speak to me, he just played food for two before leaving one of the plates on the counter, with a pair of chopsticks resting across the plate.

There's no not, he doesn't demand or say anything, but that plate’s mine without a doubt.

Who am I to waste food?

So I stand right there, scarfing it all down like it would ease my guilt and how shitty I feel.

It doesn't.
If anything, I feel more shitty at myself when the plate tastes like care and like it was made with me in mind.

It's exactly the kind of food that reminds me of the version of him that'll come right up behind me and wrap both hands around me even when I'm eating, trying to seduce me when I'm occupied with food.

My waist feels strangely empty, as I turn around with familiarity, only… he isn't there right behind me.

When I'm eating, he'll try to steal bites from my food knowing how protective and selfish I am about sharing a bite, so he'll pry my mouth open and ‘steal it right from the source’, he used to say.

I set down the plate on the counter harder than I should, causing a sharp sound that wakes me out of my dream.

Wake up Micah, it's all over now.

Back in my room, sleep doesn't come easy, or come for me at all.

I lie on my back and stare hard at the ceiling with my jaw clenched.
Every nerve in me is hyper aware of the face that he's right at the opposite edge of my door, probably sleeping by now.

The frustration at this point is purely physical now–

It's a pure restless sensation that refuses to settle down or leave my body.

I… I miss Dante dearly.
I miss his body heat and weight on me, and how he'll try to nearly choke me at night with his body weight, smothering me with how tight he likes holding me no matter my complaints.