Chapter 9: Working the Glutes

When I got back to the dorm, the hallway lights were still dim, like the building hadn’t caught up to the morning yet. My shirt stuck to my back with cold sweat, and my legs ached in that hollow way that didn’t feel like progress, just exhaustion. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t even wiped my face. My jaw was tight. My lips felt raw.

Mason was already up, just stepping out of his room with his phone in one hand and a granola bar in the other. His shirt was halfway pulled over his head, hair flattened on one side from sleep.

He blinked at me. “Back already?”

I nodded. “Coach Casper had me doing circuits. Core work.”

“Brutal,” he said through a yawn. “He’s really working you lately, huh?”

“Guess I need it.”

Mason moved closer, squinting at my face. “You’ve got something right here,” he said, pointing just above my upper lip.

Before I could stop him, he reached out and plucked it.

I flinched. “What the hell?”

“Chill.” He held it between two fingers, inspecting it. “Wait a sec...”

He squinted harder. “Is this ... a hair?”

I said nothing.

“It’s uhh,” he said, turning it toward the light. “Curly. Dude, this is a pube.”

My chest locked up.

Mason gave me a slow, smug grin. “Bro. What were you doing on those mats?”

“It’s probably just from rolling around,” I muttered. “Shit gets everywhere.”

“Yeah? It rolled up and planted itself on your lip?” He laughed, holding it out like it was evidence. “You face-plant into someone’s lap mid-drill?”

I didn’t answer.

Mason kept chuckling as he walked to the trash and flicked it in. “Whatever, man. Your life. Just wash your damn face next time you get ... up close with someone.”

He opened the door and tossed a “Later” over his shoulder before heading out to breakfast.

I stood in the silence after, heart hammering in my chest. I hadn’t even realized it was there.

He must have known.

I replayed his face, the grin, the way he’d said it. You face-plant into someone’s lap? He’d seen it. He knew exactly what it was.

It was Casper’s.

I’d had his pube on my face.

My skin went hot with shame, my ears roaring. What if Mason had actually connected the dots? What if he was laughing about it right now, texting someone, already sharing the story?

Nah, I told myself. He doesn’t know I was alone with Casper. He just thinks we were doing team drills or something. He probably thought it really was from the mat, just gym grossness.

Mason teased about everything. That didn’t mean he knew.

I swallowed hard and grabbed the towel off my desk, wiping my face even though I knew it was too late. The damage was done. Not just to my pride, but to my sense of reality. Because now I couldn’t stop imagining what I must’ve looked like—walking into the dorm with dried sweat on my skin, cum still crusted under my waistband, and Casper’s hair stuck to my lip like a brand.

And I hadn’t even noticed.

I wasn’t in control anymore. Not of my body. Not of my thoughts. Not of anything.

I dropped the towel, sat down hard on my bed, and stared at the floor. I was exhausted. Wired. And already dreading the next text from Casper.

But I also knew I’d go. Whatever he said, whatever time—I’d be there.

That single hair might’ve said more than either of us ever had.

I forced myself up and into the tiny dorm bathroom. The overhead light was too bright, too harsh. I splashed cold water on my face, again and again, like I could scrub away the memory, the sweat, the smell.

My whole face burned.

I brushed my teeth with quick, clumsy strokes, rinsed my mouth twice, and ran a damp hand through my hair. No time for a shower. If I waited too long, Mason might already be gone, and I needed to see him. Read him. Test whether he actually knew or was just messing around the way he always did.

I pulled on a clean shirt, shoved my wallet in my pocket, and headed out fast, skipping socks and double-checking I didn’t still smell like sex. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t trust myself anymore to know the difference between sweat and guilt.

The air outside was sharp and clean, almost cruel. I spotted Mason up ahead, already walking toward the dining hall. I jogged to catch up, pulse kicking in my ears.