(18+!)
Blake Evans is king of the tennis court at Westbridge University...and he's also a prick, a womanizer, a player, and an asshole. He's touted as one of the next stars of tennis, building hype and excitement around the program with every win...
The morning sunlight streamed through Blake's bedroom window, piercing through his closed eyelids and dragging him reluctantly into consciousness. His head throbbed with the remnants of the previous night's revelry, but as he pushed himself out of bed, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His body felt unusually heavy, a sense of lethargy hanging over him that was far more intense than any hangover he had ever experienced.
Blake dressed slowly, his movements sluggish. As he pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, he noticed something strange: his clothes seemed slightly looser than usual. Frowning, he chalked it up to the bloat and dehydration that often followed a night of heavy drinking.
But he hadn't drinken that much...until Savannah left, not but a few minutes after they'd finished in the bedroom.
With a dismissive shake of his head, he grabbed his gym bag and headed out the door.
At the gym, the usual sounds of clanging weights and grunts of exertion filled the air. Blake found Dominic in their usual spot, already deep into his warm-up routine. Blake dropped his bag and joined him, but as he started his first set of bench presses, he felt an unexpected weakness in his arms.
Dominic spotted him, his eyes narrowing with concern. "You alright, Blake? You're usually lifting more than this for your warm-up."
Blake grunted, struggling to push the barbell up. "Just a hangover, Dom. It was a crazy night."
Dominic raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "I've seen you hungover before. This looks different. What happened with Savannah?"
Blake set the barbell back on the rack, his arms trembling slightly. "Yeah, well, no hangover has ever felt like this. Maybe I just need to shake her off. Told you she couldn't resist me, bro."
They moved through their workout routine, but Blake's performance continued to lag. Each exercise felt harder, his muscles weaker and less responsive. His usual strength seemed to have evaporated overnight, leaving him frustrated and irritable. Dominic kept glancing at him with concern, but Blake brushed it off.
His propensity to stare at the many women in the gym remained. In his longer breaks between sets, his eyes traced as many asses as he could see, practically licking his lips.
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Throughout the day, the strange feeling persisted. Blake found himself unusually tired, his movements slower and less coordinated. His clothes still felt loose, and when he caught his reflection in a window, he thought he looked slightly thinner. The prick in his shoulder from the previous night's encounter with Savannah briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it, focusing instead on trying to push through whatever was affecting him.
Blake lay sprawled on his bed, his mind racing despite the exhaustion weighing down his body. The events of the previous night played over and over in his head, a confusing blur of triumph, alcohol, and that intense encounter with Savannah. He couldn't shake the sense that something was fundamentally off.
