Bad Habit

fifteen

After downing two and a half cans of Four Loko he picked up at a convenience store he frequented, Moss was utterly hammered. Like, truly hammered. And as if it was even a remotely good idea, he got into his car and started it up, with one location in mind. His phone was erupting with texts from his mom, coach, and Finny, mostly Finny, but he wasn't replying to any. The time somehow got to nearly nine, and Moss accredited his loss of time to laying in the park and questioning his entire existence after the meeting with Coach. It was the truth when he said the meeting went absolutely terribly and he wished he hadn't even gone. 

The story behind Moss' high school football career was rather unsettling. His first two years playing in high school were mild and lax; he didn't have many responsibilities and the team still respected him. He was improving rapidly and colleges began taking note of his talent, which was when Coach Brock, Moss' father's best friend, decided to coach the varsity team. He took over for the existing coach who was retiring, and during junior year, Moss realized what it was like to be coached by someone he knew. It was sweet, it was, because Brock couldn't do anything but praise Moss. If Coach said one cross thing to Moss, he'd run and tell his dad who had the influence as a main benefactor to the high school to have Brock fired. Not only that, but Brock and Moss' dad Chris' friendship would be down the drain. 

And Brock really hated that it had to be that way. Moss adopted his father's attitude and refused to hear any type of criticism about himself. As far as Moss was concerned, he was the best and Brock knew nothing about the game that Moss didn't. Brock felt like a player watching Moss coach the team in an arrogant and terrible way, and strove to find a way to curb this new Moss. Which, ultimately, he did. 

He didn't take his eyes off of Moss, not even once. In the locker room, he'd peer out his blinds as discreetly as possible and watch Moss, who was watching Noah the whole time. Every time they were in the locker room, Moss had his eyes glued on someone's chest, and when they were showering, his eyes would awkwardly but eagerly drop to someone's crotch, then flicker back up with a nervous and excited flutter. Brock took note of the gleam and smile that was present on Moss' face when a teammate grabbed his butt as a congratulations and how Moss would let his own hand linger on someone's butt for a little too long. His teammates never really noticed, but no one was watching Moss as intently as Brock was. And one day, after creeping up behind Moss who was sitting alone on his phone in the locker room, Brock spotted it. Moss was using some app that resembled one Brock had seen ads for. A gay sex hookup app.  And finally, he had found it. Brock had found a path to the end of Moss' terror-filled reign. 

So the next day after practice, Brock asked Moss to stay late. He instructed him to wait until he was the last one in the locker room, then to come into Brock's office to go over some important plays. Moss did as he was told, leaving his bag on the bench and entering Coach's office with pure blissful innocence. Once in, Brock ordered him to close and lock the door. Moss shivered uncomfortably but again, did as he was told and slowly locked the door. 

Brock, being an attractive, successful, thirty two year old man, knew he could work whatever charm he needed to. He asked Moss to have a seat, then made his way around his desk to sit on the edge of it, directly in front of a nervous, junior, sixteen year old Moss. He began talking about how he didn't call him in only to discuss plays, and that he had some more pressing matters to discuss. Moss was confused, but stayed silent. Coach went on and on about keeping secrets from the team and how wrong that was, and Moss didn't realize what exactly was happening until he felt a pressure on his upper thigh. Brock had leaned down closer to Moss' face and planted his hand close to his crotch before speaking again. "Do you know what you want, Teddy?" Brock whispered in Moss' ear, who was clamoring in fear and sexual frustration in his seat.