"This is going to sound goofy, I know," Jeff said to Max, "because I really just met you again for the first time, like a few hours ago, so I don't want you to say a fucking word in response...You promise? But I may have, I think I did...I kind of fell in love with you...I haven't been trying you out for anything, Max...except for maybe the rest of my life. Don't say a fucking word, not now, you promised."
That was when Max's persistent erection became too insistent for either of them to ignore, or, more specifically, during the desperate, passionate kiss with which Max had responded to Jeff, since he had promised not to say a word. "Grrr," Max growled as he entered Jeff emphatically, and that was OK, because 'Grrr' technically isn't a word.
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"You said 'seven jocks on Coach train' earlier," Max said to Jeff as they limped back to the house to check on the status of Finn's anal virginity, following the completion of their third set of flip flops (including that first prematurely busted set), "so the seven are, obviously, you, Mitchell, Dewey, Finn, Alex...and?"
"And Landen," Jeff replied. "We originally planned for six jocks. When Coach and I talked first thing tonight, it was so I could make sure him nailing Finn was nailed down, and to tell him that I was sorry if I was about to step on his toes for snatching you right out from under his nose, which I was about to do, but that you and I had gotten zapped by a thunderbolt that was going to require some serious fucking exploration. And Coach was cool with that, mostly because he feels guilty as shit about all of this...but the way he sees it, he crossed a serious, self-imposed red line with you since you're still 16, after he'd already skipped right across his previous no 17-year-olds red line, which I basically forced him to do by baiting his trap with Mitchell, who nobody, not even a Catholic priest, could turn down."
Max laughed. "I'm loving the image of Mitchell as an altar boy."
"Anyway," Jeff continued, "I asked Coach if I could pencil you in for Sunday night, subject to your approval, and he was all for crossing his no 16-year-olds red line one more time, figuring that if he was getting fucked in the ass by six student athletes in a line, which will be six separate felonies, what the fuck difference does one more make...so that's where seven came from."
"Yeah, I don't mind Coach drawing a red line at 16-year-olds," Max said, because everybody has to have standards, you know? Like if he made an exception for me again, which I had to convince him to do the first time, then what happens when some exceptional 15-year-old comes along? And then a 14-year-old? And, I'll tell you, Jeff, I really don't know that I want to do that Sunday thing anyway."
"An avid fucker like you pass up a fucking gang bang?" Jeff asked, not believing his ears. "I must not have been clear enough...Coach wants to cross his line with you Sunday night, if you want to come. And I damn sure want you there." They decided they'd better get in the hot tub to finish their conversation since they plainly couldn't do that before they got to the back door.
"No, that's not it," Max said. "I'd fuck Coach again in a minute, you know, one last time. My problem is Landen, not that he's a bad guy...and 'problem' is even too strong a word...but I don't really want to be around him...not in that kind of setting." 'Nor alone in the shower with him, either,' but Max didn't say that.
"What happened with Landen?" Jeff bristled, instantly ready to go fight Landen for whatever horrible thing he'd done to Max. "I'll fight him."
"Nothing happened, Jeff, so just chill, OK?"
"Last I heard you were fucking Landen," Jeff countered, "and now you won't even go to a gang bang if he's gonna be there? Something fucking happened."
