Smevalicious banner a/n son sorry i forgot to add this chapter!!!!! enjoy and review!! Chapter 13 “Great shot Kinney!” My coach yells as I sink yet another ball into the net. What can I say, I guess it’s my lucky goal. Now I just have to fuck Justin under all the opposing field’s goal posts too. When I woke up this morning I felt, alive. Usually I have to be dragged to these early practices but today I have a spring in my step. God I’m turning into a fucking lesbian, but I am playing faster and better today. It’s a miracle how I can play so well when all I can think about is a certain blonde and our day tomorrow. Late that afternoon in the showers, I had to think about Debbie masturbating to keep my erection down, ew, ummm what was I saying? Chris comes up to me while I’m dressing. “Hey Bri, you were awesome today, did you take my advice and bang a chick last night? Told ya it’s a stress reliever.” Oh yea, Chris told me he fucks his current girlfriend before every game, he says it really helps, whatever, his game needs as much fucking help as he can get. “Oh yea, you’re right it does help.” I use every force in my power to not roll my eyes. He laughs and slaps my back, “I knew that’s why you couldn’t come with us to celebrate. Who was she? Maybe I’ll try her.” He’s lucky I don’t have a gag reflex, “Umm you don’t know her, she’s a friend of my cousins, from out of town.” It’s not lying if they make you lie, anyway, Justin is from Chicago, and I think I have a cousin there. “Damn, looks like she set you straight. Ah well, wanna come over for dinner? You haven’t been over in a while, and my dad probably wants your autograph ‘cus of yesterday’s game.” We both laugh at his pathetic joke. I really don’t want to go but I guess even Brian fucking Kinney needs to keep up PR. “All right lemme finish getting dressed and I’ll follow you in the Jeep.” And take a fucking breath mint, your breath smells like…god that better not be pussy. I finish dressing and call my mom, telling her I won’t be home for dinner. And of course I get the, “I don’t know Brian you were out partying late last night” Yea mom, partying “And you know I don’t like that Hobbes boy” you and me both Ma. But I am a fucking rhetorical genius and of course she relents. So before long I’m pulling into the Hobbes’ driveway following Chris’s BMW. Put on your game face Kinney, time to charm and impress. “Oh hi Brian! How are you? I haven’t seen you for the longest time! My God you keep growing!” I greet Mrs. Hobbes with a warm smile, her son may be a dick but she is a really nice lady, my mom’s best friend. “I’m good Mrs. Hobbes. How are you?” “I’m just great Brian, You boys must be hungry after that long practice, I keep telling Chris they over work you poor boys. Sit down at the table and tell me all about it, I just washed some carrots and celery. Dinner will be done in a half hour.” “Maaa” comes a groan from Chris, but since seeing Justin’s home life I’ve come to appreciate protective mothers a helluva lot more. “It’s fine, it’ll make her happy.” I don’t really feel like kicking Chris’s ass at video games, and I’m hungry. “Ever the lady’s man, lead the way my friend.” We walk into the immaculate kitchen and sit down, resting my aching feet. I chit chat with Mrs. Hobbes until the food is ready, her husband coming in from the garage right then. After giving a kiss to Mrs. Hobbes, he sits down next to me and grabs a carrot, “Hey there Brian, I haven’t seen you in ages, I was just out golfing with your old man” When I was little our families were all best friends. We went to Cancun together, had each other over for holidays, did everything together, the picture perfect group. That was until Chris and I were fifteen and he accidentally broke my arm, my mother holds a grudge. But our dads are still buddies and our mothers still bake together, my mom just doesn’t like Chris. Little do the Hobbes know their beautiful baby boy throws beer bashes and beats up fags for fun. “Oh really how’d ya do?” Chris’ dad is a horrible golfer, he spends more time reading Golf Digest and polishing his clubs than using them. “He whooped my ass, again, I’m beginning to think it might be me and not my new Ping clubs!” Mr. Hobbes twists his arms, mocking his golf swing. “Well I wouldn’t jump to conclusions!” He laughs and we gather around the table, Mrs. Hobbes setting plates down around us, refusing help as always. Dinner continues nicely, Mr. Hobbes complimenting my performance at the semifinal; “You’re one helluva ball player son… Alex! Language please!” Ha! If he only stayed and watched the post-game show! Well that thought gave me a hard-on, which meant me having to think of the Hobbes having a threesome on the kitchen table, which leads to a VERY flaccid dick. Until “So, do you have a girlfriend yet?” God why do I always feel like a shit lying to Mrs. Hobbes? “Ma, like he would tell you before his mom, who I’m sure would relay that juicy piece of gossip right to you!” Thanks Chris for the save but you didn’t have to be an ass about it. He smirks at me, obviously proud with his attempted cover up of my “promiscuity.” “Well I’m just asking. Brian is a handsome boy, the girls should be hanging off him! You should always date someone that can make you laugh. I know Chris isn’t the best role model for dating, with those flibberty giggits he brings home.” “Maaa!!!!” “Oh pish dear. Whatever happened to Lindsay Peterson? You three were best buddies in middle school, and I think she had a bit of a crush on you.” I cut off Chris before he can out her, “Really? Well we were friends but we grew apart, she continued with her art and I played soccer. We still talk sometimes, but we have different friends now and we’re both different people” “Hmm I guess, You know, I remember when I was in high school, I had this one friend, Susan Schroeder…” Mrs. Hobbes goes on about her lively teenage years and I listen politely, aching to get out of here, knowing now that I probably need to find myself a cover girlfriend before my cover gets blown. Shit, oh yea THAT will go over well, ‘hey Justin, meet my girlfriend, Betty Sue, meet my boyfriend!’ Fuckity Fuck Fuck! Heterosexuals, who the hell needs them?