13. Chapter 10
H enry still isn’t back when I get to the dorm after my workout and then scouting the football team. Thinking about how proud my mom was when I played made me miss the sport. Maybe I can find a rec team. I doubt the Gators need a freshman on the team who didn’t even play their senior year.
Plus, with new classes starting up, I doubt I’ll have the time. Mom was right about one thing, though. I can choose the classes I want to take and avoid the ones I hate, like math. I had enough from Ravard Prep that it carried over as college credit.
Showering off, I set my alarm on my phone and jump into bed. Trying as hard as I can not to remember the last thing that happened in this bed with Henry. My cock doesn’t want to forget, and the way it swells makes me want to fucking cut it off.
Tugging down my sweats, I free my stupid dick that’s already starting to leak, thinking of Henry’s hot mouth around it. Gripping the base, I pull hard up and swipe the bead there to gather some lubrication. If I can make it hurt, I can forget.
Roughly, I move my hand up and down, over the head, until my leg bends and my balls feel like they're going to explode. Pulling harder, my brain turns off, and images of Henry with his lips stretched wide over my cock play behind my eyes.
“Fuck!” I shout, pissed that my orgasm feels that much closer since that image popped up. My spine tingles, and I have half a mind to give myself blue balls. To stop and hope my brain won’t be thinking about him the next time my dick gets hard.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
Gritting my teeth, I squeeze my cock and tug hard, knowing I can’t stop myself from painting my stomach when my legs lock and spine arches up. The orgasm rockets through my body, warm cum splattering my abdomen as I lay there, hand still wrapped around my cock until the air grows cold and my skin pebbles.
Reaching for the tissues on the desk between us, I wipe up my mess, cursing myself the whole time for thinking of Henry and the way his eyes go impossibly dark when he’s turned on.
Pulling up my sweats, I hear the lock turn and stash the tissues under my comforter along with my offending dick. He doesn’t say anything as he softly moves around the room. I want to look at him, to ask where he’s been. I want to watch whatever he’s doing, but I won’t.
I left his bedside lamp on when I got in bed, fully intending to go to sleep. My side of the room is dark, and my comforter makes it even darker in the corner of the cement cell, so I hope when he looks, all he sees is a sleeping form.
The bathroom door shuts, and I let out a breath, closing my eyes and shifting to get comfortable. With the air thick and electric between us, I’m not sure that’s possible. The door swings open, and Henry steps out in a t-shirt and sweatpants. I can’t help the way my eyes track his every movement. When he looks up to turn off his light, he catches me watching him.
“I thought you were asleep,” he says, getting into his bed and turning off the lamp. I know he wants to say something else, but I have a feeling if he does, we will either fight or fuck. That’s what we do, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let him circle back, so I flip over without a word and pretend he didn’t say anything.
The next morning Henry’s gone before I get up, again. Then my memory recalls that he told Fern he got a new job. I remember when he worked at the cafe at Ravard Prep, he was always up and out the door before any of us.
My alarm goes off again, “Oh shit.” I must have hit snooze because I have ten minutes to get dressed and be in my first class. The only one I’m actually interested in, computer science.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck….”
Throwing on clothes that may or may not match, I’m out the door in less than five minutes. Practically running through campus and thanking God that I circled all my classes on a map the night before last.
The computer lab isn’t what I expected. Rows upon rows of shiny computers lined in perfectly neat order sit on top of black desks with most of the chairs vacant. Scanning the room, my heart pounds. I didn’t circle the wrong lab, did I?
“Well, hello there,” a jovial voice spouts from the corner of the room. Turning to find the voice, I find an older man with salt and pepper hair sitting behind a large desk that’s separated from the rest of the computer desks.
“I hope you’re Professor Ore,” I only realized after it was out that it sounded rude.
He laughs, his whole body shaking, “That I am, and you are?”
Relief sweeps through me, and I move to find a desk. There are only a few computers occupied, so I choose a row that only has one girl with dark hair at the end. “Banks Rossi.”
“Ah, welcome, Mr. Rossi.” He glances at the watch buckled to his wrist, “just in time, it seems.”
I nod, giving him a tight smile. He starts class without any further conversation, giving us a syllabus with all of our assignments due this semester. “You can work through them at your own pace. However, the midterm will be a group project, so I suggest you get to know everyone in the room.”
Collective groans ensue, no one likes a group project. There’s always someone who doesn’t pull their own weight and another–usually me–that does it all because everyone else sucks.
The girl at the end of my row raises her hand, “Will we get to choose our partners?”
Professor Ore chuckles more to himself than her, “No, this will be a project for all of you. Trust me, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
With that ominous hint, everyone looks around with varying looks of concern. Mr. Ore seems like a fun guy, and he doesn’t beat around the bush. Glancing over the list of assignments, I decide to tackle them as soon as possible. I don’t want shit to hit the fan with my family and lose my grade point average.
I still can’t shake the feeling that whatever Fern was worried about will directly affect the four of us. Something in her eyes left me with an oily feeling in my gut.
“Mr. Rossi?” I hear Mr. Ore’s voice through the headphones I’d put in when he told us we could leave or start working on our assignments.
“Yes sir?”
He nods to the clock, “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, you might be late for your next class…”
“Shit,” I wince at the clock, not realizing how much time I’d lost, and quickly apologize to Mr. Ore.
“No problem. The first week is the hardest. If you need anything, my office is right down the hall.”
“Thanks.”
With all of my stuff shoved into my bag, I head off toward my next class. Since all of my math classes transferred, I have a pretty light schedule this semester, though I still have to have electives to cover the required amount of credits I need, so I chose physical education.
It’s got to be the easiest hour of my day. The gym doors have a paper taped up on them stating that the class will be meeting out on the practice field located on the right wing of the school. Finding the locker room is easy since it’s near the weight room I worked out in last night.
Quickly changing and stuffing my bag into a locker, I jog out through the doors that lead to the stadium and hang a right. There’s a few people milling about, girls stretching, guys tossing around a football. It’s a nice day, pretty mild and sunny.
Slowing down to a walk, I attempt to locate the professor so I don’t get counted as a no-show. Though I don’t really think it matters too much, most PE teachers are laid back and don’t give a fuck if you show up or not.
“Rossi?” I hear a voice that feels familiar and pulls me to a different time in my life. His hair is still the same blue-black shaggy mess it’s always been, yet he looks older. “Banks Rossi as I live and breathe !”
My lips tip up in a smile that takes me by surprise. The last time I saw Jax, he was clapping me on the shoulder while I cried over my mother’s grave.
“Hell, it’s been how long?” He continues while making his way over to where my feet are frozen in the grass.
“Jax,” I croak, emotion clogging my throat. “It’s good to see you.”
“You look even more jacked than before! You’re not doing the roids, are you?” He laughs and wraps me up in his arms. He’s also gotten larger, and his unmistakable larger-than-life presence is still intact.
“Nah, just good ol’ gym time,” and trauma, but I don’t want to advertise that.
“Of course, how does it feel being God’s favorite pretty boy, huh?” He leans back and his eyes soften, his mouth tips down, and he whispers, “Sorry about Mama Fauna. How have you been?”
The mention of her name brings my simmering rage right to the forefront of my mood, and I suddenly wish he wasn’t here, that he had no idea who I was. Apparently, being God’s favorite comes with caveats. What am I supposed to say to that?
I’m fine. I mean, my mom was murdered, and the police are pathetic, but how much do you bench, bro?
“I’ve been alright,” I say instead.
He eyes me but doesn’t push. Turning to wave at the guys he was throwing the football around with, he hollers, “Come here! You’ve gotta meet Rossi!”