Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Alex
I can’t sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Nico shaking his head and walking away from me in the kitchen, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
It’s been hours, yet I can still feel the pain—his pain—when I failed him.
He confided in me. He shared those texts from his mom with me, showing me even more of the awful shit she was throwing at him.
And when he needed me the most, when he needed me to be there for him and help him, I failed, too embarrassed or guilty or whatever the hell is wrong with me right now to let myself comfort him.
I check my phone for the millionth time, but the last few messages I sent him are still unanswered.
Alex (7:15 p.m.): im sorry i was being weird. r u ok?
Alex (8:23 p.m.): i can still grab ice cream if u want. harleys is open until 10
Alex (11:44 p.m.): r u awake?
He’d usually text me back after that last one, no matter his mood. An eye-roll emoji and something sarcastic, like No, I’m totally asleep. See? Snoring away for hours now.
So maybe that means he is asleep. Or maybe he’s even more upset than I imagined.
And that means I really, really need to figure out how to fix this—whatever this is. So, I lie there staring at the wall as more hours pass, trying to think of something.
I come up with absolutely nothing.
I could help him with the money, sure. I did get quite a bit from my grandparents for graduation, and I’ve been saving almost everything for the last few years when I’ve worked for my mom.
But he already turned that down once. Plus I’m pretty sure that’s not the whole problem.
Or even most of the problem. It’s something else too.
Like the fact that he needed me to be there for him, and I . . . couldn’t.
My chest tightens, and I roll onto my back to stare at the ceiling a bit, just for a change of scenery. That doesn’t exactly help, though. It just rewinds the day a little more, back to the moment right before he knocked on my door to tell me dinner was ready.
I was lying here just like this, my knees bent up, stroking myself while I pictured him leaning over me, his hand on my dick, then his tongue—
“Ah, fuck.”
I lift an arm up and muffle another curse into my elbow, but I can’t stop my dick from responding.
I’m already hard, and the images in my head just keep coming, even as I try to stop them.
Nico lifting his beautiful green eyes to look at me, his lips stretching around my cock, then his hand following up and down as he bobs his head to take me in all the way.
His cheeks are flushed, his eyes dilated, and—god—his mouth pops off me long enough for him to whisper in a low, hoarse voice, “Come for me, Alex.”
With a groan, I bend one knee up and reach down to slip my hand under the waistband of my briefs, unable to resist the urge to finish what I started earlier.
A sharp breath escapes me as I slide my palm down my length and then wrap my fingers around the base of my shaft.
I try to push away the thoughts of him, but I fail at that too. It’s his hand, his mouth, his heat.
“God,” I hiss into my elbow, screwing my eyes closed.
My fist moves, pumping slowly at first. Slowly and then a little faster and a little faster as the pleasure and tension build.
There’s a familiar tingle, like a warm shiver racing down my spine, and I groan again, pushing my head back into my pillow.
“That’s it. Come for me, Alex.”
Ah, hell.
My hips jerk up off the bed as my dick starts to throb with my release, warm liquid shooting out onto my stomach, and I turn my head to the side to muffle a moan against my arm.
I lie there for several minutes afterward, coming down from that high as my breathing slows back to normal.
There’s a layer of guilt wrapped around me, and I can’t make myself move to go get cleaned up.
It seems bad of me—wrong to have been picturing my best friend pleasuring me as I jerk off.
And it’s even worse because that’s a big part of why I failed him earlier.
It felt too awkward.
He interrupted me when he knocked on my door. Then I saw it in his eyes. He knew what I’d been doing.
Not that I have any shame about masturbating.
Not really. But when I’m jerking off to mental images of him with his hand and mouth on my cock, his voice whispering dirty words of encouragement, his tongue sliding up my slit, tasting me .
. . and then I’m too embarrassed that he caught me in the act to give him the comfort he needs later, with everything he’s going through . . .
Hell, those texts from his mom . . .
And not just that, but also having to deal with work, starting this new job when it’s hard for him to even be around people thanks to his awful anxiety.
Then having to live with the fact that he was basically kicked out onto the street, yelled at and chased out of his home by the man who abused him for years . . .
I couldn’t even help him. God, what the hell kind of best friend am I?
I blow out a long breath, and even though my body still feels weak and shaky from my climax, I manage to pull myself up out of bed, wipe the cum off my stomach with a T-shirt that’s in my laundry basket, and then sneak down the hallway to the bathroom to clean up better.
A few minutes later, I’m crawling back into bed, under the comforter, and I swallow and turn over to face the wall, closing my eyes.
I see him again, tense and unsure, his eyes filled with pain. He was nearly begging me to help him, and I was too distracted and embarrassed to see it, to act, to give him the support he needed.
I see him again, walking away.
And I screw my eyes shut.
Never again.
There’s a conviction to my thought, and on impulse, I turn over and grab my phone from the nightstand. I set an alarm for seven, which—dammit—is only about three hours from now. Then I type out another text.
Alex (3:57 a.m.): I can’t wait to see you in the morning
I don’t give myself a chance to worry about whether that’s the right thing to say. I hit send, set the phone down, and roll back over to face the wall, pulling the comforter all the way up to my chin. Then I close my eyes and try to convince myself to fall asleep.
My alarm goes off right at seven. I’m not sure how much sleep I actually managed, but I drag myself out of bed without hitting snooze, take a quick shower, and get dressed.
By the time I’m heading down the stairs, it’s easily about seven twenty, and I’m hoping I still have enough time to make breakfast before Nico wakes up.
He didn’t text me back, which isn’t unexpected. Hopefully he’s just been sleeping. But I’m still worried, and I still hate how I hadn’t handled things well last night. All of yesterday, actually.
He deserves better from his best friend. And I will do better.
Starting with food.
“You’re up early!” My mom’s standing in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and sipping from a cup of coffee as I jog down the stairs.
She’s right. This is much earlier than I’ve been getting up since summer started. But I just shrug as I approach.
“I wanted to get going early today,” I say. “Lots to do before this afternoon.”
I stop just on the other side of the kitchen island as she eyes me with that .
. . look. I’m not sure how to describe it.
It has to be something only moms are capable of.
Her eyes seem to see right through me, right into the heart of what’s bothering me.
Which isn’t cool because I’m not ready to talk about anything yet.
I frown and look down at the floor, avoiding her gaze.
“Today is busy,” she agrees, her voice soft. “But if you need to talk, about anything, you know I’m never too busy for you, right?”
I know that, and her words remind me that yesterday was about more than just Nico.
My conversation with Jenna is still weighing on me, too, and yeah, it would be really nice to have someone to talk to about that.
That’s for later, though. Right now, I have something I need to do, and what will likely be an emotional coming out conversation with my mom isn’t it.
I lift my eyes and force a tight smile. “I might take you up on that later,” I say, and she smiles and nods.
“Just as long as you know—”
“—that I can talk to you about anything. Yeah, Mom, I know.” My smile loosens a bit, and she seems to chuckle as she sets down her coffee mug and then pushes away from the counter.
“I need to get to the grocery store and then start cooking. Jerry and Thelma will be here probably around three. They’re staying in the extra bedroom for the weekend. Then Erica and Corrine are expecting to get here sometime before dinner. They’ll take the pull-out couch.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I can remember exactly who Jerry and Thelma or Erica and Corrine are.
Cousins, probably. “Sounds good. I’m just going to make some breakfast for Nico and then—” She gives me a look again, her eyebrows lifting up in tandem, but I ignore her this time and continue.
“And then, I’ll get started on the last of the laundry, changing the sheets and blankets and stuff in the extra bedroom, and the other chores on your list.”
There’s a moment where I see her wanting to ask—her tells are too easy to identify by now. But she holds back and then nods and picks up a piece of paper from the counter. “Anything you want me to add to this shopping list before I go?”
“Dr. Pepper?”