Chapter Eighteen
Seth
Igroan as I roll over in bed, blindly grabbing for my phone, the alarm blaring.
The two hours of sleep I got were fitful at best. I’m ninety-seven percent sure I’m still drunk, and one-hundred percent sure I’m skipping my run.
Apparently I’ll be making it up later with a fucking hike, thanks to Thea.
Images from last night come back to me in flashes. Ripley telling me to get him nice and wet, his cock filling my mouth so perfectly, his fucked-out face as he came down my throat. I have a raging hard-on just thinking about it.
My cock is so hard, it hurts. I never took care of myself last night after I let Ripley fuck my face in that dirty-ass bathroom. He’s the only man I’ve ever done something like that for or with for that matter. I’d happily do it again. With him, the where doesn’t matter, it never has.
The second alarm I set screams through the room. Turning my phone over to silence it, I see it’s 5 a.m. We have to meet Cary and Brooks at RED by six-fifteen.
I was really starting to not mind Thea, maybe even like her, with the exception of her outburst the other day. Now I’m reconsidering if she’s deserving of my affection. Who books a camping trip for a group of men who don’t camp and calls it a surprise?
A psychopath, that’s who.
I pull myself out of bed. There’s no way in hell Ripley is up, so I’ll have to be the bearer of bad news, which I’m sure will result in an insurmountable amount of pouting and whining.
I grab my clothes before pulling the door open to see all the lights are still off in the house, as expected.
Setting my clothes down in the bathroom, I go to his bedroom door to make my first attempt at waking him.
I knock quietly, trying to be respectful by not jarring him awake.
To no one’s surprise, I don’t hear any kind of rustling from him, so I knock again, a bit louder this time.
There’s a slight groan, but it doesn’t last. One more—much louder—attempt, and I finally hear his full-on grumble.
He mumbles something about his car warranty being fine, and I chuckle to myself.
“Ripley, you gotta wake up.”
Once again the words are muffled, but at least he’s awake now from the sound of it when he says, “I don’t wanna go on a fucking camping trip.”
I turn around, leaning my back to the door. “Yeah, none of us do. But she’s your best friend.”
He huffs a very exaggerated, “Ughhhh,” before he’s shuffling around the room.
“I’m hopping in the shower, but I’ll leave the door unlocked if you need to get in there for anything.” Without waiting for a response, I walk back into the bathroom, noting the time. We have close to an hour before we’re set to leave.
Not three minutes into my shower, Ripley comes barreling in. I hear the lid of the toilet lift as he empties his bladder, then a flush, and I expect him to leave the room. Instead, he asks, “How hungover are you?” His voice still gravelly from sleep.
Without giving me the opportunity to answer, he pulls the curtain open and steps in.
“What the fuck, Ripley?”
“What?” he asks, shuffling around like he’s looking for something.
“What do you mean ‘what?’ You can’t just jump in the shower with me like it’s a normal thing to do.” I inch backward, my back on the cold tile, putting as much space as possible between us.
He turns his head to me, still hunched over sifting through his shampoos and soaps, and surprisingly meets my eyes as he says, “Grow up, Seth. I’ve seen you naked, you’ve seen me naked.
It’s not a big deal.” I’m so baffled I hesitate to form an answer.
“Move over, I need to get under the spray, it’s fucking cold.
” He pauses. “Actually, switch spots with me.”
I want to argue. Any other day, I would. But I’m hungover, on a time crunch, and I can’t stop looking at his semi-hard dick a mere twelve inches away from me. So I move out of the way without a peep. He’s under the water now, rivulets of it running down his back.
Fuck. I can’t do this.
I jerk my towel off the hook just outside the curtain, quickly wrapping it around my hips as I vault myself out of the shower, away from his beautiful body and out of the awkward situation.
“Wha—Seth, were you done already?”
“No,” I grumble.
“Then why—”
“Silence. Please,” I beg. Anything to get him to stop talking. If we had more time, I’d make him sink to his knees and return the favor from last night, shutting him up in the process.
“Okay, jeez. Goodbye fun, drunk Seth; hello grumpy, sober Seth,” he mumbles to himself, but the bathroom is small, and the words reverberate off the walls.
I’m standing by the door, my shoes on, protein shake consumed, checking my watch for the time.
Ripley hobbled out of the bathroom seven minutes ago, pulling his pants up his freshly showered legs as he walked.
I haven’t seen him since. I’ve heard expletives coming from his bedroom though.
He seems about as thrilled for this camping trip as I am.
I desperately want to know what he was doing in the shower for so long.
By the time he’s usually up and showering for the day, I’m already long gone, so I haven’t witnessed his normal routine.
Was this out of the ordinary? Was he thinking of me as the water wrapped him in its warmth? Did he get himself off?
I have to stop. My balls are already aching, my poor dick is sore from being hard all night with no relief.
Finally, he pads out of the room, one sock on his left foot, the other dangling in his hand. His eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t say anything. Hopping on one foot, he pulls his other sock on then looks around for his shoes.
“There,” I point to the other side of the couch, “and there,” I say, directing him toward the kitchen.
“Thanks,” he mumbles sheepishly. He’s been so good about keeping things tidy. I don’t fault him for slipping up last night when we were both drunk.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Not sure I’ll ever be.”
We exit the house, Ripley locking the door behind him.
There’s a chill in the air with the dark sky enveloping the town, everything cast in shadow.
A shiver runs up my spine. Between the cool morning breeze and the close proximity to Ripley, I can’t be sure which is the cause.
My fingers itch to be intertwined in his.
I could reach over and grab his hand, it would be so easy, effortless, and yet, I can’t do it.
All I seem to be able to do is focus on how much I wish I could.
It’s too quiet, and my thoughts are too loud. Ripley hasn’t said a word, which is wildly abnormal for him. For once in my life, I feel the need to fill the silence.
“I’ll probably end up with a broken ankle.”
Ripley shakes his head in confusion. “What?”
Kicking my foot up in the air, I say, “Look. I had to wear tennis shoes. I didn’t exactly bring hiking boots with me.”
He barely looks in my direction, but I get a small huff of a laugh out of him. “It’s barely a hike. You’ll be fine.” He punts a rock with his shoe, keeping his eyes away from me.
His lack of grit this morning is grating on my nerves. I don’t like it. He didn’t even volley back at me about how he’s not dressed for the occasion either. All I got was a dismissal. I can’t tell if this is a hangover or because of what happened between us last night.
Thank God it’s a short walk. I’m suffocating in the silence.
We round the building to the parking lot on the other side of RED. Brooks looks like he’s ready to murder someone, and Cary has the fakest smile plastered onto his face.
“Right on time,” Cary says, his voice entirely too chipper for a man who was drunk five hours ago.
Ripley flips him off and gets into the waiting car without another word.
“You can cut the bullshit. Thea’s not here. This fucking blows,” grumbles Brooks, following Ripley into the car.
“Well then, this will be fun,” Cary mumbles, his true feelings leaking out of the words.
“Not the word I’d use,” I reply, patting him on the shoulder. I turn to jump in the car and realize Ripley and Brooks squeezed into the back, the gear from Billy’s piled in the trunk behind them. I’m left with one singular option.
Right beside Cary up front in the passenger seat.
At this point, it’s probably for the best.
As the door slams shut, Cary takes a deep breath and says, “I may have said something to Thea a couple months ago about wanting to try camping some time…” He drifts off, leaving us all stunned silent.
“I fucking hate you,” Brooks says. “Let’s get this shit over with.”
The drive was much like the walk to RED: quiet and unsettling.
Brooks and Ripley fell asleep, their heads propped on their respective windows.
Ripley’s glasses are askew and Brooks’ mouth is open.
They didn’t even wake up when we stopped for gas an hour ago.
Cary has been listening to music, low enough so it isn’t disturbing.
I brought my headphones and caught up on the podcast I’ve been listening to this week.
Cary puts the car into park, the entrance to our demise twenty-five feet in front of us now.
“Wake up, fuckers,” he tells them as he reaches behind his seat and shakes Brooks’ leg, jostling him awake. Brooks blinks his eyes open and looks around out the car window, and his whole body slumps.
“Fuck me, I thought maybe the camping thing was a nightmare and I’d wake up back in bed with Margot.”
Ripley yawns, loudly and exaggerated. It seems the two-hour nap was good for him.
“No such luck, my friend,” he says as he exits the car.
He stretches his arms toward the sky, his shirt riding up and showing just the barest hint of torso—tattoo, happy trail, and warm, delicious skin.
I avert my gaze before I do something ridiculous like run my hand over the sliver.