Chapter 15
Okay, so, yeah. We’ve been at each other’s throats for two days, almost three days now, and this storm isn’t showing any signs of relenting. I talked to my mom last night, and she said the town is on lockdown until it passes and it’s created a mess at the resort, too. No flights going in or out, guests stuck at the resort, and Kolt and Bass are fighting like Remy and I are.
Which is weird. We don’t typically get under each other’s skin like this. But there’s a tension between us that has never been there before, and I can’t tell if we’re just stressed about being here or if something different is between us.
We’re the only two staying at the lodge, and most of the doors are locked, so it’s not like we can even separate for long. Even the staff who check in on this place aren’t around, so we’ve been stuck between our shared room, which we willingly agreed to share when we arrived, turning down private rooms because we like the company. Between our room, a lounge area, the communal bathrooms, and the kitchen, we’re always bumping into one another.
I mean, it’s hard to even jerk it without walking in on each other. So, bound together without orgasms is a mess, naturally. Not the fun kind of mess, either.
I pretended to be asleep last night so Remy could jerk off. He tried in the shower, but it’s so damn cold in the bathroom that he struggled and bitched at me about it. Pretty sure he pretended to be asleep to pay me the same courtesy this morning, so at least we both have one release under our very agitated belts.
We’ve bickered like this in the past, but it isn’t usually so obvious. A quip here and there, banter to take the tension down a notch, and some quick-witted insults that usually get laughed off or soaked in whiskey until our moods lighten. It’s happened in remote locations with nothing to do, bred from boredom and isolation, but it passes just like everything does. This time is different. And we’re almost outta booze.
Remy walks back into our room with a tray of food. The kitchen has a lot of canned foods, and after we tried cooking together yesterday, he just wanted to do it himself tonight. He sets it down and hands me a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. The cheese slices are dicy, and the bread was in the freezer, so it has that distinct freezer-burned taste, but whatever; food is food and warm soup is nice on a cold night.
“Thanks.” I set the sandwich beside me and hold the bowl in my palms, warming them.
He nods but doesn’t say anything else as he scrolls through his iPad and blatantly ignores me.
“More bi-threesomes?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood because, damn, something’s gotta give at some point here.
“Weather,” he mutters through a full mouth.
Fuck, we need to hash this shit out or have a blow-up or something. I’m not sure which it’s going to be. “Any sign of it letting up?”
He chews, ignoring me until he swallows. I watch the motion of his cheek muscles and track the movement of his blue eyes while he studies the radar. “Maybe the day after tomorrow.”
His blond hair is jutting up and falling over his forehead at the same time, and the hood from his hoodie is pushed halfway back his head, letting it all peek out to taunt me. I don’t know if I’m just horny or something, but my fingers want to weave through his hair, smoothing it out only to fuck it up even more.
Potentially two more days stuck here together with no signs of our tension snapping. I’ve never looked at him like I’m looking at him now, and maybe that’s half the reason we’re taut and pent up. My mind is overthinking the night—the whole weekend, really—at Cara and Cody’s again, wondering what he was doing while I was being tormented and strung up. I want to know if he got off on my pleasure. I’m desperate to know how and where he touched me. I’m itching to know who pleasured him and what they did to get him off, and I’m mostly ignoring the part of my mind that’s tempting me into believing I was the one who got him off simply by being there, bound and blindfolded and naked.
Remy has rooted himself as the epicenter of all my wild imaginings. Like before, I associated sex with him, but somewhere along the way, I started to associate sex with him as a possibility. Maybe not actual penetration, but touching and teasing, and flirty seductions that allure me so much more than thinking it was Cody or Cara who gave me that blowjob.
Which he still won’t spill the tea on. Is it making him uncomfortable, or am I just annoying the shit out of him by asking so many times?
We finish eating in silence, and since the tension in here is more than I can handle, I grab our dishes and take them to the kitchen for a reprieve. While I wash everything up, I clear my mind and settle down. It’s Remy! Me and Remy! We’re better than this, capable of brushing things off, and not in that type of friendship that thrives on tension. We just need to staunch it, and the shitty bottle of whiskey I find in the pantry gives me the right way to do it.
Returning, I set the bottle and two plastic cups down on the small dresser between our beds. “Come on, asshole. Let’s get drunk and happy and forget we hate each other right now.”
He ignores me, choosing to stay focused on the weather.
“Remy! Drink and loosen the fuck up before we kill each other.” I thrust a cup against his chest and glare at him, but in a teasing way.
He locks his tablet and tosses it aside, wrapping his fingers around the cup instead. “You think getting drunk is going to make us get along?”
“Well, sitting in awkward silence isn’t doing it, so this is the next trick in my bag.” I plop down on my very uncomfortable bed, the beige, bland walls and the wind whistling through the window our only ambiance.
He shakes his head at me.
“You gotta drink every time you do that,” I tell him, taking a sip and almost choking at the burn of it.
“Do what?” He shakes his head at me again.
“That. Shake your head at me like I’m an idiot.” I tilt my cup at him.
“Pass me the whole fucking bottle then.” He finally cracks a grin. “You’re the biggest idiot I know, so I’ll be drunk in no time, and we’ll run out of whiskey in ten.” Because he likes to follow through on his fake threats, he actually grabs the whiskey and fills his cup to the brim.
I laugh because it feels good to finally joke around again. “You saying you need more than one bottle? I’m that big of an idiot?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Well, lucky for you, there are four bottles in the pantry.” I smile. “That be enough?”
He makes a cute thinking face, and I throw the bottle cap at him.
“Fuck you, Rem. You’re the bigger idiot for being my best friend.”
He leans back against the cold wall, his hoodie-covered head thumping against the thin structure. “Fuck, bud. What was I thinking?”
I shrug. “We were kids. You can ditch me now if you want.”
“I’ve invested way too much time in your fuckery to give up now,” he says, using my word. “Think I’m addicted to your bullshit by now.”
Those. Fucking. Words.
I’m taking an entirely different meaning from them than what he actually means, but I can’t help where my head goes. Either way, they just wiped the tension from the room, settled us into familiar roles, and put my heart at ease.
“I’m hooked on your shit too, Rem.”
Okay, we’re going to be fine.
Two hours and a bunch of whiskey later, we’re rummaging through the kitchen in search of snacks. We’re plastered, but Remy shook his head at me a lot, and that cost his stomach over half a bottle of cheap whiskey, so of course, I matched him drink for drink. At least we’re getting along again.
He finds a bag of chips and a box of unopened cereal, and I find a bag of mixed nuts. Good enough. On our way back to the room, we both pause at the thermostat. We’re bundled up in layers, wearing two pairs of socks each, still chilly despite the whiskey, and the thermostat says ‘don’t touch’ in big red letters written on a sticky note.
He looks at me, and I look at him. We touch. We crank that shit up so high that an hour later, we’re peeling off layers and going barefoot.
With our snacks scattered everywhere and the single bed we’re on littered with chip crumbs, I answer his question about what we’re gonna get up to next. “I say an orgy. Really branch out, you know?”
“Yeah?” he asks, laughing. “You finally gonna fuck a guy?”
I narrow my eyes at him for calling me out on my claim of not having any limits. Okay, so I’m open, sure, but I haven’t figured out the specifics with a guy yet. The vibe hasn’t been right and… whatever. Fuck him! “It’s not like I plan that shit. If it happens, it happens.” Though, one guy in particular has been circling the drain of my mind, refusing to go down and give me any relief.
“I’m so drunk and desperate right now, I’d fuck a dude,” Remy says. “Still want me to blindfold and blow ya?” He grins, his cheeks flushed.
Well, goddammit, now my cheeks are flushed from more than the whiskey. And my dick might also be flushed. Flushed right out of the hole in my boxers, pressing against the front of my sweats, begging for what he’s offering. My mind knows he’s joking, but my cock doesn’t.
I groan. “Don’t say that shit when we’re here alone with hard dicks and cheap whiskey.”
“Why not?” He winks terribly, setting aside the snacks for more booze. Good idea. He pours us each a little more, waiting for me to answer.
“Because. Because I can’t control what my head conjures up, and now I’m thinking about it.” Probably shouldn’t admit that, so to steer clear of any awkwardness, I add, “About that night. I’m thinking about that night again.”
“The blowjob again?” he asks.
“The blowjob,” I confirm. The whole weekend was sensual and fun, but that blowie was… no words.
“I don’t get it,” he says, trying to sit up a bit more, but he ends up leaning weirdly and slouching a lot. So uncoordinated. “What was so good about it?”
I smirk into my drink. “You’re gonna mock my answer.”
“I mock you daily. Just tell me.”
“Fuck, alright. It was like… I dunno. You know when you see someone and you just know you”re gonna have a good time? Like, it’s a feeling you get based on the way your energies mix together? Do you know what I mean? I’m way too drunk to explain this shit.”
“Like instinct,” he says.
“Yes! Like an instinct. But with sex. Or a sexual connection or something. Like, as soon as that mouth was on me, it was instinctual for me to just… feel it. Everything about it. So much shit was happening, but the second that tongue touched me, all my senses went there. I was fine-tuned to it, fixated on it, and blew up because of it. It made me wild, and I’ve never felt that level of wild before. For all I know, it could have been the world’s shittiest blowjob, but holy fuck, it lit some shit up inside me.” I look at him to see if he’s going to mock me.
“Why do you think that happened?” he asked.
“Chemistry.” I shrug. “With whoever it was. So just tell me.” I smirk at him.
He shakes his head. Takes a drink all on his own without me having to tell him to.
The bottle is empty, so I get up to grab another one. “Please.”
“You won’t wanna know,” he mumbles. “Trust me. You’ll be pissed once the mystery of it is gone. It’s the not knowing that you thrive on.” He holds out his hand for the bottle, but I pull it back.
“Are you trying to keep my fantasy alive by denying me the answer?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, looking away from me. When I yank the bottle back again, he pouts, but it’s an angry pout with a scowl and everything. “Fucking give it to me, Zahn.”
“Mmm, give what to you?” I tease.
He turns away from me and shakes his head.
“Oop! Drink!” I spin him around and pour whiskey into his cup. “You shook your head again.”
He gulps it in one go, the scowl still there. “More.”
I pour him more. “What’s the problem now?” I ask him. “You just got pissed all of a sudden.”
“I’m not pissed.”
“Because I brought up the blowjob again?” I have been a broken fucking record about it. “Sorry, Rem. I won’t ask again.”
“It’s not about the fucking blowjob!” he shouts at me. “Fuck!”
I back up to surrender, unsure where the road turned towards anger. “Shit. Sorry.”
He grabs the bottle from me and shakes his head yet again, but this one doesn’t feel aimed at me. “You won’t wanna know, so just fucking drop it.”
I scoff. “Why wouldn’t I want to know?” I get in his face. “Because of the thrill of the mystery thing?”
“Because you couldn’t handle the truth.”
“Because it was a guy?” I ask, thinking he might be trying to protect my new experiences and how I might feel about them. “Because it was Cody? I don’t care if it was a guy or a girl. Just tell me.”
“It wasn’t fucking Cody,” he snaps at me.
“Cara?” I gasp. “No. I swear it wasn’t her. I don’t feel that with her.”
“But you do with Cody?” he asks, looking at the wall.
“No. I… no.” Confusion sets in. He’s right. I don’t feel that with either of them. “So… was it Cody or Cara?”
Remy runs his fingers through his hair, fucking it up like I wanted to earlier. He’s pacing, looking at me every few steps, avoiding my eyes more. “You’re gonna be so fucking pissed.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Remy.” I grab his shoulder, but he shrugs me off and pushes me away. “Remy!”
He spins around, shoves my chest, and fucking screams at me. “It was me! I fucking did it!”
Fuck.