Chapter 10 #2
“It wasn’t just him. Morgan was my best friend.
Like we knew each other since we were in the third grade.
We played fucking Pokémon together. We messed around a little when we were in high school, but it wasn’t anything.
We stayed friends, and we had both always talked about going to Emory together.
After I met Greg, he was all I talked to Morgan about.
How much I liked him. How much I wanted to date him.
Things that I’m sure Morgan has told Greg by now, which is embarrassing as fuck. ”
“Those d-bags aren’t worth your time.”
“So people keep telling me.”
“But seriously…they’re first-rate assholes.”
“Isn’t that all I am to you?”
“You tell me.”
We gaze into each other’s eyes, and I can tell he senses my judgment.
“You had a leg up that most people don’t get, you have to admit,” I say.
“Of course I admit it, but at least I took advantage of it. There are a lot of kids who go here who didn’t bust their asses to get a fucking scholarship.”
“True.”
“But I’m fine with you thinking whatever you want about me,” he says. “I’ve spent a long time having to deal with people judging me. Needing me to be some ideal image for them. What you think of me doesn’t scare me.”
“Then what does?”
“Lies.”
“Must be how you spend most of your life as the governor’s kid.”
“Most of it. Always pretending to be the right kind of person for Mommy, you know?”
“So who are you really?”
Mark smirks wryly. “Still figuring that out.”
“Aren’t we all?”
He’s different than the other guys. Not pretentious. Or pompous. He doesn’t think he’s better than anyone else. He’s not the kind of kid I’m used to fucking around with. The sort of conceited asshole I enjoy tearing down to size. He’s humble, and if anything, he thinks too poorly of himself.
“We keep doing this,” I say, “then you know what to expect.”
“Doing what?”
“Fucking. Is that what you want?”
“I think it’d be fun,” he says, though I can tell he’s underselling it.
“No unreasonable expectations?” I ask, though I’ve asked that before to guys who gave me the answer I wanted, even if they didn’t mean it. “And I won’t ask you to give up fucking other guys if you won’t ask me to do that.”
“I won’t,” he replies.
I’m reminded of what he likes about this.
It’s safe. He’s not worried about getting emotionally involved.
We’re just hooking up. It’s the perfect way to avoid ending up in a situation like he was with Greg.
Although I know how this goes. He says this now, but he could end up just like the others.
He could develop feelings because that’s what he expects out of fucking.
Thinks there can be something more here because he likes the idea of the bad boy and the uber-good boy fucking—because he thinks that it could be some sort of magical chemistry between us.
I’m so tired of this fucking script, and I should know better.
I don’t want to hurt him because he seems like a pretty cool guy, but I’ve enjoyed sex with him so much—too much.
I want it again as much as he does, and I’ve had enough sex to know that what we share—this chemistry that’s like a match to a powder keg—isn’t something that I can resist. Because it doesn’t happen very often.
He’s gonna get hurt.
I hardly understand the power of this lust he stirs. At twenty-four, I must have way more experience than him, so I can’t imagine how a kid like him can handle it.
He doesn’t realize it yet, but is that my fault? He knows better than anyone who I am…how I roll. If he wants out of it, he has that choice.
I’m a selfish asshole. I know that.
I know it can’t end well.
I know it has to end at some point, but I don’t give a shit.
“I have a few ground rules,” I say.
“Which are?” he asks as he sets his glass on the coffee table.
“Safe play only. I don’t hook up without condoms. Too risky. I’m not interested in running around with something that you get because you were too lazy to wrap it up one time with another guy.”
“Fine by me.”
“And we stay out of everyone’s faces. That means we don’t chat while I’m at work…AKA while you’re at school. Or at parties. We each pretend the other doesn’t exist. I mean, obviously a wave or an acknowledgment of each other being there isn’t a problem. But no one needs to know our business.”
I don’t think that’ll be a problem for Mark, but it’s a rule worth making in case he starts to get all weird about his feelings the way Keith did. Toward the end, when Keith got desperate, he broke that rule a lot, and it made me look bad.
“No dinners or lunches or brunches. No emoticons in texts. No—”
“I think I get where you’re going with this,” Mark says. “Nothing relationshippy, right?”
“I’m not finished. No kissing outside of sex.”
“A lot of rules for someone who seems so rebellious.”
“Did you need to kiss outside of fucking?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just seems like for a bad boy you’re kind of a prude in your own weird way.”
“You’re hardly the most experienced thing in the world to be calling me a prude.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He’s not asking in a timid way. Matter-of-fact. Like if there’s a problem with what he’s doing, he wants to know.
He’s very direct. Very real. Unusually so.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say. “I was assuming you haven’t been. You’re perfectly fine with fucking. I don’t have any complaints. Just compliments.”
He smiles, and I hate to say it, but it gets to me. Gives me goosebumps.
I’ve never felt that before, and I don’t like it.
“Trust me, if I have a complaint about that,” I add, “I’ll make it perfectly clear. And right now, fucking you is the only reason I want to see your ugly face.”
The way his lips curl, I know he didn’t take that the wrong way.
It’s a good thing, too. If he didn’t get my sense of humor, it wouldn’t be long before he ended up like Keith—whining, asking for validation rather than insults…
not realizing my insults are the only validation he could expect to get from me.
“So it’s a deal then?” Mark asks. “I’d shake on it, but I’d rather just fuck.”
His expression is inviting. I can’t help but smile as a wicked impulse rises within me. It’s like when I’m recording, knowing I’m doing something wrong.
Something dirty. Something immoral. Something delicious.