Chapter 2 #2
“This is why I made the pillow wall!” He snatches one of the pillows, diving face first into his bed and screaming into the pillow. “This! Is! Why!”
“It’s fine . . . accident. Hey, accident. We were asleep. I woke up and saw. It was an accident. You were just sleeping. No big deal.”
“No big deal! No big deal!” he shrieks, lifting his cute face from the pillow to glare at me.
I almost laugh. Almost. I value my life.
I just can’t help it. He looks adorably flustered, his glasses making his big brown eyes magnified.
Those brown eyes flick down before narrowing further. “Seems like a pretty big deal, Camden!”
“Aw, thanks Bobo.”
“Not a compliment! Tuck your boner away along with your ego, Camden Michaela Almeida!”
“Not my middle—”
“Cam!”
Okay, okay, damn. Not in the mood to joke. “Fine. Look away. He’s shy.”
Bo’s lips purse before he smashes his face back down into his pillow, and I turn anyway, trying to maneuver my dick the best I can in a way that it isn’t aggressively pointing to the ceiling.
“You do too much,” I whisper at it. Then I find my sweats on the floor and slip them on. “Okay, the offender is locked away.”
“Good!”
He slowly lifts his head, his glasses now skewed on his face.
“Why are you so fucking adorable?” I ask.
“I’m going to murder you with my pillow.”
“We both know you don’t have the arm strength to suffocate me.” Bo is staring off into space. Okay, he’s way more bothered by this than I expected. “You know,” I joke. “I thought you’d be a little more impressed since you like guys. I’m a little offended right now. Am I that repulsive to you?”
Bowen’s gaze scorches into me. “Yes.”
“Whatever, I have to pee. Which is impossible with the boner you just gave me.”
“I’m going to tickle you if you don’t stop.”
My jaw drops. This little shit. “You wouldn’t.”
“Right. On. Your. Ribcage.”
“Why are you so evil?!” I storm toward the bathroom, turning in the doorway to jab a finger at him.
“Mean. Uncalled for!” Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I open it again to glare at him.
His eyes lift to mine before they roll. “You know, I’d be more embarrassed by the lake you drooled over my chest if I were you. My poor nipple is waterlogged!”
“Go pee! I’m going to lie down and hope the Grim Reaper comes to snatch me up.” He flops back onto the bed in the fetal position. Okay, okay, enough jokes and dramatics.
I walk over to him and sit on the bed, but he shrugs my touch off his shoulder.
I love to tease him, but this is really bothering him for some reason.
I watch him stare off in the other direction, purposely not looking at me, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. “Do you need your inhaler?” I go to his nightstand to grab it, and he sits up, scowling at me.
“Because I touched your dick!? Do you think it left me breathless?!” He smacks my hand away from his dresser, shoving me off the bed. Oh, aren’t we spicy this morning. “I’m fine, okay. I just feel like shit, Cam. I touched you without permission.”
I crouch down to his level as he gives in, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. I watch the way his breaths race a bit before slowing to a more normal speed. My bladder is ready to burst, but I need him to be okay. “Bowen Ashley Zhao.”
His dark brows pinch and his lips purse before a laugh bubbles out of his throat. “Stop. That’s not my middle name.” He blinks away the glassy sheen of his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I stand, straightening before cupping his face in my hands. They damn near swallow him up. He blinks away the sheen in his eyes, and I just hold him, making him look at me. “Don’t be. It was an accident.” I lean down and kiss him softly, an action I’ve done a million times before.
Yet now, it’s like phantom fingers caress my skin.
The kiss makes my stomach tighten, and I pull back then kiss him on the forehead quickly, afraid to linger.
“Now, if you’re done with your wet dream—” A pillow sails through the air.
I duck, nearly missing the projectile, and it lands on his dresser, knocking some things to the ground.
This little shit.
I attack him, falling on top of him and tickling his stomach as he squirms beneath me, squealing for me to stop. I finally give in, but I don’t get off. He huffs underneath me, the forced air blowing his hair from his eyes. “You can tickle me, but I can’t tickle you?”
“I violently hate being tickled. You know that.” I drop a quick kiss to the bridge of his nose before getting off.
“We’re okay, Bo. No harm. It was a funny mistake.
” I plant one last fat kiss to his cheek.
“I’ll make us something to eat, then can we go.
” I just want to get today over with, and if he doesn’t eat he’ll probably forget later too, and then before we know it it’s nearly dinner time and Bo will realize he hasn’t eaten all day.
Food is important—a fact my friend forgets.
It’s also hard sometimes to find things he can eat while he’s out.
At least something that tastes good and isn’t super expensive.
Selfishly, I like feeding him.
“That’s if you still want to come with me,” I add.
“I’m going. You are not going to be boobmatized into staying or sleeping with her one last time for the road.”
“Boobmatized?” Ignoring me, Bo gets up, going to his dresser and grabbing clothes. My mind’s still a bit scrambled. Luckily my dick’s deflated, but I can’t forget the heat flaring in my belly.
I’d been so damn hard, and while I could just blame it on morning wood, part of me wonders if Bo’s hand had sparked me to life. It had twitched when his hand smoothed down, and the way he touched me I—
Okay, no. Stop! Still have to pee. I turn into the bathroom and handle my business, and while I’m washing my hands I hear a knock at the door. “Yeah?” I sing out, and Bowen opens it, peeking his face in.
“I have some of your clothes in the closet.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“You okay?”
I plaster on a smile, not liking the path my thoughts were going down.
With everything that happened in the last hour it was easy to forget what’s waiting for me today.
We were together for six months. My longest relationship.
I was actually proud of it. I thought maybe this was it, that I’d finally found my person.
I really fucking liked her. “Yeah, I am.”
No I’m not.
I follow him into his room and go to his closet, or what I like to call “the place organization goes to die.”
Pushing aside a mess of sweaters, instruments, and sheet music, I find a plastic bin with my clothes in it.
It’s probably cold right now. Mornings in the fall are usually freezing, then blazing hot in the afternoons.
Nothing like Septembers in Upstate New York where you never know what you’re going to get.
I grab a white T-shirt and slip it on. I’ll shower when we get back.
Pulling on a pair of dark-washed jeans, I find the hoodie I was wearing last night, slipping it on too.
I turn to Bo, watching him brush his hair into submission.
Heat flickers across my skin.
It’s soft and comforting and I get it every single time I’m here. It feels like coming home. Bo’s nose scrunches in the mirror as he looks at me in the reflection. “What?”
A soft chuckle escapes my lips, but instead of saying anything, I walk over to him and rest my chin on the top of his head, looking at him in the mirror. “I love you, Bobo. Thank you for being here for me.” The anger melts from his eyes.
“Always, Cam.”
Planting one last kiss on the top of his head, I go make us food. It’s going to be a long fucking day.
“Really quiet over there.” With Bo’s head pressed firmly against his window, I want to laugh.
I thought we were past this. I know Bo isn’t finding any of this funny, but I thought over breakfast things were back to normal.
It’s not even close to the most embarrassing thing either of us has done in front of the other.
Without my boner-fogged mind I can see it now for what it was.
A simple sleepy slip. No big deal. It was an accident.
My dick reacted. The skin along my stomach is just really sensitive.
My dick took notice. He thought, oh, company.
My dick loves company. It loves hands on it, especially when they aren’t mine.
That’s all. It's an extrovert. It loves cuddles—my dick and I have that in common.
“Stop it,” Bo says.
“I’m not doing nothing!”
He glares at me before resting his head back on the glass.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Trying to figure out how much it would hurt if I opened this door and flung myself out to get away from you.” We need to move on. Luckily—or unfortunately—we turn down Siena’s street.
“Bowen,” I say softly, and he lifts his head from the glass to look at me. “Would it make you feel better if I touched your dick?”
“You’re such an asshole, Camden!”
“Okay, well then, stop. Stop worrying about it. It was nothing. An accident. No big deal. You two shook hands. A friendly little hello, it’s not—” I catch his hand before it can connect with my arm.
“Camden Anastasia Almeida—”
“Not my middle name, Bobo.” I grin. “He’s fine. I swear. He’s not upset with you. My dick does not hold grudges.”
“Stop talking about your dick like it has feelings!”
How dare he. “My dick absolutely has feelings. Thoughts. Dreams. Hobbies!”
A tiny smile slips onto his face. There he is. “Stop it.” He smirks, then laughs.
Score.
“Believe me. You’ve done way more embarrassing shit in front of me. Remember your first time drinking tequila?” He cringes. “What about the great buffet disaster of ’18?”
He visibly shudders. “I still can’t look at macaroni and cheese to this day.” We pull up to her driveway. I feel gross. My stomach’s in knots. I hate confrontation. It makes me shaky like my skin is vibrating. I hate it.