Chapter 6Stiles
CHAPTER
SIX
STILES
McCormick looks good. He made a concerted effort tonight to stand out and step out after his crushing rejection today. Another one . I toss back my Lager as I study him. Short-sleeved black button down that shows off his impressive biceps and tattoos. Fitted jeans and his riding boots. He looks pretty fuckable. I mean, I assume he does, if I were a woman.
His bright orange beard is oiled, combed, and trimmed to perfection and stands out against his dark shirt. You can’t help but notice him in a crowd of guys begging for attention. I just hope it’s enough to get him laid tonight. I’m sick and fucking tired of watching him get rejected. Tired of watching him brush it off like it’s nothing when I know how badly it hurts him.
Why can’t people see what I see?
McCormick is like the puppy of a golden retriever and a rottweiler. Loyal, lovable, and sweet with a good disposition until you piss him off or threaten someone he loves, and then you better watch out because his bark is nowhere near as big as his bite. But he’s sensitive. He does his best to hide it from most people, but constantly getting turned down by women kills his confidence. Makes him feel like shit about himself. Then he starts placing too much emphasis on his disability. I don’t want him thinking there’s anything wrong with him, besides every fucking thing.
That girl Gina he dated last year really fucked him over. He thought she was really into him until she started making ultimatums, demanding he put aside everything he cared about to put her first. Including me! His bike, the Bitches, the ALR—just about everything he holds sacred. Asking him to make little changes like wearing pants instead of shorts to hide his leg in public. Asking him to shave his face clean so he looked more respectable. Basically, asking him not to be himself, to pretend he was someone else.
What do you expect from a girl whose name ends with an A?
“This sucks. There’s no one here worth hitting on. Maybe I should try those dating apps you use.”
McCormick sighs. “It’s not the pussy nirvana you think it is. I keep striking out.”
I try hard not to laugh. “Maybe that’s a you thing and not a dating app thing.”
“Whatever. Good luck.” He tosses back the rest of his beer and scopes out the tavern, making sure he didn’t skip over any eligible women.
“I think our problem is that we don’t get out enough.”
His gaze snaps back to me. “What do you mean? We’re always out.”
“Yeah, but I’m always with you or the Bitches. I only go to BALLS, the gym, and the clubhouse.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Mac points out.
“There’s only regulars here.”
“That’s what happens when you live in a small town. Slim pickings.”
“Maybe we should go to Asheville next weekend. Hit up one of those fancy bars.”
McCormick looks insulted. “Oh hell no. I’m not interested in those hippie chicks.”
“Hippie chicks?”
“Yeah, that’s all they’ve got. Hippie chicks and Starbucks girls.” I just stare blankly, and he stares back, waiting for me to get it.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Is he talking about the fancy broke girls from the laundromat?
“You know, always dressed in yoga clothes, even though they don’t exercise, driving around in their oversized SUVs running errands, and they’ve always got that Starbucks to-go cup in their hand. Fake nails, fake lashes, fake laugh. They go on and on about the stupidest shit. Makes me wanna gouge my fucking eyeballs out.”
I thought we were gonna take a trip around the nonsense wheel again, but I have to admit, he actually has a point. “So what’s your ideal Mrs. McCormick like?”
“I don’t know, maybe like Betty.”
“Betty Beasley?”
“Yeah, she’s perfect.”
Fucking figures. He’s obsessed with that chick. “Yeah, well, she’s also a lesbian, so maybe a little less like Betty.”
“Okay, the dick-loving version of Betty. Red hair, those sexy cat-eye glasses she wears like she’s smart, but not boring.”
Jesus, does he hear himself? “What kind of ginger is only attracted to other gingers? It’s fucking narcissistic.”
McCormick shrugs. “Someone who likes to knit and doesn’t think it’s weird that I do too. Someone who likes to ride on the back of my bike, or maybe they have their own. A girl who thinks a good date is coming here to the Tavern. Someone who thinks my best friend is the second most awesome guy alive.”
Un-fucking-believeable. “So basically, you want to date yourself. You just described the female version of you.”
He shrugs again. “Sounds good to me. I like what I like.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” I laugh.
His attention is back on me now, having given up on watching the door to see if anyone new arrives. “What about you? What’s your ideal girl?”
I take the last sip of my Lager, wiping my lips dry on the back of my hand. “I don’t know, I’m not picky. Pretty much anyone who can put up with my bullshit and doesn’t annoy the fuck out of me.”
Mac whistles. “Wow, you set the bar real high. Maybe that’s what your problem is.”
“No, that’s not my problem. I’m not getting duds, I’m just not getting any applicants at all.”
Not completely true. I notice women looking at me, checking me out, sending out blatant signals. I just don’t act on them most of the time because if Mac doesn’t have a date, then I don’t want one either. Plus, he tries to be positive about it, but he gets a little pissy whenever I hook up.
He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, until we meet these hypothetical queens, at least you’ve got me.”
Damn right I do . I flag the waiter for another round. “Lucky me,” I tease sarcastically.
Over at the bar, I spot a brunette, looking lovely in her tight jeans and pretty blouse, hair and makeup all done up right.
“Check it out,” I tell him, sliding my eyes to the bar. He follows my line of sight and grins.
When our server approaches, I point her out. “Tell the lady at the bar her drinks are on us. And ask her if she’d like to join us.”
We watch as the waiter approaches her, explaining about her drinks being comped, and pointing to us. She giggles, like maybe she’s into it. I wave, and she smiles, waving back.
“Be cool,” he warns me as she approaches, drink in hand.
“When am I not cool?”
He snorts, giving me a knowing look just before she reaches us.
“Thanks for the drinks. I’m Angela.”
Angela with an A? Fuck no. McCormick can have her.
Over the next hour, we get to know Angela a little better. She’s a hostess and shares a townhouse with roommates. She laughs at most of McCormick’s stupid jokes, so I know she’s hooked because he’s not that funny. Angela gives me lots of side glances, like she’s checking me out without trying to be obvious.
We’ve got a good vibe going, and McCormick seems at ease, which is all that really matters to me. He brings his A game—flirting, being slick, throwing out compliments, and giving her little touches here and there. I’ve heard all of his lines, seen him play every one of his games firsthand, and when Mac gets going and hits his stride, he’s a sexy bastard. For a guy who trips himself up constantly, he sometimes has a smooth tongue.
Angela’s attention seems pretty evenly divided between the two of us, and I can’t figure out her game. “So, which one of us are you interested in going home with?” It’s best to find out before I have to buy her another drink.
Angela smiles coyly, placing her manicured hand on Mac’s arm while sliding her foot up my calf under the table. “Why should I have to choose just one? Can’t I have you both?”
Aw, fuck. I should’ve seen that coming. We’ve shared the same room once or twice, but we had separate partners. Mac and I have never shared the same girl at the same time. My heart stutters. If I say no, she might call the whole thing off. Mac gives me a pleading look and my heart starts beating again. How can I say no? He needs this.
“Sounds good.”
Mac smiles, looking relieved and excited. Angela giggles. I pay the tab as I wonder what the hell I just agreed to.
Angela follows us back to McCormick’s place. “You good?” I ask, checking in with him. I want to know where his head is at.
“Yeah, she seems nice. You think she’s gonna freak when she sees my leg?”
I fucking hate that he has to ask that. That it’s the first thing on his mind. “If things get that far, maybe just don’t pull your jeans down all the way. Just scrunch them down your hips and let her ride you.”
“Yeah, that’ll work.” He constantly checks the rearview mirror to make sure she’s still following. “Which one of us is going first?”
“First?” He sounds clueless, and it dawns on me. “Mac, she wants us both. At the same time. ”
He looks stunned. “Is that what she meant?”
“Yeah. Look, if this is weird, we can just?—”
“No!” In the light of the street lamps we pass, I can make out his throat working as he swallows. “It’s fine. Right? We’ll just take turns. Battle buddies.”
Battle buddies? Not in this battle. “We’ll figure it out. I think she’s really into you. You got this.”
“Yeah?” He glances over at me in the dark cab. “Best wingman ever.” He holds out his knuckles for a fist bump and I bump him back.
“If I can’t help my best friend get laid, I’m fucking useless.”
“Please,” he scoffs. “ I’m helping you get laid. Have you seen me tonight? I look fucking good.”
He has a point. He looks seriously hot. For a guy.
Angela parks beside us and follows us up to the second floor to Mac’s apartment.
“You live together?” she asks.
“Temporarily.”
We step into the tiny apartment, and Angela realizes it’s only got one bedroom. “Where do you sleep? Together?”
Her breath hitches like the idea excites her. Even though we do sleep together, or have the last two nights, I’m not going to admit it to her. It ain’t her business and I don’t want her getting the wrong idea.
“No, we?—”
“Sure do,” McCormick steamrolls over me, grinning like he’s proud of sharing a bed with me. Jesus. No game, whatsoever.
Her eyes light up and she giggles, squeezing herself against Mac’s chest. “Show me your bedroom.”
“Why don’t we sit down and have a drink first?” I have to slow this crazy train down while I’m still wrapping my head around the idea of my first threesome.
I grab bottled water from the fridge and toss one to Mac and twist the cap from Angela’s bottle for her.
“Have you two done this often?”
By this , I assume she means spit-roasting chicks between us. “Never.”
“Ohhh, I get to pop your cherries,” she purrs.
I’m a little too nervous to be turned on. Yet, I somehow am. At thirty-six, there aren’t a lot of firsts left to experience. But this is definitely one of them. A huge one.
Angie— It’s easier for me to stay focused if I drop the dreaded A — leans into Mac and brushes her painted lips over his. He takes control, sliding his big hand into her hair as he deepens the kiss. It’s a noisy wet kiss, the sound making my cock kick. It’s like watching live porn. Angie places her hand on my thigh, stroking my leg as she tickles his tongue. I pop the button on my jeans and lower my zipper.
My head feels conflicted, but my cock isn’t. It’s fully hard and begging to be let out to play. Angie works Mac’s pants open while he tries to swallow her tongue. At least, that’s what it looks like from where I’m sitting. He slides his other hand up her side, under her shirt, and she lifts her arms, giving him permission to remove it completely.
Her hard nipples poke through the black lace of her bra. As she leans in to kiss me, Mac’s hands slide around her to cover them. Her mouth tastes like the fruity syrup of her mixed drink, and I suck the flavor from her tongue.
When she lifts her lips from mine, I pull back to watch his fingers rub her through the lace. I have to rub my cock to settle the twitching. Angie exhales a loud sigh of pleasure.
She leans back. “Why don’t you two kiss?” My heart threatens to beat right through my damn chest.
Broken arrow, Broken arrow!
Mac looks just as frozen. He’s staring at me with his mouth agape. “Come on, I dare you,” she goads.
I feel her arm slide around my back, urging me forward, closer to Mac’s parted lips, and assume she’s doing the same to him. I should speak up, say something about not being into kissing dudes, but my throat isn’t working, just spasming uncontrollably as I try to swallow.
Why can’t I stop swallowing?!
He’s so close I feel his heat, can smell his cologne. His blue eyes stare back at me hard. What’s he thinking? Does he want this? Does he want me to call it off? The head of my dick threatens to pop off my cock and explode. Thank God she places her hand on it. I need her to jack me.
But then she grabs my hand and places it on Mac’s cock.
ON HIS COCK!
It’s in my fucking hand.
Thick and hard and bare.
BARE!
Which means it’s not her hand on my dick, it’s HIS!
I’m touching Mac’s cock and it’s a fucking monster like I imagined it was. And so warm.
Fuck the kiss, I have to look. He squeezes my cock through my boxers, and I just know there’s a wet spot he’s touching. There has to be.
His dick is fat and pink but I only catch a glimpse before Angie’s hand is on the back of my head, pushing me closer to him.
Mac licks his lips. His eyes drop to my mouth. I can hear my breath, loud and ragged.
I’m gonna come if this doesn’t stop.
Come way too early. Come from Mac’s hand and mouth. This is supposed to be about Angie, not me and Mac. I gotta stop this before?—
The barest brush of his warm lips touch mine and I hold my breath and then…
It’s gone. The heat, his scent… gone. I open my eyes.
I can read him like a book. His azure eyes are screaming at me, challenging me, warning me.
He leans in again, and I think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me. Maybe he wasn’t warning me to stop, maybe he was warning me that he was about to go through with it, but his lips slide past mine, blazing a hot wet trail across my cheek. His breath warms my ear.
“Not like this,” he whispers for my ears only.
His voice sends shivers through my body. I grab my cock to squeeze the head, hoping it keeps me from coming, but his hand is still there, and I just squeeze his hand instead.
Mac pulls away. All the way away. He scoots back from Angie.
“I’m gonna have to call a timeout.” He hands Angie her blouse.
She huffs and slides her shirt back on. “I knew you couldn’t go through with it. Guys always think it’s sexy to watch two women together, but when it comes to themselves, it’s gay or some shit.”
“I apologize,” Mac says, sounding mostly sincere. “We’re not homophobic, just not into each other like that. Maybe we should wrap this party up. We can always make plans for another night.”
“Whatever. Call me if you change your mind.”
We don’t even have to see her to the door because she’s already through it before I can get to my feet.
And when the door slams shut behind her, I’m left alone on the small couch with my best friend. With our pants unzipped and his cock out.
“What was that?” I demand. Mac looks pissed and I can’t figure out why. I’m not the one that asked her to leave. He gets up to go to the kitchen, maybe to grab a drink, or maybe just pacing to blow off steam, and I follow. “I’ve heard you bitch and complain for weeks about wanting to get laid, and you finally have your big chance and you threw her out? Why?”
I don’t even see it coming. He pins me against the counter, the hard edge digging into the small of my back. “ Why? How about you tell me why?” His voice rises with anger. “Why, after four years, you suddenly think it’s a great idea to kiss me? Why didn’t you punch me in the face when I grabbed your dick?”
I have ten different answers, but only one that I’ll admit to him. “Because you wanted to get laid?”
“I don’t need your goddamn pity fuck.” He leans in closer, bending me backward over the counter. My back bows uncomfortably. “The next words out of your mouth better not be a lie.”
“Who’s lying?” I try to straighten, to push him back and regain my ground.
His face twists into a snarl. “I’ve practically lived in your pocket for four years. I know the face you make when you’re about to come. I know how long it takes you to get there. I’ve seen you handle women you were interested in and women you weren’t.” His gaze drops to my mouth and I’m so fucking nervous I lick my lips. His nostrils flare. “Your dick was hard for me , not her. You were about to come, and I barely even touched you. She didn’t touch you at all. She didn’t even take her bra off!”
I push at his chest, but he refuses to budge. “It’s not… I wasn’t… I thought she had my cock in her hand. I was T-minus thirty seconds from hitting the drop zone when she ambushed and it turned into a fucking...cockbush! She cockbushed me! Unfriendly fire.”
He grabs my jaw, shocking the shit out of me, and leans in close like he’s gonna kiss me. “Four years, Stiles. You finally work up the nerve to kiss me and you think I’m gonna fucking share it with some chick?”
What is he saying? What the fuck is happening right now?
His fingers dig harder into my jaw. Painfully hard. “That kiss, that’s between me and you, not me you and her . That’s just for us .”
”I didn’t… things went south fast. Complete mission failure. We were outside the wire. It was only because she dared us.”
He leans back enough to look into my eyes but doesn’t let go. “Yeah? Well, now I’m daring you. Go ahead, kiss me.”
This is… “This is fucking nuts. You’re my best friend. Nobody’s kissing anybody.” I shrug out of his hold. “We should have talked about it in the truck. We should’ve set boundaries. Hell, we should have never agreed to it in the first place.”
He still looks pissed. Maybe not pissed, just intense. He rubs his cock, now tucked safely back in his pants, and I’m dying to know if he’s still hard.
“Just so you know, I would have done it.”
“Done what?” Do I really need to ask?
“ Everything . Just not with her.”