Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The next week is a whirlwind of spontaneous dates and slow fucking. Every chance we can get.
It’s addicting.
He’s addictive.
In my mind, I’ve been calling him my boyfriend. To his face, I’ve said nothing. But he has to know how I feel. My obsession grows with each minute in his presence.
Right now, I’m sitting in the bleachers during one of his games and watching him intently. I’d like to pretend I’m not completely enamored, but I can’t peel my eyes off him. I also can’t peel my eyes off the girls who fawn all over him.
But he doesn’t reciprocate. The flirting goes ignored, the smiles met with stares.
But you know what he does? He looks through the crowd until he finds me, sending a wink my way.
That gesture makes me blush and shift in my seat. No one knows what we are, what he’s come to mean to me. I’m wearing his jersey under my sweater, and I can’t wait to show him when he’s done with his game. When he’s won.
Can’t wait to show him how proud I am of him when his cock is in my ass.
“Who do you think he’s winking at?” a girl behind me asks her friend. “I bet it’s that Sarah girl, the one with the long hair. She’s so pretty.”
“Oh yeah, or maybe it’s me.”
They giggle as they make assumptions.
No one assumes it’s me. A man. The fly-half of the rugby team.
I imagine myself ripping the sweater off my shoulders and letting them see whose jersey I’m wearing. Make them gasp with shock when I run down to press a kiss to his mouth.
I don’t, though. I’m too chicken. A big old scaredy-cat.
I can’t quite make myself do it.
Not yet.
It’s one thing to come out to my family, who are accepting, but to have to come out in front of strangers, people who would judge us, is something else entirely. It’s something I’ve thought a lot about since the ice cream shop, and I know that it’s not something I’m ready for.
In time, yes, but not yet.
My eyes find Colton again, and he cocks his head at another player, swiping a hand across his jaw. The same one I want to bite and lick later tonight. The things I want to do to his skin.
His eyes flick back to the stands, and he meets my gaze.
I tug my sweater down, exposing the fabric beneath to him as the girls behind me titter. They think he’s looking at them, but he’s looking at me, at the small flash of the jersey under my sweater that I’m showing him.
He adjusts himself in front of the entire stadium, and the girls behind me muffle their squeals.
It’s growing annoying, how much they fawn over what’s mine.
I stand up and walk down the aisle to a closer seat, moving to a place where I don’t have to listen to them. And where I have a better view of him. And him of me.
And right here, I have a view—of his legs, his ass, the sweat dripping down his temples.
By the time the game is over, I’m hot and bothered, ready for him to shower and head to his place. The place I plan on being bare-ass up, wearing only his jersey. A surprise.
I sneak out of the stadium and head over there, walking through the door of the frat house and up the stairs, not greeting anyone I pass. Not that anyone says a word. I wonder if they know why I’m here. I wonder if they can hear what we do in his bed.
Not that it stops me.
When the door shuts, I start to strip. And when I’m naked, I work my ass open with lube. Lots of it. I want to be ready so when he arrives home, he just slips right into me.
But first, I need to let him know to come here and not head right to my place.
Grabbing my phone, I snap a picture of myself—the jersey rucked up my chest, my legs spread, my wet hole in frame—and send it over to him.
He reads it, but doesn’t respond.
I can imagine him rushing to get here to me, so he can get into my ass as fast as possible. The thought has my dick hardening. Fuck, who knew I’d be so obsessed with getting dicked down day in and day out? Who knew Colton would be the one to bend me?
If I continue to lie here and work myself up, I’m going to come before he gets here, and I want to come with him.
So, I roll out of bed and move around his room once more. I still haven’t found my lucky coin or my jockstrap.
And I’m pretty sure that tie I wore on our first date is in his box of stolen things.
I can’t find it anywhere.
My fingers brush along the furniture in his room, over the books on his bookshelves, the papers on his desk, and when I’m staring out the window, waiting for him to arrive, the door bursts open and he rushes in.
“Fuck. You weren’t answering your phone,” he says, almost frantic. “Put your pants on. Hurry.”
He tosses them at me, and I just stand there, trying like hell to understand. “Hurry the fuck up, Myles. Please.”
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask as I quickly tug them on, and then he waves his hand around. “I’ll tell you later. Shit, the jersey too. Put your sweater on. Fuck. Fuck!”
Grasping for it, I’m pulling it over my head when the door opens and someone walks in—a man in his fifties whom I don’t recognize. He’s wearing a sleek suit and tie, his hair perfectly combed back.
He walks in like he owns it, like he owns Colton.
I don’t like that at all. No one owns Colton Cavanaugh.
But if anyone does, it’s me.
“You have a guest,” the man says, his voice clipped and annoyed. “I told you I needed to speak to you privately.”
“And I told you I’d see you this weekend.”
“I was on campus.”
“Still, I don’t have anything to say to you. Not here. This is my place.”
The man shifts on his feet, his displeasure growing. He tries to hide it, but it seeps from him, through his pores and onto his skin.
“I’m sure your guest won’t mind,” the man says and then turns to face me. He takes a step toward me and holds out his hand. I stare at it and then up at his face.
“I’m Colton’s father—”
“Stepfather,” Colton interjects, but the man carries on, speaking directly to me. It bothers me how easily he dismisses Colton.
“I have some business to talk to Colton about, if you wouldn’t mind giving us a minute.”
The fact that this man is the stepfather, someone I don’t trust, makes my hands ball at my sides and my shoulders square. Like hell I’m gonna leave him alone with this man.
“I do mind actually,” I say, the obvious disrespect seeping from my tone so contrary to how I was raised, but my mom also didn’t raise a child who just rolls over. She always taught me to fight the bullies, give them a taste of their own medicine.
His stepfather’s eyebrows rise, and I take a step closer to Colton.
“I think you should leave.”
His lips curl up in an evil grin. “What is this? You have a bodyguard I don’t know about?”
“Maybe I do,” Colton finally says. “Maybe I remembered exactly what you tried last time I came home.”
His stepfather lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “The things he makes up.” He meets my stare. “He always had such an imagination. Set up cameras and everything, and it proved nothing.”
“Because you got to them. Destroyed evidence.”
“No one touched them. There was simply nothing there, and you can’t deal with the facts.” He turns back toward me and shakes his head. “Beware of the lies he spins. You don’t know gaslighting until you’ve interacted with him.”
I step closer to Colton and itch to reach out and place my arm around his waist, but I refrain. I don’t want to give his stepfather any more ammunition.
“You don’t believe me,” he says to me. “I’m sure you’ve found things missing from your room, your pockets. A thief through and through.”
“I think you should leave,” I say again, and then I move toward the door and open it. “You can find a time that works for both of you and go from there.”
His stepfather slides his tongue across his teeth and gives a curt nod. “Very well. I can see there’s no persuading either of you.” He walks to the door, and before I can shut it, he adds, “Be careful with that one.”
I don’t respond, just shut the door and lock it, turning to face Colton, who is shaking slightly.
“Fuck,” he murmurs as I approach. “I can’t believe him. Can’t believe the shit he spews. Gaslighting. Fuck him.”
I reach out and touch him gently, but he pulls away, turning toward his desk. He pulls a drawer open and grabs a pack of cigarettes. He shoves his window open, lighting one and inhaling deeply.
“Colton…” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“I’m not in the right headspace for anything right now. You don’t have to stay.” Smoke billows all around him as he presses his forehead to his knees.
I watch him for a long minute and then sit down across from him. My hand extends, and he stares at it.
“What are you doing?”
“Having a smoke with you. I’m not in this just for the fucking. I mean, that’s nice, but I’m here for you, too.”
He huffs and shakes his head when he sees me still reaching for the cigarette. “Fuck off with that. You don’t need to smoke. It’s bad for you anyway.”
“Come on. Give it to me.”
He takes a long drag and then flips it over, letting me slip it from his fingers. I stare down at it, the orange end, the gray smoke filtering up toward my face.
Without thinking about it, I put it to my lips and inhale.
And immediately start choking.
That makes Colton laugh loudly, his lips curling up in delight.
“Knew you were a virgin in so many ways.”
“Losing my virginity quickly with you, though,” I say when I regain the ability to breathe. I don’t like smoking, unless it’s watching Colton do it.
Then I seem to like it very much.
“Sure are. Come on. Give it back to me. You’re shit at this. Good at head and spreading your legs, but can’t smoke a cigarette worth shit.”
“Fuck you.”
“I will. Maybe later, but I will.”
That promise lingers, and so do his stepfather’s words.
Gaslighting liar. Thief.
I don’t want them to have an effect, but they eventually do. They sink into my mind and sprout wicked lies. Lies I start to think I may believe.
I lie awake that night and mull them over, trying like hell to parse together the truths he’s told me.
But in the end, I’m left more confused than before.
I’m going to talk to someone I can trust, someone who can navigate this with me, who can verify what the truth is. My mind moves to Maya, and I immediately send her a text. If anyone can walk me through this, it’s her.