Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
WELLS
Islam my fist into the punching bag with controlled precision. Over and over and over again. Sweat drips down my face, stinging my eyes. My muscles are tired, my knuckles sore, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.
“Chill out, Wells. You’re going to break your wrist.” Reed, who’s the closest thing to a gym buddy I’ll ever have, moves his forearm in front of the bag so that I’m forced to stop my assault or hit him.
It’s Friday night, and with the Renegades playing two back-to-back home games this weekend, the gym is mostly cleared out.
Dozens of treadmills, stair climbers, rowers, weight machines and free weights cover most of the available floor, though a corner to the left of the giant space is reserved for half-a-dozen punching bags, a few speed bags, and an area where boxers can work on their cardio by jumping rope or doing footwork drills.
Working out here gives me far more space than hitting the bag in my own apartment, but still, I should have stayed home. There, I wouldn’t be assaulted with the hockey game on multiple gigantic televisions situated throughout the room.
Seeing Kellan is inescapable.
His face flashes across the screen after he slams a goal into the back of the net, his second of the night–not that I’m keeping track.
He looks jubilant as his team crowds around him, clasping his shoulders and bracketing his head with their gloves that make them look like animals with comically large paws.
I lift my aching arm again to find an outlet for my frustration.
“Dude.” Reed puts his muscled body in between me and the bag now.
His forehead is slick with sweat, and he’s taking in labored breaths, even though I’ve been the one doing all the work.
“What the hell is going on? First, you don’t want to go out tonight, and now you’re wailing on the bag like it’s personally wronged you. ”
I grit my teeth, willing him to move out of the way. “I’m fine.”
Reed laughs and pushes me to the side, taking my place. He starts to place light jabs on the bag. “I’m fine,” he mocks, taking a harder swing that connects, sending the bag reeling. “Can you spot me if you’re going to lie to my face? Seems like the least you can do.”
I walk around to the other side of the bag and use my wrapped hands to anchor it in place. “This isn’t an admission of guilt.”
“How’s it going with the boy wonder?” Reed asks, cocking his head toward one of the televisions. He sees my nostrils flair, which only makes him laugh again.
I wish I had Reed’s outlook. He’s always been a beautiful, bisexual man who’s owned his place in this world. But, it also doesn’t hurt that he has two dads and grew up with so much pride that he practically sweats glitter.
Still, it was a mistake to mention to him earlier this week that I’d gotten stuck tutoring Kellan. I thought I had everything in hand. Not… whatever the fuck it was that happened yesterday.
And the most infuriating thing is that I can’t stop thinking about it. About him.
I’d give anything to have something to slam my hands or body against, just to feel the solid weight of resistance. Because I sure as hell didn’t have any yesterday afternoon when I watched as Kellan worked his beautiful cock with the same precision that he’s working his hockey stick with now.
I turn my head away from the television as he scores another goal, but it doesn’t matter.
I can still see his face, etched into my mind. The tension in his brow. The need written across his perfectly symmetrical features.
If he was anyone else, he’d have been perfect. So ready for whatever I wanted to give him. Whatever I was willing to give him. I should feel ecstatic that he was so easy to control, but instead, I’m left with a strange churning in my stomach that I haven’t been able to shake.
I’m driving myself insane. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with Kellan next week, and I don’t know how I’m going to make whatever the fuck happened between us make sense.
Men are pigs, so Kellan jerking off in my office doesn’t give me any false ideations about his sexual orientation.
That makes perfect sense to me. What I can’t figure out is why he made eye contact the entire time, taking his cues to move his hand faster or slow down to play with the plump head of his tip based on something that he saw on my face.
My cock seems to like the walk down memory lane, and I feel the euphoric rush prickle down my spine that comes from thinking about the hottest sexual experience of my life.
I force deep breaths from my core to control myself.
I’m not going to get hard in the university gym thinking about Kellan O’Reilly.
I just won’t. “My turn.” My throat’s dry.
I’d kill for some water, but I don’t want to give myself the relief.
Reed lifts his brows but moves behind the bag again to let me hit. “Seriously, man. Are you okay?” he asks once he’s in position–eighteen inches of bag between us that I feel like my raw knuckles could smash through.
I take a swing, controlling my movements as I continue to breathe deeply. I won’t let Kellan take even more from me. Finally, in the face of Reed’s concerned features, I relent. “You ever hook up with someone even though it’s a horrible idea?”
Is that what we did, I wonder. The phrase doesn’t feel serious enough to encompass what happened between us in an office that I’ll never look at the same, but it’s all I can say that won’t make me sound insane.
That I wanted to own him. Humiliate him.
Make him give all of his power over to me, willingly.
My friends know that I’m… particular, but we’ve never discussed this need that I have, specifically. Especially where Kellan is concerned.
Reed’s voice cuts through my spiral. “Gay or straight, that’s a rite of passage. I once hooked up with a guy I was doing a semester-long project with, and when I was over it a week later, that definitely made for an awkward next few months.”
I take another controlled swing on exhale. “Didn’t that happen with a girl sophomore year, too?”
Reed nods, flashing me a vibrant smile. “I learned a few lessons the hard way. Sometimes it took more than once for them to stick.”
What’s the lesson here for me to learn? That Kellan is the source of all my frustration, and I need to stay as far away from him as possible? And if I can’t do that, that I need to get a fucking hold on myself and not let things spiral again?
In this particular instance, since his advice can be spotty, I should listen to Reed. People have ill-advised hookups all the time.
Kellan doesn’t know who he is to me, and there was nothing else on his side except the need for release. He liked it too much, which is why I can’t give him the satisfaction of letting it happen again.
I won’t be the reason that he gets anything he wants.
“I guess you’re right,” I say, taking a final hit at the bag. I do feel better for having talked to Reed. That maybe this isn’t as big of a deal as I’m making it out to be.
I hold onto that idea as we say our goodbyes and I begin walking back to my off-campus apartment, a luxury two-bedroom that my parents pay for in the heart of downtown. I have a slinking suspicion that it’s so I come home as little as possible.
I step into my darkened apartment, flicking on the light switch and bathing the large living room in soft, ambient light.
Then I flick the switch down again, plunging the room into darkness at my finger’s command.
It can be that easy. I can make it that easy.
This thing that happened between us only has the power that I give it.
And I have no plans to give anything up to Kellan O’Reilly ever again.