Chapter Seventeen Colin
Chapter Seventeen
Colin
The thin ray of light bleeding through the curtain on the window is enough to make my head scream in pain as I peel my eyes open. Immediately, my mind starts to replay the events of last night.
Oh God, what did I say?
What did I do?
I remember being at the pub with Declan. I remember a very arousing and slightly embarrassing conversation about the skills of my mouth. I remember leaving and him having to practically carry me. I remember a very strange moment after we left when Declan seemed so cruel and yet so…controlled.
But after that, I’m drawing a blank.
God, how do I not even remember coming back to the flat we rented?
Slowly and carefully rolling onto my back, I wait as my head stops throbbing from the movement. It takes a moment for the room to stop spinning. My stomach clenches with nausea.
I lift the blanket over me and glance down to see my nearly naked body under the covers. The only thing I’m wearing is a tight pair of boxer briefs, and they’re not mine.
I scan my memory again, hoping for something to come up regarding last night. Did Declan and I…
I turn my head to the left, surprised to see another body in the bed with me. Declan’s dark-brown mop peeks out from under the blankets. I peel them back to see him sleeping peacefully at my side, regardless of the fact that there’s another bed in the flat he could have slept in.
How on earth did I end up in his boxers?
Did we have sex, and I don’t even remember it?
I lift the blankets a little more to find that Declan is wearing a tight white T-shirt and a pair of his own boxer briefs.
“How you feeling, Shakespeare?” he mumbles sleepily when he notices I’m awake. His eyes are still closed, and his voice is groggy.
“Like shite,” I reply.
He chuckles into his pillow. “I tried to tell you.”
Why did I drink so much? It’s so not like me. Was it that I was just so excited to be around him again? Was it because I truly wanted my inhibitions gone in hopes that we could recreate a moment from last year?
“Are you not hungover?” I ask. “We drank the same amount.”
Declan rolls onto his back and stretches his arms over his head. “Aye, we did, but I’m a bit more used to it than you are.”
“God, what is wrong with me?” I mutter.
He chuckles in response. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You just had a little fun.”
I tense beside him, glancing down at his T-shirt. He seems to pick up on my discomfort immediately because he chuckles to himself as he adds, “Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything.”
I don’t know if I should be relieved or not, but I am. If I’m going to lose my virginity to my best friend, I’d like to remember it.
“Then where are my clothes?” I ask.
“You don’t remember streaking naked through the streets last night?”
My eyes widen in terror as blood rushes to my cheeks. “What?” I shriek. “Are you serious?”
Declan breaks out in laughter. “I’m joking, Shelby. I gave you a glass of water to take your aspirin with, and you spilled it all over yourself, that’s all.”
Flooded with relief, I let out a sigh and cover my face with my hands. “So you changed my clothes?”
“I couldn’t let you go to sleep with wet briefs. And your suitcase is organized quite meticulously. I didn’t want to mess anything up, so I just gave you a pair of mine.”
I rest an arm over my eyes to block the light as I beg my stomach to settle down. My head is throbbing, and I can’t escape the urge to throw up. I don’t want to spend my day with Declan hungover.
Then it’s as if he reads my mind like he always does. “I think we should just be lazy in the flat today,” he says. “Watch some telly. Maybe even catch another one of the championship rugby games you like so much. We can just order in.”
“You’re the best friend a guy could have,” I say with a moan, making him smile.
“I am.”
After a long, grueling shower in which I just stand under the stream without moving for thirty minutes straight, Declan meets me in the kitchen after he’s made a trip to the local bakery and returned with croissants and coffee.
Then, we do exactly as he had planned. I stay in my pajamas all day and manage to stave off the sickness as we watch movies and television and sports games we don’t care about, most of the time carrying on conversations over the sounds of the television.
It feels like life in the dormitory again. It feels like home.
Although Declan and I do talk nearly every day while we’re apart, I still love these moments when we can catch up as if no time has passed since we last were together.
He tells me about the wild escapades of his older brother, the less-wild escapades of his younger brother, his pain-in-the-arse sister, and how he sold two paintings on commission.
I tell him about the play I was in, disappointing my mother for turning down the role she had secured for me on the West End and opting instead for a smaller production on the other side of the city.
“And you really haven’t shagged anyone all year?” he says.
“Really,” I reply.
“Why not?” he asks. “You’re just not interested in anyone?”
I respond with a shrug. “I don’t know. To be honest, intimacy kind of scares me.”
“It scares you?” he asks. “What the hell scares you about it?”
I twist my mouth in concentration as I think about my response to this question. Picking at the cotton of my flannel joggers, I carefully assemble a response that feels closest to the truth.
“You know, it’s like that night in the gymnasium by the pool.
How you said I could do things with you because I can trust you, because some people would take advantage of me.
Just the idea of giving so much power and a part of myself over to a complete stranger terrifies me.
And it’s not that I’m afraid they’re going to hurt me.
It’s that I’m afraid…” My voice trails as I reconsider what I’m about to admit.
But then I remember this is Declan, and I never have to worry with him. “I’m afraid they’ll reject me.”
I watch as Declan’s brows furrow, and his head tilts to the side. “Are you daft?” he demands. “Reject you? Why would anyone reject you?”
A chuckle slips through my lips. “I don’t know. Lots of reasons, I guess. What if I’m too passive or too soft, or I’m not good in bed, or I’m not a good kisser, or I’m not funny enough or smart enough or good-looking enough?”
“All right, stop, stop,” Declan urges, waving his hands in front of him. “You are being ridiculous. You hear yourself, right?”
“Yes, I hear myself,” I reply. “I’m not being ridiculous. It’s just insecurities, Declan.”
“But that’s the thing, Shelby,” he says.
“Sex is fifty-fifty. If you’re passive, you find somebody who’s more dominant.
If you’re too soft, you find somebody who’s a bit rougher.
You don’t have to be the best at sex. You’re not the only person doing it, and it shouldn’t all be on you.
You put too much pressure on yourself. You act like it’s all up to you to please the other person, but is that other person pleasing you?
“Sex is supposed to be fun,” he continues. “It doesn’t need to be so much pressure. And if anyone, anyone, rejects you, then they must have their head so far up their own arse they can’t see.”
My lips tug into a tight smile as I stare across the couch at him. “You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend,” I say with a blush on my cheeks.
“I don’t think this is the kind of thing best friends say to each other, Colin.” His tone is suddenly serious, and he’s staring straight into my eyes, making my own smile fade. There’s heat drawing around my belly.
We both turn our attention back to the TV, staring at it numbly, but I can’t stop his words replaying in my head. Declan seems uneasy. I can tell how uncomfortable he is. And I start to worry that it was something I said.
“Are you hungry?” I say to kill the tension.
“Not yet,” he replies, going back to biting his bottom lip.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Aye,” he replies with a nod of his head. But I can tell he’s still pondering something in his mind.
I fall asleep on the couch after a little while and wake up a few hours later to the smell of Chinese food filling the flat. Declan is in the kitchen, and I rise slowly from the couch to greet him.
We eat in comfortable silence and then make our way back to the couch, where he puts on another movie. It grows dark through the window in the living room, and I start to feel restless, knowing that something is still bothering my friend—possibly something I said.
When the credits on the movie roll, I stand from the couch with a yawn and announce that I’m going to bed.
Declan only nods absentmindedly as he watches me go. But even as I get into bed, I am tossing and turning, bothered by the conversation we had this afternoon. And just when I’m about to climb out of bed to go out and speak with him, I notice him standing in the doorway.
“Hey,” I deadpan, sitting up.
He seems nervous, eyes wide, hands shoved into his pockets. He shuffles into the room as he responds, “Hey.”
“Everything okay?” I ask, growing anxious that he’s decided he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore or doesn’t want to keep up these summer meetups.
“Last year, before we graduated, I offered to have sex with you, so you didn’t have to graduate a virgin,” he says, cool and confident.
My cheeks start to blush, and arousal tightens in my groin. I clear my throat. “Uh-huh.”
“And I let you…” His voice trails, clearly uncomfortable with saying out loud exactly what went down last year.
“Declan, it’s okay,” I say to ease his nerves. “I’m not holding you to that.”
Ignoring me, he continues, “What we did was fun, but it was wrong of me to take and not return,” he says.
My jaw drops. “I never expected you to.”
“I know, but I should have.”
“It’s…it’s okay,” I stammer.