Chapter 3 #3
Thalia comes home after eleven, too exhausted to watch anything, so I close my laptop and turn down the lights while she shucks off her clothes and crawls into bed naked.
Again, I’m too optimistic. I roll on top of her and tuck my mouth under her jaw, smelling coffee and perfume.
Just the slight pressure of my crotch against her thigh makes my dick swell.
“Mmm, Connor.”
I mistake her tired groan for pleasure, and I glide my tongue along her throat.
“Ew, I can’t right now. I’m pooped,” she says, nudging me away. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” But I sigh too loudly as I turn onto my back, and now Thalia probably feels obligated. When she presses herself to my side and dips her hand under my waistband, I’m grateful.
She rubs me long enough to get me hard but slow enough to make it ache until her hand goes limp in my shorts, and I realize she’s fallen asleep on my shoulder.
Carefully, I lift Thalia’s hand off my dick, and I scoot across the mattress until I can plant my feet on the floor. Even though we’ve been together a while, and live together now, it’s too weird jerking off next to her. Inconsiderate, I guess. Taboo even.
I slip into the bathroom, hit the light and lock the door. I crank the sink faucet on for the background noise, just in case, and I push my basketball shorts halfway down my ass. Enough that my dick springs loose.
Because I left my phone in the bedroom, I use my imagination instead of porn.
I think of Thalia and how I wished tonight had gone: cuddled up in bed and watching a couple episodes of that show until we get a little handsy and a little kissy.
After that, she’d ride my dick backwards, so I can stare at her ass the whole time.
Or she’d ride me frontways, so I can play with her tits.
Or she’d lie out underneath me, so I can control the rhythm. Nice and slow.
Or—
The far door—Dane’s door—clicks and swings open, and in that split second, my mind and body enter panic-mode.
I shove my dick under my waistband too fast and whack my crown on the lip of the counter.
Pain shoots through my shaft to spasm my stomach and churn up whatever’s still in there from dinner.
I hunch over in case I puke, cradling my throbbing dick as I turn away from Dane.
“Were you jerking off?” A deep, scandalized voice hums through the tiled room.
“No.” I groan through my teeth as I make sure my dick is still straight.
“So this is why you wanted an open-door bathroom policy.”
“I don’t want—I forgot to lock your door. That’s all.”
“Dude, don’t sweat it. You think I’ve never seen a guy beat off before?
” Through the corner of my eye, I see Dane go for the toilet.
Number one, thankfully, with his back turned to me long enough for my dick to soften and the pain to dissipate.
“What I don’t get is why you’re doing it in here and not in the big, comfy bed you share with the chick you regularly have sex with. ”
Regularly is a massive overstatement, but that’s not something Dane needs to know. I burrow my poor penis back into my PJs and rinse my hands under the running tap.
Dane saunters up next to me, nudges me aside with a hard hip, and washes his own hands. “Your dick okay? Sounded like a good smack,” he says, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. Despite the vulgarity of the question, it comes off sincere.
“I’m good. Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Dinner. What your dad said—”
“I told you not to stand up for me.” He shuts off the sink and shakes water droplets all over the counter and my t-shirt.
“He was acting like a dickhead,” I say.
“He’s a dickhead. That’s how they act.”
“Still…” I should probably go back to bed, let Dane brush his teeth or whatever else he wants to do in here.
But while he’s staring at the mirror, I notice a small mole on the side of his neck.
There’s one on his chest, too, near his armpit, and there’s one down low, just beside his right hip and just above the waistband of his shorts.
“I can help you train, you know? If you want.”
“No offense, but you haven’t been on a soccer field in months.”
This time, I’m the one who smirks. “Bet I could kick your ass.”
Dane flashes his teeth. “Don’t make bets with me, stalker. I take them seriously.”
“You still play pickups at the beach?”
“Yeah, why? You wanna come take my picture again?”
“Actually, I was thinking I could join you. Get a sense of what sorta player you are firsthand and go from there.”
He scoffs, but his grin is undeniably bright. “You actually wanna train me? You’d probably have more fun coaching those kids in the park. Ask any of my coaches, and they’ll tell you I’m not exactly an easygoing guy.”
“Really? But you’re always so docile around me.”
Dane doesn’t laugh. He puckers his lips and folds his arms, animatedly mulling over the idea of me helping him to actually win a match. After a spell, his suspicion softens, and he asks, “You really think I could be a great player?”
Great may have been pushing it, but stranger things have happened. “Absolutely.”
“I watched your championship match. You weren’t the best on the field, but you were better than all the jabronis on my team, including me.”
Taken aback, I ask, “Is this Dane Calvo being humble? I should get my camera to document this moment in history.”
“Get it, and I’ll take my big dick out so you can document into history why I don’t have to be humble.” Despite his wicked smirk, his blush is clear as day under the vanity lights. “Alright, so what’s on Coach Connor’s agenda for whipping me into shape?”
“When’s your next beach day?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll leave here at eight-thirty sharp.”
“Sounds good.”
Dane pads back to his room, eyeing me with healthy suspicion over his shoulder. “Bring your camera,” he says, sneakily enough that I chuckle, seriously enough that I just might.
Figures that the one day Thalia wakes up early and asks to spend the morning together, it’s the day I’m going to the beach with Dane.
“You’re going to the beach with my brother?” Thalia’s eyebrows go wonky, and her eyes roam our bedroom as if there’s a crowd of spectators ready to back her up on what a bonehead I’m being.
“Yeah. What’s wrong?”
It’s a quarter after eight, and I’m ready to go, while Thalia is in one of my shirts, acting like I’m wrecking her day.
“You’d rather go to the beach with my brother than spend time with your girlfriend on the one day I have nothing going on?”
“I didn’t know you were free. You asked me five minutes ago if I wanted to go for a hike, which I do, but I already made plans with—”
“With Dane.” Her eyes roll her all the way into a one-eighty turn, and she drops into the velour chair draped with our clean laundry. “Since when are you two all buddy-buddy?”
“We’re not gonna be sunbathing, Thal. We’re gonna be playing soccer. Remember soccer? You used to play it too.”
“Yeah, I sorta have more important things to focus on now. Like my career.”
“And I think that’s great. So am I, but…” But I miss my life before. “But your dad asked me to help Dane with his game. He put me on the spot. I couldn’t say no.”
A brief silence softens Thalia. “Dad asked you to help Dane?”
“Asked me to train him. I planned to go to the beach with him where he and some of his teammates scrimmage so I can kick the ball around with them and see how they play.” More silence prompts me to ask, “Do you wanna come?” I’m ashamed of how relieved I am when Thalia says no, and I’m probably pushing it when I say, “You should talk to your dad about how he treats Dane.”
“Connor, if Dane couldn’t handle my dad, he would’ve moved out when he turned eighteen, but he stayed.
And you might not have seen it by now, but Dane has always been a train wreck.
The fact he even made it to college and is still eligible to play soccer means Dad must be doing something right with him. ”
My expression must give away how dissatisfied I am with that, because Thalia follows it up with, “I know you’re used to a family that’s rainbows and sunshine all the time, but that’s in large part because you’ve always been such a sweet and responsible person.
Dane isn’t any of those things. Never has been. ”
Well, shit, how am I supposed to be disappointed when she compliments me like that?
“I’m glad he’s not making your life a living hell,” Thalia adds with genuine delight. “I was sure he would hate you, but I should’ve known better. Everyone likes you.”
I force a smile and shuffle the distance between us to kiss her goodbye. “As long as you like me, that’s all that matters.”
All my faux mirth flushes away when I open the bedroom door and find Dane on the opposite side, a stone pillar with dull, unblinking eyes.
“Dane—”
“I’m leaving. Are you coming or not?”
“Morning, Dane,” Thalia calls out softly from the opposite corner of the room.
He doesn’t answer, and his eyes stay locked on me like we’re the only two people here.
Fidgeting under his stare, I tell him I’m good to go, then we head out under an oppressive silence.
It isn’t until we’re behind the dash of his little four-door BMW that I take the plunge and ask, “How much did you hear?”
The car’s a manual. Every time Dane hits the clutch, my heart skips. But Dane lounges cooly behind the wheel, aviators on and sports news on the radio. “Right around, I couldn’t say no.”
“It’s just a saying. I could’ve said no. I didn’t want to.”
“It’s fine. I don’t care if Artie’s pulling your strings, as long as you can actually help me.”
“He’s not pulling my strings.”
“Sure.” He switches the stereo to XM and cranks the volume, filling the car with whiny electropop.