Chapter Five
SCOUT
Iwas in love with Trey Montgomery.
It wasn’t new information by any means, but what was new was this urge to actually… tell him.
With words.
Trey was still asleep, one arm locked around my waist to keep me close, and I lay there and waited for the urge to pass, but the thought wouldn’t go away.
You should tell Trey you love him.
Which was ridiculous. He knew. And I knew he knew, which was the important thing, right? There was no need to turn it into an uncomfortable declaration of feelings for both of us.
Except—and this was the thing that had my gut squirming—I knew that the only one of us uncomfortable in this scenario would be me.
Trey would probably love it. Scratch that, he’d definitely love it.
Trey didn’t guard his feelings like a dog with a bone the way I did.
He shared them freely. And I could guarantee that the only reason he hadn’t said the thing we didn’t say before now was because he was waiting for me to say it first. And before that happened I’d have to get comfortable with revealing that much of myself—which, given my track record, could take anywhere between three and ninety-seven years.
Trey sighed, and his breath was warm against the back of my neck. “What are you thinking about? You’re coiled tighter’n a watch spring,” he murmured.
“Am not,” I lied.
“Mm-hmm.” Trey nuzzled the back of my ear. “I have an idea how to relax.” He slipped a hand inside the waistband of my underwear and wrapped it around my morning wood, and yeah. Morning sex sounded like the perfect way to shut my brain off right now.
I lifted my hips and shimmied out of my boxer briefs while Trey did the same, then rolled so we were facing.
Trey grinned, then reached over and grabbed the lube off the nightstand.
He slicked up his palm and reached between us, grabbing both our dicks and starting to jerk us off nice and easy.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the steady slide of his palm on my skin and the heat of his dick where it was pressed against mine as I rocked my hips forward.
Trey leaned in and kissed along my collarbone because he knew I liked it and he liked watching me squirm. I tipped my head back and fucked up into his hand in short, jerky movements, my breath coming in shallow pants and my dick throbbing in anticipation.
It didn’t matter how often we did this. I was always surprised at how easily Trey could take me apart—and today was no exception.
It was barely any time before he tightened his grip and twisted his wrist just right.
Heat rushed through me, my dick pulsed, and a single thrust of my hips later I was coming, spurting all over his hand and stomach.
It was only seconds later that Trey tensed and let out a low grunt, his cum streaking my skin and adding to the mess.
He let out a shaky sigh, his hand curling around our softening dicks while we melted into the mattress for a while.
When I finally opened my eyes, Trey was watching me, his expression intent.
He leaned in and kissed me, deep and tender all at once.
And as we kissed, I swore it unlocked something in me, and I wondered why the hell I was dragging my heels about this.
It was Trey. He was the best thing ever to happen to me, and I was going to tell him I loved him—even if it did feel like I was about to skydive without a parachute.
I guessed that was why it was called falling in love.
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. The words were right there, and they were real, but I just couldn’t push them out, because saying them would reveal all my vulnerability to Trey, and if there was one thing Talbot-Smiths didn’t do, it was show our soft underbellies.
Which, thank you, I was well aware was ridiculous.
Firstly, I was in love with Trey, and saying it aloud wouldn’t change it.
(Except for that part where it would change everything.)
And secondly, Trey wasn’t a fox and I wasn’t a rabbit. The soft underbelly thing really didn’t come into play.
(Except for the part where it absolutely did.)
The weight of the unsaid words hung between us—could he feel them as acutely as I could?—and I tried, and failed, once more to push them out. Then, when nothing happened, I pushed Trey off me instead and said, “Good morning.”
His expression softened as he smiled at me. “Good morning.”
He leaned over and pulled some Kleenex from the box we kept on the nightstand next to the lube and cleaned us up. Then he sat up and pushed the comforter back.
I grabbed his arm. “What the hell are you doing?”
His forehead wrinkled. “Uh… going for a piss?”
“And coming straight back here, right?” I asked him. “Right, Trey?”
He looked a little shamefaced. “Well, I thought I’d go downstairs and check to see if the cleaning—”
“You’re not the house manager anymore,” I reminded him.
He raised his eyebrows. “No, but I’m chapter president.”
I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close. “Trey, it’s our last morning together for weeks. Learn to goddamn delegate.”
He rolled into me, and I took the opportunity to breathe in his scent. “But I really need to piss,” he said. “And I also want a coffee.”
I pushed him away from me again. “Go to the bathroom, and I’ll go and get us coffees. We’ll meet back here in five.”
Because I knew if Trey set foot downstairs, he’d get roped into some ultra important fraternity business—like last month’s Case of the Missing Paper Towels—and I wouldn’t see him again for hours. Which, on our last morning together for almost a month, was unacceptable.
Because why, Scout?
Because I love him, obviously.
And you didn’t tell him that because why, Scout?
Shut up.
Trey headed for the bathroom while I pulled on my underwear and a robe.
When I got downstairs, Marty was in the kitchen loading Charlie up with foil trays of leftovers.
“Nah, seriously, bro,” he was saying, “just take it all. Otherwise it’ll go in the trash.”
There was at least one untouched ham there, and I gave Marty an approving smile.
Well, probably more of an approving smirk, but I trusted him to read it correctly.
Dalton wandered in, all bed hair and track pants hanging off his hips, and gave Marty a hug from behind while he was still trying to offload the trays to Charlie.
“Love you too, boo!” Marty said with a laugh, like it was that easy.
“Hey, Scout, don’t tell Trey yet, but I think last night someone scratched the shit out of the coffee table.
It’ll probably buff right out, but if it doesn’t, it could have been any whippet, okay?
Those scratch marks are totally circumstantial evidence. ”
I headed for the coffee machine. “Throw a tablecloth over it, and make sure you fix it as soon as you get back.”
“He’ll never notice, right?” Marty asked.
“Trey. Will never notice,” I deadpanned. “Have you met him?”
Marty grimaced. “Yeah, fair point. It’ll buff right out, like I said. Otherwise, I guess I’ll pay the fine for Squirrel. Or, you know, whichever stray dog broke in and did that.”
Charlie, loaded up with foil trays, said, “I hope you have a good Christmas, Scout.”
“You too,” I said, and he toddled toward the hallway. I said to Marty, “If he drops those before he gets to his car, you’re helping him clean up.”
“Bro, he’ll be fine,” Marty said, because he was a born optimist.
Dalton released him at last, grabbed a protein bar from the bowl on the counter, and left the room.
“How do you do that?” I asked while the coffee machine bubbled away.
“Do what?” Marty asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Just—just say that?” I felt like an idiot. “What you said to Dalton.”
“That I love him?” Marty shrugged. “Bro, I just say every thought I ever have.”
Well, that was certainly true.
“Sometimes I think if I didn’t open my mouth and let them out, my brain would explode,” he said, “but I asked Dalton if exploding brains were a thing, like a medical thing, and he said no. Brains don’t do that.” He scratched his cheek. “Imagine if they did, though!”
I could relate to the whole feeling like I might explode if I didn’t get the words out, but how was I meant to just…
say stuff like that? I’d spent my life curating my words like I was afraid they’d be stolen by the British Museum.
It wasn’t like I could just start throwing them around the place now.
Could I?
I looked around the kitchen. It was practically spotless.
And when I followed Marty through to the living room and watched him throw a cloth over the coffee table, I had to admit it was as clean as it had ever been.
Something gleamed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw that there was still a piece of tape stuck to the wall where Marty had taped up his stupid reindeer game.
He followed my gaze and quickly pulled the tape off, and I pretended I hadn’t seen him do it.
Marty had killed it with Fratmas, and someone should tell him that.
And maybe that someone was me.
“Hey, Marty?” I pushed down my dumb nerves. What I was about to do was new territory for me, but how hard could it be?
Marty took in my pinched expression. “I swear, the table’s not that bad,” he said quickly.
“No, it’s not that,” I said. “I just wanted to say thank you. You did a really good job with Fratmas, and with the cleanup.”
Marty’s eyes grew wide, and his face lit up with a smile. “Scout, did you just say something nice? Holy shit, it’s a Fratmas miracle!”
And then he hugged me.
It wasn’t completely awful.
Marty thumped me on the back enthusiastically and pulled back at last. “Anyhow, we’re almost finished cleaning up, so we’ll be heading out soon.
Dalton wants to beat the traffic, and I’m like, ‘Bro, it’s Harrisonburg.
What traffic?’” His expression grew distant.
“Huh. Maybe he meant I-64. Anyway, everyone’ll be out of your hair soon, just how you like it. ”
“Yeah,” I said. “Last night was really fun, though. I mean that.”