Chapter 11
Ryan
I’ve learned a lot about Mart in the last few minutes.
Not just that he’s a bad kisser, but that he thinks even less of me than I realized. We aren’t on great terms, but I never would have guessed he’d assume my reaction to hearing him share something so personal would be to run off and start sharing that with my friends.
A part of me thinks I should do what he wants: leave.
But this is my fault. If I hadn’t pushed him with Gisele, he wouldn’t be so worked up.
As he stands there, his expression locked in a scowl, I approach. The way he glares at me, if I didn’t know him like I do, I’d think he was gonna haul off and hit me.
“What. Do. You. Want?” he says through his teeth.
“Let’s sit on the bench for a minute.”
“You mean my bed?”
“It’s an expression. Come on.” I approach the edge, take a seat, patting the spot beside me.
“Whatever,” he concedes, plopping down beside me.
“I’m sorry.” My apology seems to catch him off guard because his scowl shifts to confusion. “I clearly didn’t read this right. I should have asked more questions before making assumptions. As I said, if I’d known this was an emergency situation, I would have started in a totally different place.”
He glares at me. “Can you stop calling it an emergency situation?”
Me and my dumb mouth.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, no, you definitely meant it. Sooorrrry…” He couldn’t be more sarcastic if he tried. “Not all of us have had hundreds of girls to practice on.”
“Hundreds seems…” I consider it briefly…well, not as brief as I would’ve expected…because wow, I guess my numbers are up there. “I mean, that has to be wrong. Right?”
His eyes narrow.
“Okay, so this kind of talk isn’t helping. Let’s scratch all the shit we did downstairs. I’m getting where this insecurity is coming from now, so I can help you.” Because, really, this has given me an important insight into why Marty’s so insecure.
“Help me? No, no. We’re done with this. I’m out. I’m not showing you how to fucking tango. You’re not showing me how to flirt. We’re not doing this teaming-up thing. We’re going back to the way things were.”
I’ve had guys get like this on the team before. Wigging out. Being irrational because they’re so caught up in the emotional after missing the catch or fumbling. I need to keep my cool and be here for him the way I would for one of my guys.
“Hey, hey, look at me. Mart, come on…look at me. Marty.”
He’s as stubborn as always, but he finally breaks, and I can see the hurt in the subtle downturn of his lips, the softness in his eyes. When he’s not being a complete dick, it’s possible for me to sympathize with him.
“This is clearly hitting a nerve,” I say. “I’m sure that wasn’t great to hear from girls, and it’s obviously left an impression, but if you want me to be honest with you—”
“I’d rather you not.”
I need to be more careful with my goddamn words because I don’t really care whether or not he wants me to be honest. “Even if you don’t want me to be honest, here it is: I think this is what’s getting in your way.
If you felt confident about kissing, maybe you’d feel like you could hit on Angie or another girl because you’d know you have the skills to back it up with. ”
He breaks eye contact. “I can’t say you’re entirely wrong.”
“I feel like I’m not even a little bit wrong.”
He shoots me another dirty look. He’s full of those tonight. But we might’ve hit onto his core issue around flirting, which is a win in my book.
“If it’s only kissing, that’s something we can work on,” I tell him.
“If you think you’re getting Gisele back so we can kiss, you are dead wrong.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, man. Or Gisele, for that matter, because wouldn’t that suck to team her up with someone who can’t even kiss?” I’m hoping the joke will lighten the mood.
It doesn’t.
I start to reach for him to rest my hand on his shoulder, but thinking about how he reacted before, I stop myself. As he notices, I say, “See? I can learn.”
He snickers, which makes me feel some relief, like I’ve broken through whatever barrier he was keeping between us.
“I’m not gonna bring another girl into this because with where you’re at, that’s too much.”
“Okay…” he drags out. “So you have some other plan for how to deal with me being a shit kisser?”
I take a breath, accepting this isn’t gonna be an easy job, but someone’s gotta do it. “You’re gonna kiss me.”
Seems like the obvious solution, but his eyes widen, and he jumps up from the bed, as though the suggestion meant I was about to lunge at him and force a smooch on his lips.
“The hell is this weird shit?” he asks.
“What? How is that weird?”
“How is that not weird?”
“We’re in frats. You had to have kissed guys before.”
“No, I haven’t. You have?”
He can’t be serious.
“You never played spin the bottle and it wound up on a guy? Or had a TaskFrat challenge where you had to kiss?”
“I don’t play spin the bottle for obvious reasons.”
Mmmm. That tracks. If I sucked at kissing, guess I’d avoid situations where I had to do just that.
“I should have figured that one out on my own.”
Maybe he’s right. I could just be an idiot. I sure am acting like one tonight.
“Well,” I go on, “having kissed guys before, I can tell you it’s not a big deal. And it’ll help me see where you’re at. Kissing can be taught. It’s a skill like anything else. And I don’t know if you think you need references, but I’m pretty damn good at it.”
Marty’s shoulders relax before he searches around the room, as though the walls are gonna start making fun of him for even considering the idea. He runs his hand through his hair. “If this is a trick…” he says, the threat in his tone.
“No trick.”
I guess it’s a little bit of a trick since I’m helping him so I won’t wind up on probation, but the kissing itself is not a trick.
“You know this is a weird-ass idea, right?” he says.
“Seems practical to me. What, you got some kind of queerphobia that makes you worried about kissing a dude?”
“Ash and Lance are my best buds, so you know that’s not it.”
“Oh, is this I have a queer friend, so I’m not queerphobic?” I tease.
“That’s not how I meant it. I’m just—”
“I’m giving you hell. Get your ass over here and plant one on me. And I’ll give you instructions. We can work on it.”
He scratches at his arm, clearly thinking it over, which is better than where things started. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
He doesn’t want to do this, and I get it, but I need to get through to him if there’s even a chance of helping him get over this.
“One time when I was a kid, I was really struggling with my throw, so Dad got me down to the park every day. And I didn’t want to because I thought it was embarrassing and that it wouldn’t do any good because I was crap at it, but we kept drilling away, and you know what happened? ”
“It worked?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t like what this implies about how much we’ll have to do this.”
“Sit on this bed,” I instruct, my tone letting him know I won’t back down until he caves.
He eyes me uneasily before settling beside me again, which is a relief because a minute ago I thought he was gonna rush out of his room.
But despite how pushy I’m being, I also don’t want to push him too far before he’s ready.
“Mart, you can do this. I won’t judge you or tell anyone about what we do…
or how bad of a kisser you are.” At his look, I add, “Sorry again. Hey, words aren’t really my thing. Let’s do this. Come on. Give it to me.”
“This isn’t gonna work,” he mutters.
“If you’re that shitty, I’ll let you know,” I joke.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Meanwhile, some girls would kill to be in this bed with me right now, having me as their kissing instructor.”
“Kill?”
“Stop stalling.”
He takes a breath and leans toward me. I’m surprised he’s going along with it. Maybe this is really happening…
But he stays stiff in place.
“You need me to close my eyes?” I ask, batting my eyes playfully.
“I need you to shut your dumb mouth.”
“That might be what your issue with kissing is.”
“Can you cut it with the jokes?”
“I’m trying to lighten the mood.”
“Trust me, Lightness is downstairs, enjoying himself at the party.”
He leans a little closer, staring down at my mouth like it’s a bug. I can tell by the way he’s all tensed up that he’s stressing himself out even more. I try to think of a way to make this easier on him, so I lean toward him. I’m waiting for him to back off, but he doesn’t budge.
“Here,” I say. “Let me help you. Are you ready?”
He sighs. “Just do—”
Before the word it even has a chance to fully escape his mouth, I press my lips against his, pleasantly surprised by how soft they are.
I start small, lips barely parted, easing him into the experience, noticing how warm his flesh is against mine.
The way his breath brushes up against my skin as he breathes.
He moves closer, opening his mouth more, pressing harder.
Naughty Marty.
The move sends a surge of adrenaline through me, and before I know it, my dick’s getting kind of hard.
That’s wild, but now I’m curious when the shit-kissing part is gonna start, so I grab the back of his head, keeping him close as our tongues meet.
There’s something very intuitive about his movements, how his tongue teases mine, which shocks the hell out of me, considering I’ve seen this guy trying to dance.
Where the hell is this coming from?
And what was that bullshit about being terrible at this?
My dick is quick to respond, firming right up before his tongue slides back out, leaving me hanging, and I find myself craving more.
His breath hitches as he searches around, looking as confused as I feel.
“That bad?” he asks, his cheeks pinkening, and I realize I’m staring.
I was expecting it to feel like the other kisses I’ve had with guys.
Clinical.
Maybe a little fun.
I wasn’t expecting that rush…or what felt like more expertise than he’d led me to believe.
But that can’t be right.