Oakley
“Okay, scrambled or fried?” I ask, eggs on the counter and a spatula in my hand as my favorite frying pan heats up.
Travis looks wonderfully debauched, wearing my sweats and nothing else, with his hair sticking up all over the place. He has a bite mark on his shoulder, which makes my knees a little weak, just looking at it, and a stern look on his handsome face.
“I don’t care. Let’s just go back to bed.”
I chuckle and crack some eggs into the pan, opting for fried. “We need to eat. Get some energy.”
He rolls his eyes, and I smile because he was on me all night. And I’m not complaining. We hung out in the backyard for a while last night before going to bed, and instead of fucking him again, I managed to talk him into grinding our cocks together until we were both moaning in release.
But I woke up this morning to his warm body against mine and his lips everywhere.
My neck, my chest, my cock, and by the end, he was pleading with me to get inside him again.
I couldn’t resist, despite knowing he had to still be sore.
So I took my time until he flat-out ordered me to fuck him into the mattress, and I obliged.
Fuck, my cock tries to rally again in my sweats at the memory of his bossy tone and firm command. It was hot. Way hot.
But I need sustenance, damn it.
We’re going to eat. And then maybe fuck again.
I’m honestly not sure I’ll ever get enough.
I finish making breakfast and then guide him to the table, sitting him down and then pouring coffee for us both before joining him. “This is very domestic,” he quips as he sips his coffee, but he looks content.
A look I didn’t think I’d ever see on him here.
I know he has big dreams. Always has. It never made sense to me, but then again, I was always pretty content with my life. I was a football star in a small town that worships football. Of course, I was happy. But he was a star too.
He was good. Natural talent.
But no one would ever describe High-School Travis Wyatt as content.
“Did you really hate football?” I blurt out of nowhere because that’s just kind of how my brain works. I say what I’m thinking.
He must be getting used to it because he doesn’t seem that surprised. He shrugs sadly, though, taking another drink of his coffee. “You know it wasn’t my favorite.”
“I don’t know that.” Again, saying exactly what’s on my mind. “I was there, Travis. I played with you for years. And I thought you might have started hating it in high school.” His eyes meet mine, and he’s watching me intently. “But I saw it.”
“Saw what?” He doesn’t sound defensive. Mainly just curious.
“I saw the worry in your eyes when we were down, and I’d see the triumph when we won. You celebrated just as hard as we all did.” I take a bite of egg from my fork, chew, and then point the fork at him. “You loved it.”
I’m waiting for the argument or for him to call me crazy, but he just settles back into his chair and takes another sip of coffee. “I did. I did love it.”
I smile triumphantly, proud of myself, like I figured out a bigass piece of the puzzle. And he laughs at me, but it’s kind. No irritation on his face. I think I’m starting to grow on him.
“So why did you act like you hated it?”
“Because I did.” He places his coffee mug back on the table and picks up a fork as I stare at him, confused and totally lost.
“What? You just said you loved it.”
He takes a bite and chews, letting me be all confused before he finally answers, “I loved it, and I hated it. I wanted different things too, but my parents—they only understood football and farming. There wasn’t room for other stuff.”
That’s pretty typical of Kensley, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I just hope he’ll let me a little more into his mind.
And thankfully, he does. “I liked football, but I wanted to do other things too. I wanted to tutor after school, and I wanted to be part of the Scholar Bowl team.”
“What the fuck is a Scholar Bowl?”
He chuckles at that, his face lighting up as he eats and then goes on to explain, “It’s like a trivia game. Academics. They ask you questions, and the team tries to be the first to answer. They travel to other school for meets.”
“You’re shitting me,” I say, my jaw dropping a little because I don’t remember that at all.
He only laughs and shakes his head, but he still seems lighter somehow. After-Sex Travis is really relaxed. So I guess I was right about him needing to get laid. Because I love this side of him. Of course, I don’t mind Grumpy Travis either.
I’ll take both versions.
“Nope. We had it. It was awesome.”
“But your parents wouldn’t let you be part of it?”
He shakes his head, his smile dimming a bit. “Nope. Being late after school to start farmwork was fine, if it was because of football practice, but anything else was unacceptable.”
I see how it still upsets him, and I hate that for him. Why can’t parents just let their kids be who they are?
It’s weird to me.
I mean yeah, my parents probably only wanted a football player, and that’s what they got, but I’d like to think if I wanted to be a scholar, they’d encourage that too. “I’m sorry, Trav.”
He shrugs slightly. “It is what it is.”
“So what do you want now that you aren’t under their thumb anymore?”
He seems to think that over, and I think my heart may actually crack open, knowing it isn’t this. It isn’t this life in Hayes. The simpleness of it is far too boring for a guy like him.
“I want to go to college, get a business degree or something. Work in an office. Make money. Travel.”
Yeah, my heart sinks lower because that’s so far from my life. “That sounds good,” I lie because I don’t understand that at all. I’d drown in a nine-to-five office job.
He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then the front door barges open and Jameson and Garrison burst through the living room and into the kitchen loudly. “Hey! We need . . .”
Garrison stops dead in his tracks, taking in what I realize is a very domestic scene—both of us sitting at my table with sex hair and no shirts on.
“What the hell is happening here?” he asks, his eyes wide.
I clear my throat, surprised by their intrusion, but I shouldn’t be. I mean, I do this to them all the time. And they know they’re welcome here. “Uh . . .” I look at Travis, who doesn’t look as horrified as I expected him to.
“We’re fucking,” Travis answers bluntly, and I startle, shocked by his statement. But then I laugh hard because I think I may have knocked something loose when I fucked him.
I nod my head in agreement and meet my best friend’s startled gaze. “Yup. Why are you two here?”
“You’re fucking?” Jameson ignores me and sits down next to Travis at my kitchen table. “Since when?”
Travis seems to soften a little, the humor and bluntness gone, and he almost looks guilty. “Not long. I wasn’t sure if he’d want anyone to know about it.”
Glad we had that talk last night, but why the hell wouldn’t I want anyone to know? I’m an open book. Everyone knows that. I don’t hold back unless I have to. Which is why I didn’t say anything to Garrison about Trav and me.
“You’re bi?” Garrison sits next to me, asking carefully.
I shrug, still not sure about that part. I haven’t found myself attracted to any other guys, but honestly, I haven’t seen anyone but Travis since the first time I kissed those delectable lips. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” he asks me, his eyes narrowing. “But you like dick now?”
I shrug again, not sure how to answer that. But since Travis went with bluntness, I don’t think he’ll mind if I do too. “I like his dick. A lot.” I waggle my eyebrows at Travis. “A lot.”
He laughs at that, the action lighting up his entire face, but he stops when he locks eyes with Jameson, who doesn’t look amused. And then Jameson focuses on me. “So you’re just using him to get your dick wet? What is it, slow out there, Oakley?”
“First of all, fuck you,” I say calmly, but I’m a little pissed. Garrison and Travis tense, and I try to lighten my tone. “Second of all, I’m not using him at all. I like it. I like him. It’s fun.”
“It is,” Travis intercepts quickly, pulling Jameson’s gaze back on him. “It’s just a lot of fun. We’re just fooling around and having a good time. I’d think you’d be happy about that.”
Jameson looks conflicted. I know he’s protective of Travis, but he should know me well enough to know he doesn’t have to be. Not when it comes to Travis. “I am . . .” he says cautiously, eyeing me and then turning back to Travis. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Not possible,” Travis answers quickly, a little too quickly.
I mean, I know there aren’t feelings involved.
We talked about that, but damn. Maybe he could have a little worry that he might possibly fall for me.
There’s no hint of that, though, as he talks to his best friend.
“It’s fun, and it’s good. We’re friends. ”
Friends.
I don’t know why I don’t like that, but I don’t.
“What about Ryan?”
I nearly growl at the mention of that little fucker, but I manage to swallow it. My eyes are drawn to Travis, waiting for his answer.
I almost forgot about his dream guy.
He shrugs, looking a little nervous now as he plays with his fork. “What about him? We aren’t dating. We barely talk. I’ve never even met him. This is separate from that.”
I don’t really like his answer, but what can I do? I knew the score going into this. He wants bigger things.
“Why are you two here? You didn’t answer earlier,” I ask, not wanting to hear or think about Ryan anymore at all.
“Coffee,” Garrison says as soon as Jameson seems to relax.
“Yeah, you’re always busting into our house. Thought we’d do the same when we realized we were out of coffee this morning,” Jameson says, his tone a little lighter now.
“Well.” I stand up and head to the cabinet to get two mugs out and bring them over to the table before grabbing the coffee pot. “You might want to knock from now on, unless you want an eyeful.”
I wink at Travis, who just blushes slightly and shakes his head, but he agrees. And I’m glad he doesn’t argue.
I know this isn’t going to last, but I’m still looking to get in as much naked time with Travis I can until it ends.