Chapter 16
I’m starting to think we might be dating.
Boyfriends.
I haven’t said that out loud. I haven’t asked him what we are. The last time I got ahead of myself ended with me in the hospital and years of trauma that I’m doing a decent job of ignoring right now. I’ve learned my lesson about disturbing the peace with unnecessary labels.
I shouldn’t want this. I know better. But I can’t help it.
I do.
It’s been a few weeks since Thanksgiving, and sometime between then and now, things have shifted. Or become impossible to ignore.
Mike sleeps in my bed every night. We text all day when we’re apart. He’s the person I look forward to seeing most, even though we live together.
He made my coffee this morning.
He knows how I take it.
I know how he takes his.
I don’t know what to do with that information except drink my perfect coffee and try not to get in over my head.
Not to mention, we’ve been fucking constantly.
The anxiety that had it’s grips in me that first night has mostly gone away now. Mike seems to genuinely enjoy it when I fuck him, and I’m not going to turn him away when he asks.
And he does, all the time.
Currently, he’s sitting on the kitchen counter eating cereal at eleven in the morning, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, while I make eggs, trying to focus on them instead of his body.
He seems none the wiser, too busy rambling about something his bandmate Trent said at practice yesterday. “And then he had the nerve to say my lyrics were too boring,” he says, even though he’s already told this part, gesturing with a spoon. “Boring. Me.”
“No way.”
“Do you know what I think?”
“What do you think?”
He points his spoon at me. “I think he feels threatened by me.”
I slide some eggs onto a plate and give them to him. He takes it without breaking stride, switching from cereal to eggs, still complaining about Trent with his mouth full.
It’s moments like this that really get me thinking. Breakfast together and telling me about his day, and the way he always lays his head on my shoulder when we’re watching something, it’s natural.
That’s not how friends act. Even friends with benefits.
That’s how people act when they’re—
“You’re not listening.”
“I am listening. Trent is threatened.”
“Exactly.” He seems satisfied, going back to the eggs. “These are good.” He kicks his foot out and knocks me in the hip. “It makes me horny when you cook.”
“Everything makes you horny.”
He tilts his head, considering that. “True. But especially this.” He sets his plate down beside him and opens his arms. “Come here.”
“I have to go.”
“Come here first.”
I step between his legs, and he pulls me in, wrapping his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck. He kisses me slowly, sliding his tongue against mine, deepening it, holding on tighter when I try to pull back.
I know he’s trying to convince me not to leave, and I hate to admit that it’s working. “Stay,” he says against my mouth.
“I can’t, you know Ryan and I do the gym on—”
He pulls back far enough to look at me. “Fuck me over the counter first.”
“I have to leave, like,” I check the clock above the stove. “Right now.”
“I only need ten minutes.”
“That’s not the point.” I press my lips together. “I can’t just fuck you and leave.”
He tilts his head, a small smile starting at the corner of his mouth. He knows I’m gonna do whatever he wants. And if he needs me to stay, I will. He reaches into my pajama pants, and his fingers wrap around my cock, already growing harder.
I catch his wrists, pausing his movements.
“Mike.”
“Alex,” he mimics.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He leans in and drags his lips along my jaw. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning.” His mouth finds the spot below my ear that he’s figured out does things to me, and I grip his wrists tighter and try to remember what I was even saying.
The gym. Ryan. Right.
“Ten minutes,” he says, his breath right against my ear. “And then you can go.”
I hold out until he runs his tongue along my earlobe. An embarrassingly short amount of time.
“Fine. Turn around.”
He’s off the counter before I even finish the sentence, looking back at me over his shoulder with an expression that no one would be able to resist.
I yank his boxers down, no time for teasing today.
“Finally,” he breathes out.
“You’re so impatient.”
“I know, so fuck me.” He pushes back against me, and I tighten my grip on his hips to still him.
“Hold on.”
“Alex—”
“I said hold on.” I reach beside him for the drawer where I’ve started keeping things, since this is one of Mike’s favorite places to seduce me. He chokes out a laugh.
“You put lube in the kitchen?”
“You’re the one who always wants to fuck in here.”
I take my time opening him up, because I’m not rushing that ever, and Mike falling apart on my fingers before we’ve even started is something I’m mildly obsessed with.
He’s already squirming by the time I push two fingers in, dropping his head forward, his knuckles clutching the edge of the counter until they turn white.
“You’re going slow on purpose,” he grumbles, cutting himself off when I curl my fingers, making his whole body shudder. “Oh, you’re such a—”
“I’m what?” I add a third finger, and he whimpers, fucking back on them.
I line up and push in slowly, one hand clutching his hip and the other flat on the counter beside his, and he actually exhales, finally getting what he’s been asking for.
“Okay?” I check, because I have to.
“So okay,” he responds, putting his hand over mine, leaving it there.
I fuck him slowly at first, unhurried despite the time, savoring the feeling of him wrapped around my cock. He drops his head forward and takes it, rocking back to meet me, quiet sounds escaping his mouth.
“Faster,” he says, and I give it to him now without pause.
“There, right there, don’t stop,” he gasps, and I can tell by his voice that he’s already close, so instead of drawing it out, I reach around to grasp his cock. “Alex, fuck—”
He comes with his forehead against the cabinet, moaning loud enough that the neighbors can probably hear, and I follow him over not long after, pressing my mouth to his shoulder to muffle the sound.
We stay there together like that, my cock softening inside of him, catching our breaths, but not for long. “Okay,” I say, against his back, kissing him there because I can. “I really have to go now.”
He giggles, in that hysterical way he gets after I did a good job fucking him. “Yeah, okay.”
I pull out of him and clean up the come from the floor while he leans against the counter, his boxers back on, and steals the rest of my eggs without asking, looking thoroughly satisfied now that he got what he wanted.
I grab my keys off the counter and check the time, only twenty minutes late. Not bad.
“I’ll be back by dinner,” I tell him, already headed toward the door.
“Four o’clock,” he says, following behind me.
“That’s before dinner.”
“That’s the point.”
I turn around and kiss him one more time, and he grabs my shirt to keep me there longer. “Four o’clock,” he says again, against my lips.
I don’t make any promises, but I’m planning to be back by four.
Ryan is already there when I get to the gym. “You’re late again,” he says, but I don’t apologize this time.
It was worth every second.
We start our usual routine, talking about anything and nothing while we lift weights in front of the mirror. I don’t look away from my reflection anymore. Mike likes how I look, and that’s enough for me.
“You seem different,” Ryan says, watching me too.
“Different how?”
We walk over to the bench press, but he doesn’t adjust the weight yet. I take a seat on the machine across from him, taking a sip of my water. “I don’t know. Happy. It’s weird.”
I can’t argue with that. I feel good today. I have for a while, actually. Light in a way I haven’t felt in years. Like something in my body has finally started to loosen after everything that happened with Jason. But I can’t tell him that, because then I would have to tell him what the reason is.
Who the reason is.
“Things good at the house?”
I shrug. “They’re fine.”
“Pierce doing alright?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
He goes quiet for a moment, and I think maybe we’re done with this particular line of questioning.
We’re not.
“You two hang out a lot,” he says, and I think he’s trying to sound casual, but I can tell right away that whatever he’s getting at is anything but.
“He’s my roommate.”
“You know people are talking.”
That gets my attention.
“About what?”
Ryan meets my eyes. “About you and Pierce.”
“What about us?” I ask, keeping my voice level, even though my heart has started to pound, and my skin feels prickly all over.
“Just that you’re…” He pauses, searching for the word. “Close.”
“He’s my roommate,” I say again, but it’s starting to feel like it doesn’t have much meaning here.
“That’s what you’re saying.”
“What does that mean?”
Ryan crosses his thick arms, and there’s something on his face that I don’t like. That looks like there’s no talking him out of whatever conclusion he’s come to. “It means you’re always together. He wrote you a song. You haven’t dated a single girl since you moved in there.”
He shrugs, like he’s not accusing me of being gay at the fucking gym. “People notice that sort of thing around here.”
“People need to mind their own business,” I challenge, clenching my fists until it hurts.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’m just telling you what I’m hearing.”
“And what is it that you’re hearing?”
He holds my gaze. “That you’re screwing him.”
The words are a wrecking ball between us, threatening to destroy everything I’ve built here. I look around to make sure no one is listening. One lady turns her head when I make eye contact with her, but other than that, I think I’m in the clear.
“That’s not true,” I say.
“Okay.”
“It’s not.”
“I said okay.” But the way he says it doesn’t sound okay. Like whatever I say is beside the point.
“I don’t know why people have nothing better to talk about,” I mutter, looking away because I’m starting to feel ambushed and I’m really regretting leaving Mike right now.
“Small campus,” Ryan says. “And you know Pierce has a reputation.”
“None of that is—”
“I just think,” he interrupts whatever defense I was about to come up with. “That you should be careful about who you’re spending your time with. Pierce isn’t good for you.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know what people say about him.”
“Right. What people say.” I can hear the edge in my own voice, but I can’t soften it. “And you’ve decided the opinion of strangers is more accurate than anything I could tell you about him from actually knowing him.”
“Because it’s true.” His expression shifts to something resembling empathy. “Look, you’ve been through a lot. After what happened with Jason—” Everything in me goes still, but Ryan doesn’t notice. “I figured the last thing you’d want is to be around people like that.”
The words hit me somewhere in my soul.
People like that.
He means gay. Or bi. Or whatever category he’s filed Mike into in his head, and by extension, whatever category he’s decided to file me into. He says it like it’s logical. Like, because of what happened to me, I shouldn’t want love anymore.
I was just starting to think it was okay again.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” he says, reaching over and putting a hand on my knee. “I care about you.”
I flinch at his touch, burning a hole through my sweatpants, and he must see something on my face because I can see when his concern turns real. “Alex—”
“Jason,” I say, and my voice doesn’t even crack on the name I’ve avoided for so long. “didn’t do what he did to me because he’s gay. He did it because he’s a terrible person.” I pick up my bag from the floor. “And those are not the same thing.”
“I wasn’t saying they were.”
I look down at him, this guy I’ve known for two years, the first friend I’ve had in a long time, and I try to tell myself I’m overreacting. That I’m scared and looking for someone to take it out on.
But I can’t unhear those words.
People like that.
People like me.
“I’m gonna head out.”
“Come on, Alex, you know I didn’t mean—”
I leave him sitting on the bench press, and I don’t look back.
Mike is on the couch when I get home, picking at his guitar while he stares down at a notebook with sloppy lyrics on it. He looks up when I come through the door, and I know he can see that something’s wrong when he moves his guitar.
He doesn’t say anything as I sit down beside him. He pulls my head down onto his shoulder, and I close my eyes, trying to push away the panic clawing at my chest.
“It’s not four o’clock,” he says into the silence.
“I know.”
When I’m starting to feel a little bit better, I lift my head to ask the question that’s been sitting on my tongue since Ryan told me. “Are people talking about us?”
Mike glances down at me, running his hand through my hair. “I don’t know. Probably.”
I actually sit up then. “What do you mean, probably?”
He shrugs, picking at a string on the guitar he’s moved to his other side. “I heard something a few weeks ago. Didn’t think much of it.”
“Weeks ago.” I stare at him. “You didn’t think you should tell me?”
“It didn’t seem worth mentioning.” He plucks the string again, not meeting my eyes. “People like to gossip. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to me.”
He does look up at that, an expression on his face that I don’t understand. “Why?”
“I don’t want people saying that.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t have people thinking I’m—” I pause, my heart starting to pick up at even the thought. “I can’t come out, Mike. I’m not doing that. I don’t know if I ever—” I stop, shaking my head. “No one can know about us.”
Mike is quiet for a long time before he nods, looking down at his hands, picking at the chipped black nail polish. “Okay.”
“I’m serious, man. If this got back to my family, to Nate—”
“I said okay.”
“Okay. Good.”
I sit back against the couch and watch the movie Mike had on, too quiet to actually hear. He doesn’t say anything else. And he doesn’t lean into me, but I can’t think about that right now.
The only thing playing on a loop in my head is Ryan found out. He knows about us.
He knows about Jason.
Maybe Mike already—
No.
Mike can’t know.
He would never look at me the same.