30. Kaden
Kaden
I’m staring at Seth as he moves around the studio.
He grabs ink from a cabinet, gloves from a drawer, while mumbling the words to “Back and Forth” by Sebastian Paul streaming through the speakers.
His customer says something, and Seth throws his head back, laughing, before putting on his face mask and scooting his chair closer.
We’ve been hooking up for a few weeks now, and every time ends the same—either me shooting my load down his throat, or him finishing us both off with his hand.
And I don’t know if it has to do with some dominance thing, or if he wants to be the one in control, but I’m starting to feel like the selfish prick Iggy accused me of being.
And I don’t like that one bit.
I’m a giver. I get off on getting others off. But every time I try to touch Seth, he swats my hand away, and it bugs me.
It’s not that I’ve always dreamed of touching my best friend’s dick—never even thought about it before, because, well, straight. Or something. But we’re in this together for fuck’s sake. What’s his problem?
“What’s with the face?”
I startle, and dart my eyes to Iggy.
“Why are you glaring at Seth like he killed your puppy?” she asks, smoothing her bangs down with her fingers.
“’Cause he’s a stubborn asshole.”
“Have you met you?” she quips as she smirks, thinking she’s so fucking clever.
She drops down opposite me, and places a laptop on the coffee table. Opening the lid and waking the screen up by swiping her fingers on the pad, before she starts typing.
My phone pings with a text from Ollie, asking me—yet again—if I’ll be coming to the bachelor party that he’s coordinating for Finn.
I’ve postponed giving him an answer for weeks, blaming work and bullshit excuses.
But the days have a way of sneaking up on you, and now there’s only a week left.
I have to give him an answer, and I’m all out of excuses.
It’s not that I don’t want to see Ollie or Finn again—I do, it’s been a year since I left the band, and I haven’t seen them since, but I’m not exactly thrilled to hang out at a bar all night, with people I don’t know. I get shivers down my spine just thinking about it.
What if they’re sick?
What if they’re actually sick, but too stupid to take a test and just brush it off as a cold?
Do they wash their hands properly?
I don’t even know how many have been invited to this thing.
I drag a hand through my hair, bouncing my leg.
“What’s up with you today?” Iggy asks, pulling me out of my spiral.
“I’m invited to a bachelor party,” I say, glancing down at the text.
“Ooh!” she coos. “Fun! Who’s getting married?”
I sigh, leaning back against the coach. “Finn.”
“Finn,” she parrots, frowning. “Oh, from your band?”
I nod.
“And you don’t want to go?” she asks, pulling the lid halfway closed.
“No, I don’t, and I don’t want another fucking lecture on how ridiculous I am, or whatever you were gonna say.”
She bites her lips together, squinting at me. “Okay. Where is it?”
I wave a hand dismissively. “Some bar, I don’t know.”
“But then it’s a private event? Like, they’ve hired it?”
“I don’t know, Sully,” I state. “Maybe.” I sigh again, raking my fingers through my hair.
“Well, if you do decide to go,” she says, putting the laptop on her lap, leaning back. “You need to get a haircut.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, frowning.
“Yeah, you do.” Eyes glued to the screen, she waves a hand at me. “That thing basically got its own eco system.”