Chapter 2
TWO
CASSIUS
Holy shit. I burst out laughing and peered over at Dylan. “This was in the bag of DVDs that your folks got?”
Poor Dylan didn’t seem like he could land on one particular reaction. It hovered between mildly horrified and morbidly fascinated. Then his lips twitched, and he snorted out a loud laugh at the ridiculously hilarious movie playing.
“Fresh from the garage sale.” Still chuckling, he shook his head and picked up the DVD case.
“We should absolutely get them to watch it.” The desire to shove it in their DVD player and watch his asshole parents’ reaction itched at me.
I would have loved to see their faces. Dylan’s pearl-clutching mom would have curled over in horror.
Probably smashed the TV from throwing the controller at it.
His dad, that weak fucker, would have broken into a bullshit lecture, spouting off scripture about sin and sex before marriage, I suspected. The asshole would probably then go on to pretend to throw the DVD away, only to jack off to it later.
I didn’t trust the fucker one bit.
I’d seen the way he’d eyed Josie Marion’s mom’s tits in her low-cut top.
Dylan held up the DVD, the image of the group of teenagers looking fairly low-key and not giving hints to the hilarious nastiness of the movie. “Maybe they thought the movie was legit wholesome, all-American goodness.”
A teasing twitch of his lips followed, just as we both snapped our gazes to the fucking epic development of Jim’s dad catching him with his pants down as he fucked an apple pie.
“Jesus.” I shook my head, my cheeks hurting from laughing so much.
“Looks like a waste of perfectly good pie to me.” Dylan arched a brow and peered at me.
I snorted beside him, sitting up on my bed. “I don’t know. Third base is pretty fucking hot. Worth wasting a pie to get that feeling.”
“Even when it’s Tanya trying to suck your brains out?”
I held back my smirk that Dylan managed to only scrunch his nose a little at the mention of Tanya.
He’d never been a fan of Tanya Carol’s. Sure, she was a loudmouth, a cheerleader, and hella popular at parties.
She always offered a good time. Especially as she legit didn’t want a boyfriend and chased fun and easy like most of the guys I knew.
“I think the fingers in the pie are more about the feel of pussy. A pie can’t exactly suck you off.”
This time, Dylan’s face scrunched so damn fast and tight, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“And Jim fucking the pie is what it’s like to fuck a girl?
” Looking genuinely horrified, Dylan shook his head and hit Pause on the remote.
“And that, right the fuck there, is why asses are so much better than vaginas. Who wants lumpy and squishy? Like….” An over-the-top shudder followed, and fuck if I didn’t laugh harder.
“You’re such a doofus. Pounding any orifice sounds like dick heaven.” I still hadn’t gotten that far yet. Not for lack of trying. I’d gotten to third base with Tanya. Dylan was right about that. There hadn’t been a chance with a guy yet.
I was the only out person at school. While Dylan was gay, he remained firmly in the closet. And I suspected there’d be other guys at school in the same position. What that meant was I hadn’t had any chance to experiment.
I couldn’t wait to leave for college to take full advantage of all the dick and pussy on offer. I suspected Dylan couldn’t either, though his plans of being a cop pointed in a whole different direction to my League plans.
“Hmm.” Dylan stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“You know, I expect slipping into a guy is more like sticking your dick into chocolate.”
Dylan spluttered out a cough, his chest wheezing. “The fuck,” he managed with a choke.
Realizing he’d choked on his own spit, I leaned over, laughing almost uncontrollably while smacking him on the back.
“Jesus.” He edged away from me, clutching his throat. “Warn a guy.” Bright red, he coughed some more. Shaking his head, he stared at me with watery eyes. “Chocolate? The fuck, Cass?”
“What?” With my mouth stretched wide and laughter in my gut, it was hard to pull off an innocent look, let alone voice. “What’s wrong with chocolate?”
“Nothing’s wrong with chocolate, but how the hell is fucking a guy like fucking chocolate? Like a chocolate cake or a pudding?”
A pudding had merit but wasn’t what I was thinking. Not that I’d given any thought to fucking food before this moment.
“Not sure that would be tight enough.” I bounced my eyebrows up and down, and still red-faced, Dylan huffed out a strangled laugh.
“And rather than the tightness, I was thinking more about how fucking delicious and tasty chocolate is. And the velvety smooth sort you can get… yeah, it would be like fucking the good stuff.”
“Jesus H. Christ. I best not leave you alone in the company of baked goods or anything if this is going to be a new fetish of yours.”
Shooting him the bird, I chuckled. “Fuck off.” Even as the words spilled out of me, a ludicrous fucking thought trickled into my brain.
Mom had been baking for her book club. She’d said there’d be extra. Hell, the house smelled divine—it always did when she baked.
“Oh hell. What’s that look in your eyes?” Looking resigned and only slightly worried, Dylan shifted forward from where he’d been leaning against my headboard. He collapsed back on my bed and covered his face with his arm. “Just don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
I jumped up, settling on my knees beside him, and bounced the mattress for good measure. “Fuck that, you know I have the best ideas.”
“No.” He removed his arm so I could see his face. Wide-eyed, he stared up at me. “No, you seriously have the worst ideas.”
“I so do not.”
In response, his eyebrows jerked high. “Really? Take a moment and think about that.”
I tutted and pounced on him, lying fully on top of him, feet to head.
Since this position we found ourselves in was all too common, he didn’t even bat an eyelash. With my elbows settled on the bed, wedged under his armpits, I clasped my hands and settled my chin on top of them as I peered down at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
That resigned voice was back, this time paired with a “fucking hell, what’s he going to do this time” look on his face. Because Dylan wasn’t wrong. I could grudgingly admit to myself—and sometimes him in the past—that I’d done some stupid-ass shit over the years.
Consequences were always a tomorrow’s Cassius’s problem.
“You don’t want to know what it feels like to fuck food?”
And there it was. One of my not-so-awesome ideas.
Yet I still happily shared said crazy ideas out loud to my best friend.
But if I couldn’t say them to him, who could I say them to?
Obviously the answer was nobody. Maybe the answer should have also been “don’t share your fucked-up, or weird, or dangerous, or ridiculous ideas with anyone. Ever.”
But screw that.
Life was for living. Being young was for fucking up and having a good time.
Once I joined the League, I’d be under scrutiny. It meant now was the time to stir things up and do spontaneous shit that usually got me into trouble.
Realizing Dylan remained silent, I frowned. “What? You don’t want to fuck food with me?” I stuck out my bottom lip, earning me an eye roll. “Come on. Let’s call it experimenting.”
His scrunched nose was back. “Me doing any sort of masturbating with you in the room does not get me going. I love you, man, but it doesn’t mean I want to get my dick out in front of you.”
My grin was quick and wide. “I love you, too, and fuck if you not getting a stiffy because of how fucking sexy and awesome I am doesn’t make me happy, because uhm, awkward much, but this will be funny.”
“Funny? Really?” He wasn’t buying it.
It was time for a different approach. I jumped off him and headed for the door. “Wait here,” I hollered as I hauled ass toward the kitchen.
Somewhere deep in the crevices of my brain, I wondered why the hell I was so determined to do this. Not once, not ever, had I jacked off with or in front of Dylan. As my best friend, he was firmly in that zone of “do not go there,” and it worked.
But I was also a dog with a goddamn bone. Once I had an idea in my head, letting the thing go was almost impossible. I had few qualms over making a dick of myself at the best of times. In front of Dylan? None whatsoever.
I peered around the kitchen door and grinned when I saw it was empty.
The fresh scent of cooked pastry greeted me, and my stomach rumbled. Fucking and eating baked goods. Score.
Mom always made extra, especially when Dylan was around. And since he stayed here more often than not, and the two of us had hollow legs according to Dad, I had no issues with grabbing the first two pans my hands came in contact with.
I shoved them on a tray, the foil still a little warm to comfortably carry. As I stepped past the cutlery drawer, I stopped and tugged out two forks. I considered getting the cream out of the fridge but thought better of it.
Hightailing it to my room, I smirked when I realized one of the pies was actually a chocolate pie. Heck yes. Mom’s chocolate pie was the best. It was also huge, like four inches of thick, gooey-when-warm deliciousness.
I all but slammed my bedroom door closed behind me. Dylan startled, shooting up in bed. When his gaze landed on the food in my hand, he closed his eyes and collapsed back onto the mattress.
“Fuck no. Just give me a fork and I’ll eat the damn thing. No way am I putting my dick anywhere near it.”
Holding the tray, I stepped forward, ignoring Dylan’s hesitation. Not that I’d force him to do anything. I wasn’t that much of an asshole. Not that I couldn’t be, but I never was to him. I placed the tray on the bed and eyed the contents.
“You’re not seriously going to do it, right?”