Chapter 38
He ascended the front steps and knocked on the security door, the inner one open, the commentary of a basketball game audible inside.
A sandy black wetsuit hung up, drying. Nino answered, shirtless in board shorts that sat low on his hips.
His peroxide-blond hair was slicked back, still wet from surfing.
“How’s it hangin’, Em-Dog?” he said, clapping Emmett’s hand and pulling him in for a hug. His body moist, salty. “Dang, bro, you’re lookin’ good.”
“You too, man.” Emmett tried not to look at the tuft of dark hair peeking out above Nino’s waistband.
“Come in, make yourself at home.”
The house was a typical beach-bro bachelor pad: minimally decorated, slightly too dirty for company, the air redolent of pot and Sex Wax.
“You talked to your brother recently?” Nino said. “I’ve been trying to get him to come surfing, but man, those kids have him locked down.”
“I haven’t,” Emmett said.
“You wanna beer?”
“Sorry, can’t stay long. Did you get my text? About the—”
“Shit, everyone’s too busy for the boy.”
“Sorry—”
“Just playing. I got you.”
When Nino returned from the kitchen, he had an open bottle in one hand and a Ziploc in the other. “These look about right?”
Emmett inspected the three injector pens in the bag: missing their original packaging, but virtually identical to the ones he’d previously received from Halleck. The only difference was the dosage on these was higher. “These are the ones. Where’d you get them?”
“Shit, I’m not sure I can reveal my sources.”
“But you’re sure they’re legit?”
“Double- and triple-checked.”
“How much do I owe you?”
Nino sucked in through his teeth, a gesture Emmett interpreted as bad news. “I can do you a deal since you’re family, but we’re still looking at, fuck, at least ten grand.”
“What? But you said—”
“That was before I knew what we were dealing with. A product like this? I have a few friends at the Del Mar Country Club, I could get three times that, easy.”
“The most I can do is three.”
“Sorry, bro. Wish there was something I could do.”
Emmett briefly seethed, violence flashing white-hot across his mind and dissipating, like a sugar craving defied.
“Fine.” He turned toward the door.
“You leaving already?”
Emmett stopped, sensing something unspoken in Nino’s tone.
He spun, twisting his head, surprised to find his brother’s best friend—Emmett’s boyhood crush since before he knew he was gay—tracing Emmett’s body up and down with his eyes. Chewing his pink, sun-kissed lip, as if to prevent them from spilling secrets.
Emmett grinned.
“You know what?” he said. “I think I will take that beer.”
He walked past Nino into the small, fifties-style kitchen. The decades-old Frigidaire was nearly empty. Corona, orange juice, a Styrofoam takeout container.
Bending down to grab a bottle, Emmett sensed a presence behind him.
A tumescent warmth nestled against his crack.
He smirked. Uncapped the bottle. Drank as hot breath filled his ear. With a backward look, he invited more.
Nino’s hands, unsure but unable to resist, rose to unbutton Emmett’s jeans, unzip his fly. His jeans fell around his ankles.
Silently, Nino dropped to his knees. Emmett stiffened in the cold breeze of the fridge as Nino buried his face between his cheeks.
Perhaps it was inevitable. Nino had always been friendlier than he needed to be. Chris used to give him a hard time about it when they were teenagers, the way he encouraged Emmett, invited him to tag along. Had he sensed something that Emmett hadn’t?
“Stand up.”
Nino obeyed.
Emmett heard a tear of Velcro behind him. Nino spat into his own hand.
Emmett reached around to guide. A bit of maneuvering, a slow push, Nino sliding in deep. A pleasurable kind of pain, like eating to overfullness.
It was over fast; it seemed Nino didn’t indulge this particular kink often. A treat reserved for special occasions. His breathing, like his body, tensed and stuttered. A final thrust and Emmett came with him, splashing ropes over the container of spoiled takeout.
After, Nino disappeared into the bathroom, naked from the waist down. Emmett buttoned his jeans and closed the fridge.
His phone buzzed. Aaron.
Shit. Emmett had briefly forgotten him, blinded by his need. Now that he remembered, he didn’t feel as bad as he should. He really was becoming a monster.
He crept into the living room, peeking his head around to see Nino cleaning himself in the bathroom. The bag of EmaC-8 lay on the table where he’d dumped it.
The old Emmett would’ve waited for him to return and probably ended up paying whatever Nino demanded. But the new Emmett was done feeling ashamed of taking what he wanted, as much as he wanted.
He pocketed the bag and ran.