Chapter 15 – Braxton
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
brAXTON
"I know you weren't sick the other night, so do you want to tell me what you were doing?"
Talon asks as he snaps the cords of my microphone into place and pulls my shirt down to cover my back.
I was fucking Pookieis what I would say if I told the truth, but the truth needs to be a lot more discreet these days.
At once, I would say the first thought that slipped into my mind.
Now, I have to be careful with it. "Unfortunately for you, I really was sick.
" I turn to him with a shit-eating grin.
"You should feel bad about implying I'm a liar. "
"And you should feel bad for being a liar.
" He copies my grin and points to the crew behind me, who is setting up the camera and lighting for the lunch scene.
The Spritz is a rooftop bar in Hell's Kitchen and was chosen because it's one of the few bars in the area that would allow filming.
"Jules and I were talking," he continues.
"We're going to need a little more from you. "
I raise a brow, curious. "First I'm a liar and now I'm boring?"
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the same time. "I said nothing of the sort."
"You've been a lot calmer lately. I don't want to jump to conclusions of my own, but—"
"I'm eating Xanax like candy," he cuts me off.
"Y'all would send me to an early grave, otherwise.
If you think standing in front of the camera is stressful, you should try standing on this side of it.
" He pats me on the shoulder and passes me a sideways glare.
"Now, you and Gunnar are going to air your grievances during this lunch. "
I groan at the thought. I haven't been sleeping much lately, and I'm already on edge about this group scene for other, non-Gunnar-related reasons.
Any other time, I wouldn't need any prodding because I love fighting with Gunnar.
He's a certified goddamn prick. Today, though...
"I was really hoping for a laid-back brunch with my friends. "
"Gunnar isn't your friend," Talon so helpfully points out as he pops a tablet into his mouth, which I'm guessing is his adult candy. "He's your mortal enemy. Besides, he's aware you're coming for him, so he'll be ready for you."
"Great," I huff. "And what exactly are my grievances?"
He shrugs with a chuckle. "I'd suggest you figure that out before he strangles you for the comments you made about him being a mama's boy and getting kicked out of the Marines."
"Seriously?" I frown. "He's still pissed about that?"
He taps me on the shoulder again. "He's gunning for you. Saddle up, buddy."
He leaves me standing alone, and there's an itch I can't quite scratch—the itch to run away before I'm forced to face reality, and I'm not talking about fucking Gunnar. As I take my seat in between Boone and Dixon, I catch a glimpse of Pookie on the other side of the table.
One glance is all it takes.
Those goddamn puppy eyes, dark and mysterious, and hungry for this dick.
And look, I'm still not gay.
Sure, it—the sex—felt good.
His hole, so warm and tender, clenching and squeezing. Felt just like a pussy. Mmm, maybe slightly better? Fuck, I don't know.
I catch him looking again.
Fuckkkkkk. I can't even look the dude in the eyes.
I'm always looking anywhere—over his shoulder, over my shoulder, at the wall behind him.
I think he's starting to notice. This morning, he walked around the apartment with his head hung low, avoiding eye contact with me too.
I hope he doesn't think he did anything wrong, because he didn't. If anyone did anything wrong, it was me.
I shouldn't have done that. But ya know, my mouth likes running its mouth, and my dick...
well, it likes things that dicks are prone to liking.
Hot, warm mouths.
Tongues.
Tight, smooth, warm holes.
Little guy just likes to feel real good, ya know?
I'm a giver. That's what I do. I give. You should see me during Christmas time.
You get a present, you get a present, everyone gets a present!
My cock was a birthday gift to Pookie, which actually makes me extremely generous.
The problem is that it's a few days past his birthday, and I find myself wanting to unload another present inside him.
I was watching porn on my phone last night while safely tucked under the covers in my bed, the bright screen lighting up the wall behind me.
Stud pounds college girl in her dorm after party.
Real good amateur shit. On a normal night, I'd finish before the seven-minute clip ended.
I was on my third video, and though my cock was reactive, it wasn't erupting the way it should.
I beat my cock raw and red, dancing on the edge of release but not quite making it over the ledge.
I closed my eyes as I continued to pump my swollen, aching cock, and all too soon the woman's moans of pleasure deepened until it was the sound of Pookie's cries coming from my phone.
Even though he was across the hall, sleeping in his own bed, I imagined he was face down on my bed, taking my dick like a professional slut.
Took about twenty more seconds, and my fist was coated in a thick load of hot, sticky regret.
When I woke up this morning, the first thing I saw was my cock winking at me.
It'd climbed through the cock-slit of my boxers.
Harder than a fucking rock and leaking at the tip.
I didn't have much time to battle my cock's new proclivities, though, so I beat my meat thinking about him.
Thinking about fucking his ass, turning him over, and painting his lips with my jizz.
In the end, it was my own lips that were painted with my own cum as I exploded in my fist and sprayed my face.
And now we're here, having to pretend we're just friends in front of the camera.
What the fuck, bro?We are justfriends. Nothing has changed. Nothing needsto change.
The cameras start rolling, and everything is going well enough. Nobody is fighting yet, but I keep catching stray glares from Gunnar. I watch as he takes a long sip of water, his dark eyes peeking over the glass. Truth be told, I'd rather confront his bitch-ass than confront Pookie's sweet ass.
I choke on my own water in a desperate attempt to stuff the thought of Pookie's ass down, but it's a hard pill to swallow, and the continued memory of Pookie's warmth gets lodged somewhere halfway down my throat.
I hold a hand against my chest, trying to relieve the choking sensation, but my mind wanders—as it tends to do—to the thought of Pookie's throat and how fucking good it felt on my cock.
I wince at the intrusive thoughts and push away the images playing in my mind. Instead, I think about how good it'd feel to wrangle my hands around Gunnar's throat. It's thick and veiny, and...
"How dare you?" I seethe at Gunnar across the table. Confronting him is the only way to shake Pookie from my mind. "You're a real piece of shit, you know that?"
Gunnar grins and nods. He's been waiting for this. "I'm the piece of shit?" he asks rhetorically. Maverick's eyes dance between the two of us, clearly caught off guard by the sudden excitement. "Please tell me what I've done to you."
"You know what you did." I wag my finger at him and grit my teeth, desperately trying to remember what exactly he's done to me.
I glance at Talon, who stands behind the filming crew, hoping for a cue card or something.
It never comes. "I..." I sink back in my chair and spit out whatever the fuck decides to come out of my mouth.
"You never paid me back for that lap dance I bought you at The Golden Heel. "
He cackles in amusement. "That was two years ago, you fucking idiot."
That's when I notice the empty chair between Pookie and Gunnar. "Is Kolter coming?" I ask, taking the coward's way out by changing the subject.
Boone clears his throat and shakes his head gently. "Kolter is taking the year off."
"Wait, what?" I stammer, confused at the revelation. "Is he in rehab or something?"
Boone twists his glare sideways and whispers to me, "Are you fucking kidding me right now?
" He lets out an agitated sigh and scratches at the stubble on his chin.
I've unintentionally set a trap for him, and he now has no choice but to talk about whatever he clearly wants to keep secret.
He straightens himself out and rises to his feet.
"I'm sorry this is the way you all have to find out, but my brother isn't coming back to Pinks this year.
He's taking some time off for some personal reasons that he's not ready to talk about yet, but he says he misses you all.
" He narrows his gaze on me as he sits back down. "And no, he's not in fucking rehab."
"That's Braxton for you," Gunnar scoffs. "Always poking around in other people's business."
Normally, I'd be irritated at Gunnar's attempt to redirect this back on me.
However, it's a welcome change of pace from Boone's judgmental gaze, which I totally deserve.
"Gunnar, if you're mad about what I said two fucking weeks ago, you need to see a therapist. If you're upset because you couldn't hack the Marines, you should invent a time machine and try not being such a crayon-eating moron. "
"You have an ass-beating coming your way one of these days.
" Gunnar aims his head to the sky and howls.
"You're not in the military." He aims a finger at me in the shape of a gun.
"You don't get to use the crayon-eating insult.
And you know what, I'm not even mad about that.
I'm not even mad about the hoe comment. That's the least of my ire.
But what you're not gonna do is talk about my mama. "
"I didn't talk about your mom," I correct him. "I said you were a mama's boy."
"Her name doesn't leave your mouth. Do you understand that?"
I respond with a roll of my eyes and a heavy sigh.
But he's not finished yet. "Everyone knows my mom and I are close, which I'm guessing you're jealous of since your mom has been hands-off since you were old enough to walk."
It takes me entirely too long to process the attack Gunnar has just dished out. It's a low blow, but maybe I fucking deserve it. For once, I'm stunned into silence, gripping the arm of my chair.
"Okay Gunnar, that's enough," Pookie says flatly. "You don't have to be such a dick all the time."
Gunnar's eyes dart in Pookie's direction. "Shut the fuck up and wait your turn."
"Excuse me?" Pookie huffs, and I want to defend him.
I needto defend him, but again, the whole stunned into silencething.
"You heard what the fuck I said," Gunnar says deadpan and takes another sip of water.
"Okay, I think this is getting out of hand," Maverick interjects, leaning forward. "Why don't we all just cool down?"
Maverick is what I call a shit-stirrer. He's a plastic spoon stirring the tea with a cocky grin on his face, but to his credit, he doesn't like that tea dark.
He prefers to keep it light and fluffy, and there's a storm brewing in the sky.
Not a literal one, but a figurative one.
Reality is starting to blur and I'm not quite sure what's real anymore.
Who's pretending to be mad and who's actually mad?
Who's straight and who's... wait, that's not right.
"I agree with Maverick," I say, glaring at Gunnar. "Youneed to cool it."
Gunnar passes me a knowing smirk. He's up to no good. "I think we should talk about Pookie." He swivels in his chair to face Pookie. "I think you're hiding something. I think you're full of secrets."
"What?" Pookie asks, breathless. The pink complexion of his cheeks fades in an instant, the look of a ghost passing over him. His eyes twist sideways, looking past me as a shadow falls over that side of the table. There's this look in his eyes, this look I can't quite describe.
"Hi, everyone," a friendly voice beckons from behind me.
A malicious smile crawls across Gunnar's lips. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet the man I've been seeing." He rises to his feet and pulls out the empty chair beside him.
A man, a stranger, takes a seat in between Gunnar and Pookie.
He's tall and slender with dark hair with spots of pepper in it.
He wears white chinos, a white cashmere shirt, and his eyes are tucked behind an expensive pair of dark shades.
He waves to the table and passes Pookie a sideways smirk. "I'm Cameron."