Chapter 8
WEST
The pattern of lights moving over my ceiling from the moonlight trickling through my window is strangely mesmerizing.
I’ve been trying to sleep for the past half hour, but it’s like my brain refuses to stop spinning.
I was feeling anxious and restless again when I got back to my room after working on the project with Ant. I lasted about ten minutes before I changed into my gym gear and went down to the basement to work out.
It was late enough that I was the only one there, and I went through my usual routine, then added twenty minutes of stair climbing at the end just to make sure that I was good and exhausted when I finished.
Things were fine until I got back to my room and took a shower, and that’s when my brain went into overdrive.
I’ll never admit this to anyone, but lately, I’ve been thinking and fantasizing about things I know I shouldn’t. Instead of picturing McKenna or another woman while I jerk it, I’ve been thinking about men.
At first it was more of a concept of a fantasy where I thought about how it might feel to be with a man.
I didn’t picture anyone or think about someone in particular; I just imagined what strong hands might feel like on my skin, or how a hard body over mine and wide hips between my thighs would be different from what I’m used to.
Then I started thinking about particular acts, like blowing someone or getting blown, and that eventually turned into full-on fantasies that could rival most porn videos.
The vast majority of my fantasy costars were fictional, like the actual character from a show or movie, not the actor who played them.
But one night, the image of a fitness influencer I’ve been following for years shifted until all I could see was a pair of familiar blue eyes staring up at me, and I nearly came just from the vague thought of Anthony on his knees for me.
An image of exactly that forms in my mind’s eye, and I let out a frustrated sigh as I roll over and smush my face into my pillow.
Why the fuck am I getting hard from just the memories of my fantasies? I thought I was past the days when a strong wind could get me hard if it blew over me the right way.
Thinking about guys when I’m jerking off isn’t the problem. Picturing one of my frat brothers—who’s also going to be one of the leaders next year—when I do it is.
Groaning loudly, I roll onto my side and wiggle around to try and find the perfect pillow position.
I probably wouldn’t be such a mess about my inconvenient crush on Anthony if he weren’t so damn confusing.
Just like all the other times I’ve been around him, everything about what went down in his room was completely innocent, but at the same time, it was also suggestive as hell.
Me walking in on him when he was all sweaty and gorgeous from his workout because he ran late and I was on time for once makes sense, and him not putting a shirt on after his shower isn’t that weird either, especially now that I know he played hockey.
Any guy in competitive sports has spent enough time hanging out in locker rooms with their teammates that being shirtless around other guys doesn’t even register as something out of the ordinary for someone like him. And as a former athlete, I get it.
But what’s really tripping me up is how we sat right next to each other as we went over the interview topics. I didn’t need to be pressed up against him like that while we read off his phone, but was that a me thing, or him?
He initiated it, but which one of us is the reason it kept going?
It’s true he didn’t pull his phone away or make any indication that he didn’t want me to be right next to him like that, but it’s not like I gave him much choice.
I could have pulled the syllabus up on my own phone at any point, but I didn’t because I liked being close to him and I didn’t want to move away.
Does he think I’m some sort of weirdo who doesn’t understand personal space? Or maybe he was just being polite and didn’t know how to tell me to back off?
Even the suggestive comments and innuendos he dropped weren’t anything unusual. And like always, they skirted the line between teasing and flirty, so it’s impossible to know exactly what he meant by them, or even if he meant anything at all.
It wouldn’t be so bad if he was like that with everyone, but as far as I can tell, he’s really only like that with me.
I don’t hang out with him outside of the house, so I don’t really know what he gets up to when he’s not here, but he has a reputation around campus as being standoffish and broody, and that’s not the guy who’s been driving me crazy for the past three years.
“Ugh,” I groan softly and drag my hands down my face, like I’m trying to physically peel my thoughts away.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him, or any guy, right now. I have enough going on without adding dude drama to the mix.
The mental reminder of my other problems hits me like a pie to the face, and I let out another loud groan as more thoughts fill my already overcrowded head.
I’d almost forgotten about the flash drive full of audio files sitting in my desk drawer, and what I found on them.
Most of the files seemed relatively innocuous, but there were a few where the people on them were discussing things they definitely wouldn’t want getting out, like their involvement in past schemes and even a few crimes.
Then there’s the folder where I heard Xave’s name, and the folders where I heard all of his cousins’ names.
Normally I would have gone straight to Damon and told him about it, but I’ve kept so much from him for the past six months that I don’t know how to talk to him about any of this.
If I tell him about the drive, I’ll have to tell him how I got my hands on it, and that will lead to me spilling everything about McKenna, the texts I got, and my bi reawakening, as I’ve come to call it.
I love Damon, and he’s my best friend, but I’m not ready to tell him about any of what’s going on in my life.
He might be an introvert who doesn’t give a fuck what people think of him, but he’s also got his shit together, and he’s been cleaning up my messes and bailing me out since we met.
And as stupid as it is, I’m not ready to tell him that I’m into guys. I’m still salty he didn’t tell me he’s bi when he and Xave were getting together. I understand why he kept it a secret, but it still hurts that he didn’t confide in me when he needed someone to talk to.
But then again, I haven’t been confiding in him when I need someone to talk to, either, so can I really be salty at him for doing the exact same thing that I did first?
“Ugh,” I groan into the quiet room and pull my pillow out from under my head. “Shut the fuck up already,” I mutter to my brain and slap my pillow over my face.
I need to get over my pettiness and tell Damon about the drive. Whatever Xave gets involved in affects Damon, and holding it back could be putting him in danger.
“Fine,” I say into my pillow. I’ll give it to him tomorrow and just make sure that I don’t spill all of my secrets in one big info dump when I do. I can just tell him I found it when I was out for a walk, and he can deal with it however he wants.
But that also raises the question of who else I’m going to tell.
I know what’s on that drive is important, even if I don’t fully understand the context or why those particular files were saved.
I should tell someone in the house about it in case this is something the frat needs to worry about, but who?
Our current leadership is the obvious choice, but I don’t trust any of them not to use whatever’s on that drive to their advantage while screwing the rest of us over.
I could give it to Liam, but I don’t really know him, and he’s crazy smart. I don’t think I could get away with lying to him about how I got my hands on it, and that could open a whole can of worms that I’m not ready, or willing, to deal with.
I could always give it to my dad so he can take it to the alumni and they can deal with it, but as much as I hate thinking it, I’m not sure he can be trusted with it either. Same with my brothers.
I love my dad and my brothers because they’re my family, but I don’t really like them, and they definitely don’t like me.
I know they love me in their own way, but I’ve been disappointing them since the day I was born, and they’ll never see me as anything other than a dumb kid who can’t get his shit together.
The only other person I can think of to give the drive to is Anthony. He’s going to be one of our leaders next year, so he’s technically in the chain of command, but we could both get in a lot of trouble if the current leadership found out that I bypassed them and went to Ant first.
The moonlight filtering through my window dims, the change knocking me free from my thoughts, and I roll back over and grab my phone off my bedside table to check the time.
“Fuck.” It’s almost two in the morning. I have an early class tomorrow that I’m definitely skipping.
“If you could shut the fuck up now, that would be great,” I say into the quiet room.
It’s probably a sign of just how insane I actually am, but talking to my “brain” out loud like that is something I’ve always done.
It doesn’t always work, but verbally interrupting my thoughts is sometimes enough to break whatever hold they have on me before I fall too far down the spiral.
I’m just putting my phone down when I accidentally press the home button, and my phone lights up, my lock screen bright in the dark room.
Something in my gut twists painfully at the photo of McKenna and me under the prompt for my passcode. It’s my favorite picture of us because, unlike almost every other photo we’ve taken together, we didn’t pose for it.