Chapter 8
I’d been back on campus for exactly one day before Hunter cornered me outside the humanities building with his backpack slung over one shoulder and a grin already forming.
“Your face is funny,” he said, falling into step beside me as I crossed the quad. The Tuesday afternoon crowd flowed around us—girls with iced lattes, a guy on a longboard narrowly missing a trash can, the usual chaos.
“My face is not funny.”
“It absolutely is. You’ve seen God.” He ducked his head to catch my eye, and his sandy blond hair flopped forward. “What happened in Florida?”
I kept walking, my Converse scuffing the brick pathway. I could lie—say it was nothing, change the subject. But the story was too big to hold in, especially from Hunter. The one person on this entire campus who’d seen another man’s ass rendered in graphite and laughed instead of running.
“I sucked Evan Brock’s dick,” I said.
Hunter stopped walking. A girl behind him nearly rear-ended his backpack and shot him a dirty look as she swerved around. He didn’t notice. His mouth opened, then closed, a few syllables dying before they could form.
I counted to thirty before he finally spoke.
“You WHAT?”
“Keep your voice down.” I grabbed his elbow and yanked him toward the edge of the path, under one of the campus oaks where the foot traffic thinned. “I’m serious, Hunter. This cannot leave—”
“You sucked his dick.” He said it again, slower this time, as if tasting each word individually.
His hands came up to grip both my shoulders, and he shook me once, gently, the way you’d jostle a vending machine that ate your dollar.
“Holy shit.” He released my shoulders and ran both hands through his hair, pacing in a tight circle.
“Holy shit. How did—when did—was it—” He stopped mid-circle.
“Okay. I need details. From the beginning and leave nothing out.”
I took a long pull from my water bottle. The memory was a jumble of heat and sensation. I didn’t know what to say first.
The story came out in pieces—Evan dropping his pants, my thirty seconds of stunned silence. I told him about kneeling on the bed, and his jaw went slack. When I got to the part about Evan calling me pretty, Hunter let out a strangled squeak of disbelief.
By the time I finished, he was bent over his knees, huffing as if he’d just run a play. “I have so many questions.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He straightened up, and the expression on his face could only be defined as shameless curiosity. “How big are we talking?”
“Hunter.”
“I need a frame of reference. I’ve been staring at that guy at the gym for three years, and he always has a towel on when he gets out of the shower. Are we talking above average? Significantly? Or are we in, like, urban-legend territory?”
“It’s big.” My face was heating up, and I took another pull of water. “Really big.”
“Define it, Tommy.”
“I’m not giving you measurements, Hunter.”
“A comparison, then. A household object. A piece of produce. Give me something.”
I stared at him, my brain refusing to cooperate. My entire sexual history was a barren wasteland followed by one volcanic event, and Hunter wanted me to categorize the lava flow using produce.
“A remote,” I said under my breath.
Hunter’s jaw dropped. Then he slapped his thigh and let out a bark of laughter that turned three heads on the pathway. “A remote?”
“I’m walking away now.”
He caught up in two strides and threw his arm around my shoulders. “I’m proud of you, bud. You went from sketching the man’s ass in secret to deep-throating him in a hotel room.” Hunter’s voice shifted, dipping into concern.
“The next road trip is in two weeks. He said this would be a recurring thing. I guess we’ll see if he meant it or not.”
Hunter nodded, his eyes on the path ahead. His hand went to his hair, pushing it back from his forehead as his jaw worked slightly to one side.
“Do you want it to be a thing?” he asked.
The honest answer rose fast and sharp in my throat. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then enjoy it,” he said. “Seriously. You deserve to have someone’s hands on you. Or mouth. Or whatever Evan Brock is bringing to the table.” He paused. “But, Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
“The season ends in May. And after that, he’s gone. Draft, minors, wherever. I just…” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Don’t want you to be blindsided. That’s all.”
The warmth in his voice was worse than any lecture. It hit the exact fear I’d been pushing down over the last twenty-four hours, ever since Evan first dropped his pants. That this was temporary, a secret kept in hotel rooms with a clear expiration date.
My throat tightened, and I stared at the frayed edge of my left shoelace, anywhere but at my friend. “I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m a big boy, Hunter.”
He bumped his shoulder against mine. “I know you are. I also know you, and I don’t think you do casual well. You sketched a man’s ass fourteen times before even talking to him.”
The words were a direct hit to my heart. “I’ll be careful,” I said as I guzzled down the rest of my water. And I meant it. Mostly.
Hunter studied me for another beat, then decided he’d pushed enough. His posture loosened, and the grin crept back across his face. “When the season ends and if you’re still craving dick, you can always have mine. I’ve been told it’s respectable.”
Water shot out of my nose. I doubled over, coughing and sputtering, liquid burning my sinuses and dripping down my chin. Hunter thumped my back with an open palm, cackling like a hyena.
“You—” I gasped, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “You absolute psychopath.”
“What? I’m being a good friend. Offering resources.” He was wheezing now, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “It’s called emotional support.”
“Try being an asshole, Hunter.” I straightened up, still coughing.
Hunter slung his arm back around my shoulders, shaking with residual laughter. “I love you, man. Now let’s get lunch. You can tell me more about the remote.”
“I’m never telling you anything ever again.”
“Yes, you will.” He steered me toward the dining hall, his grip light and comforting as he delivered the final, undeniable truth. “You always do.”