Chapter Nine
Everett Young
Watching Skylar bask in his win, laughing under the setting sun, dripping wet and so delicious, feels like the ultimate sin. As if it’s an invasion of privacy to want him this way, with this much intensity.
But I can’t help it. I can’t stop my thoughts from wandering or my fingers from craving the feel of his warm skin beneath their touch.
His voice may not be high-pitched, but it sure is sweet when he calls out to me—my stomach warming as he aims that million-watt smile my way. Skylar somehow manages to turn every breath he takes into an invitation to get closer.
And the sickest part? He lets me watch him. He lets me touch, even though we’ve kissed, even though he’s come out, even though I continuously lose my cool and show him this side of me he’s never seen—that I’ve never seen.
With all of these variables working together, he still pulls me in, closer and closer still.
For reference, I have never been the jealous type. I wasn’t previously aware that I’m the kind of man to get possessive. Sure, I’ve never cared to date, but I’ve fooled around. I’ve had fuck buddies.
And yet I’ve never been the kind of guy to feel this… rage.
But now I do, and I hate it. I hate the way it manifests inside of me and sours my thoughts, my actions, turning me into someone I do not recognize.
I am inherently kind, naturally gentle. This viciousness, this desire to eliminate any person who stands between Skylar and me—it doesn’t suit me at all. It doesn’t feel good.
How do I fix it? How do I fix me? Preferably before Ash finds out I’ve been fantasizing about my male best friend and smacks me around some more.
It’s with this determination to change myself that I am climbing into bed, Skylar already passed out next to me. He’s tired, having played until the last second during his match and then swimming for hours with me, Henry, and Kelly.
I settle onto my side and watch him as he lies peacefully on his back, dark curls falling onto the pillow beneath his head, warm puffs of air escaping his parted lips.
His lashes flutter every few heartbeats, and I wonder what he’s dreaming of and if he ever thinks of me enough to place me in his subconscious.
The smooth planes of Skylar’s chest rise and fall with each breath he takes, nipples soft and relaxed against his slightly tanned skin. The comforter has wrapped itself around his narrow waist, one arm tucked under his pillow.
He is so beautiful, so vulnerable here with me.
All of his defenses are lowered. No one else sees him like this—gets to take all of him in with no consequences to fear.
I am the only one—outside of his family—allowed within striking range while he is unable to attack.
The only one allowed to get so close when he is defenseless.
I am unreasonably terrified that someday this fact will no longer be true. That somebody like Jacob, the giant football player with his easy smiles and big arms, will hold Skylar as he curls up into a little ball and dreams away.
I wonder if Skylar has messaged him.
My fingers trace his ear, retreating as he moves his head—tilting toward me to ward off the feeling. In response, I brush the hair off his forehead, feeling the silk of the curls and wrapping them around my fingertips.
I want to pull on them, to wake him up to the sensation and see how he reacts. But I don’t. I’m not allowed—never allowed.
Even if I want to, I can’t allow these wanting hands to travel down to his soft, pink lips. To caress the bridge of his nose and over the sharp edge of his jaw; the curve of his neck. I wonder what sounds he’d make if I leaned over and took one of his nipples into my mouth.
I bet no one has ever heard his sounds before.
Would he get hard? Would he grab me by my hair and keep me there, or would he shove me away? Could I slide under the blanket right this second and take him into my mouth, feeling the weight of his desire and tasting the most intimate part of him?
I pull my hands away from his hair, turning to lie on my back. I am startled by my own thoughts. I’ve never felt so dirty, so perverted.
This is a sign—I need to listen to Ash. Not only to keep my only means of transportation, my income, my fucking safety, but because this isn’t right. It’s dangerous. It’s a path I’m not meant to follow, turning me into a man I do not recognize. One I do not like.
I know there is nothing wrong with being gay; I see no issue with how other people function the way the Carmichaels do. But I can’t just wake up one day and turn off the side of my brain that was raised to believe in the path laid out for me.
I have a very simple job: be a good boy, be kind, make money, and marry a smart, beautiful woman.
That is what life is; that’s what I am built for.
And I am good, and I am kind. I just have to stay this way, to keep myself molded into this person that I’ve so desperately been clinging to for so long.
That is what I’m meant to do. Nothing more, nothing less. And anything else, any slight deviation from the plan, feels like failure.
So, it’s decided: I’ll start finding myself a suitable girlfriend just as I was advised to do. No more messing around with these worthless thoughts, these dangerous desires. All it is is torture. In the end, I am only hurting myself.
And maybe once I do, once I bring someone home and finally make Ash proud, this insatiable want I have for Skylar will go away.
Maybe then this jealous, this nasty side of me, will up and walk away too.
The next couple of days are stressful and honestly quite boring. I go home, I do homework, I sleep. If I’m not in class, I’m in my room buried in a workbook as I avoid Ash and Felicita.
And, if I’m honest, I’m also avoiding Skylar. I’m afraid that if I see too much of him, I’ll chicken out, and I won’t go through with my girlfriend plan. I only see him a few times between Monday and Friday, mostly just for lunch with Henry and Kelly, and never alone.
I can tell that he feels it, this rift I’m creating between us, but he doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t push me.
And if I’m not doing schoolwork or avoiding my adoptive parents and my best friend, I’m texting Ashley. I got her number on Tuesday morning during one of our mutual lectures.
That’s how we ended up here at Seabird, on our first official date. Unfortunately, it’s a Friday night, so everyone else is here as well. Including Skylar.
On the bright side, he’s not working, so it’s easy to avoid him. I don’t have to ask him to make a drink, and for some reason, with Ashley at my side, he does not approach me.
“When are you guys going to start studying for midterms?” one of Ashley’s friends asks as we crowd into a booth toward the back of the bar.
I can see Skylar and Kelly dancing together on the makeshift dance floor. I’m simultaneously relieved that he has someone to hang out with while I’m preoccupied, and feeling a bit left out as I watch my friends enjoy the night without me.
“On Monday. They’ll give us two weeks to prepare, I’m pretty sure. Right, Everett?” Ashley is leaning into me where I have my arm wrapped around her shoulders, and I turn my attention back to her.
“Yep,” I agree.
She looks beautiful tonight—all dark, shadowy makeup and tight clothes. Her cleavage is on full display, her skirt short but still covering what it needs to. Just the right amount of appetizing.
I really wish Skylar wasn’t here to distract me from it.
“Thanks for asking me out. I’m having fun,” she says lowly, meant only for me to hear. Her smile is genuine and sweet.
“Of course.” I clear my throat. “You look amazing.”
It is a different line to walk, much more delicate, when you’re courting a woman. When I’m picking up a hookup, I’m not stressed.
Ashley preens, giggling at me in a way that’s natural, not intended to be flirty. “I dressed up for you.”
It’s an honest admittance, and it makes me smile. “Very good.”
She blushes, tucking her face into my neck.
I hear one of her friends laugh at her embarrassment, but before I can react, I feel her warm tongue on my throat. She’s being discreet, sure, but I’m definitely not.
My eyes widen, skin flushing a dark shade of red. Her hand is on my thigh, and I’m just now noticing, becoming increasingly more aware as it travels higher and higher.
As her tongue works its way to my ear, she whispers, “Will you take me home tonight?”
To Ash’s? Ha.
“I was hoping you would take me home,” I counter, to which she giggles some more, kissing my jaw.
I let a hand run down her back, tangling into her hair. I try to refocus on the feel of her mouth, of her hand traveling up my leg and what this promises, but it’s hard when I know who else is in the room.
At this thought, I raise my eyes to find him, looking past Ashley and into the crowded bar. It takes me a minute, but then I spot him at the center of the dance floor. He’s still with Kelly and her friends, laughing as they dance around with their drinks.
My chin rests on Ashley’s shoulder as she nibbles my ear.
And as if he can feel me watching, Skylar looks in my direction, his eyes widening as he spots me. As he spots Ashley. He takes in the scene. And as our eyes connect again, a jolt moves through me. I can feel myself hardening.
Ashley laughs, whispering in my ear, “Someone’s getting excited.”
She squeezes me through my jeans.
Skylar’s brow furrows, eyes dropping to where I know he can see her hand and exactly what it’s doing. We’re sitting on the outer side of the round booth, and he’s at a distance to see everything.
His face flushes.
“Yeah.” I swallow thickly, moving just slightly against her hand.
I can’t seem to rip my eyes off of him. Skylar tilts his head, staring me down, curious and alarmed. I can’t tell if he’s intrigued or disgusted, but he does not look away from me, from what she’s doing to me.