Chapter Ten
Everett Young
We’re sitting on the couch in an awkward silence about forty-five minutes later, Family Guy running quietly in the background.
I have no clue what to say. How do I tell my best friend that I’m pissed at him for touching someone else when I was touching someone else? Everything is so fucked up now, and I can’t control this anger. This jealousy.
These feelings are all so new to me, and I don’t particularly like them.
“Listen,” Skylar starts, “we pissed each other off last night. Clearly.”
He waits for my response, but all I can manage is a short nod. I’m observing him from the corner of my eye, my arms crossed where I sit like a pouting toddler.
He goes on, adding, “So, let’s just both say sorry and drop it. Unless you want to dive into all the details, but it’s obvious neither of us really want to.”
It’s the perfect out; he’s right, I don’t want to dive into this right now. And whatever it is he’s so pissed about, he clearly doesn’t want to express it either.
There is no way to logically explain my anger and my jealousy, not when there is no solution. My only option is surrender.
“I’m sorry. For whatever I did.” My surrender is kind of half-assed, but at least I spoke.
Skylar takes a deep breath, as if he’s stopping himself from talking shit as he retracts those fangs of his and apologizes as well. “Me too. I’m sorry.”
Our gazes clash, the room silent and full of unnamed tension. What happens now?
Skylar huffs. “Fuck this. Let’s drink.”
I laugh, full of relief as my eyes flicker to the clock on the wall. “Sky, it’s two in the afternoon.”
He shrugs. “This is why they invented day drinking.”
That is a very valid point.
“Fine. Break out the booze.”
Skylar grins, all white teeth and sharp canines. So fucking pretty.
As he gathers several liquor bottles, the glass clinking as they smack together, and two shot glasses, I consider that this might be a bad idea.
What if I say something I shouldn’t? What if we end up in another… compromising position?
And why does this possibility make me want to drink more? I can feel my body heating up at the thought, at the possibility of it. Skylar drops the supplies onto the coffee table—the one he did an almost naked backflip off of before he made out with me—and sits on the floor next to it.
“Okay, let’s play a game.” His eyes are determined, his body tense.
“What game?” I ask him, sitting in front of him before pouring us both a shot of Crown.
He cracks open two cans of Coke. “Hm. How about we ask each other a question, and if we don’t want to answer, we have to take a shot.”
I shrug, casually replying, “Sure.”
Maybe, if he gets drunk enough, I can find out if he slept with Jacob.
“Me first. Who was that girl from last night?” Skylar sounds eager, eyes drilling into mine.
Damn. Okay. Getting straight into it, I see.
“Ashley, from my department,” I reply before taking my shot, and Skylar laughs.
“You only take a shot if you don’t answer, dumbass,” he chastises, pouring me another.
“But I needed it.” I take a sip of my Coke. “It’s my turn: do you use my keychain?”
He pulls his keys from his front pocket, dangling them as he showcases the keychain hooked to them. “I put it on before the gym the morning after my birthday. I’m taking a shot too.”
I’m trying to hide my smile and failing miserably as I watch his every move. He throws back the shot of whiskey. As he licks his lips, I can’t find it in myself to look away.
A moment later, Skylar asks, “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
My brow furrows. “You know I haven’t.”
“Just wondering,” he mutters, but now he’s not meeting my eyes.
“Okay.” I think for a moment, trying to find something that I can ask that will segue into what I really want to know. “Is the concept of virginity important to you?”
Skylar scrunches his nose, takes a shot, but answers anyway. “What do you mean?”
I clear my throat before clarifying. “Like, do you think it’s important?”
He considers this for a moment, tapping his fingers against his empty shot glass. “I guess not. But maybe I would have, if I was younger when I lost it.”
That sounds a lot like past tense. As in he has lost it.
I think I’m going to vomit.
“Huh,” is my only response; it’s all I can force out.
He raises a brow. “Am I supposed to?”
“Is that your question?”
Skylar laughs, taking another shot, so I match him. I can feel the heat in my skin, the liquor burning inside of me.
“I guess it is,” he concedes.
“Then no. I don’t think you have to. I didn’t.”
Skylar watches me for a moment before asking, “When did you lose yours?”
“Nope. My turn,” I deflect, and he rolls his eyes, waving me on. “Why haven’t you told your parents you’re gay?”
He pauses, seemingly shocked by the question. I’m not sure why, considering the breakfast we just had and the fact that he came out to me not long ago.
“Same reason I didn’t tell you, I guess,” he finally answers. “I haven’t found a reason to.”
We both take a shot at that. It’s not even a game anymore; we’re drinking and grilling each other. That’s it.
So much for not wanting to dive into things.
“When did you lose your virginity?” he asks again.
“Junior year of high school, to Sally Crossworth.”
He gasps. “The varsity cheerleader?!”
I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face, chuckling lightly. “Yep.”
“Jesus. Where?”
I tsk. “You’re only allowed one question at a time, puppy.”
“Ugh.” His cheeks are flushed, whether from the conversation or the liquor, I’m unsure.
But we’re several shots deep and our lightweight asses—him more than me—are definitely feeling it now.
“My house,” I answer, despite the rules. “Ash and Felicita were out of town.”
He gasps again. “You whore!”
I laugh, taking another shot with Skylar not far behind. “So you’ve said.”
His smile falls away, suddenly serious as he says, “I don’t mean it, though. Not really.”
“I know.”
This soft change in the direction of our conversation makes the air feel thick and heavy. He’s staring at me, and I’m just now realizing how close we’re sitting.
It’s bright in the room with the curtains pulled open, and it’s still midday, but it might as well be midnight in a crowded club with the vibe that’s settling in here.
“Did you go home with him?” I guess I’ve drunk enough, gathered enough courage, for the question to slip out.
Skylar’s eyes are searching mine, and I’m not sure what they’re portraying, but he isn’t satisfied with the results. He doesn’t seem to be shocked that I’m asking.
“No,” he finally replies.
“Did he come here?”
“One question at a time, Evie.” He smirks, and I groan in annoyance. So close! “How does it feel to get your dick sucked?”
I have no time to dwell on the fact that his answer could mean that Jacob was in this apartment, because I’m now registering his follow-up questions and—what?!
My mouth falls open in shock. It takes me an embarrassingly long amount of time to close it, to answer. I can’t believe Skylar just asked me that. If he did sleep with Jacob last night, that guy fucking blows in bed.
He had Skylar naked and didn’t put his dick in his mouth?
“Uh.” I scratch the back of my neck, shifting my eyes to settle on the now half-empty bottle of Crown. He’s staring too intently, and it’s making me feel hot. “I guess it’s like…Man, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like… warm?”
Skylar chuckles, shoving a shot in my direction. “Shitty answer. Drink.”
I take the shot and try again anyway. If anyone is going to explain to Skylar what it’s like to feel your dick shoved into something so hot and wet, it’s me.
I can imagine it happening now; I can imagine it’s him, and he loves it almost as much as I do.
“It’s like a concentrated pulse, almost. Hot and intense, and it makes your whole body tingle.” I’m not too sure if he’s understanding, or if I’m doing well enough at explaining, but Skylar is focused. Drawn in and hanging onto my every word.
I keep going, my mind’s eye giving me visions of my dirtiest fantasies. “And if it’s with someone you really like, you can barely even look at them.”
He leans forward, eyes wide. “Why?”
There’s something sexy about telling him—about teaching him—that’s sucking all of the awkwardness out of the conversation.
“Because seeing it is a lot more intense than feeling it. When you look down and see them wrapped around you, it heightens everything by at least ten. It’ll blow your mind. It’ll feel like dying.”
I imagine I would. I imagine that, if Skylar got on his knees and swallowed me up, I would simply stop breathing.
He huffs out a heavy, hot breath that soaks straight into my skin. I breathe it in, watching the blue swim in his eyes. Watching the heat dance. The air around us is charged.
“Wow,” he whispers.
“Yeah, wow,” I mimic. I’m caught under his spell as he swallows audibly, just barely sensible enough to finally ask, “Did you bring him home with you, Skylar?”
Slowly, after what feels like an eternity in purgatory, he shakes his head. “No, I didn’t sleep with him. That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”
With only half of his attention, he pours us both another shot, throwing his back like he needs it to breathe.
“Everett,” he starts again. “Do you like guys?”
Every muscle in my body locks. I can barely hold his stare. “No, I don’t think so.”
He tilts his head at me. “So, you’ve never wanted to be with a guy before?”
Pouring myself another shot and throwing it back, I do not answer.
Skylar grins. “Who was it?”
“One question at a time,” I remind him.
“Answer me.”
I laugh, shaking my head at him as I say, “No, it’s my turn.”
Skylar shoves me, pinching at my side. “Answer me!”
I shove him back. “You’re so demanding.”
“Yeah, and you like it, apparently.”
I can feel my face flush, though the liquor is probably hiding it. But even through my embarrassment, I mutter, “Yeah, I do.”
He’s staring at me again, eyes searching my face as he smiles—soft and sweet. The picture of a pretty little puppy, and yet I can feel it in my bones that he’s winding up to make a fatal blow.
The predator and the prey—that is who Skylar is.
“Answer me, Evie.”
“I can’t.” It’s a whisper, all humor draining from my voice and exiting the conversation entirely. I consider for a moment that I might be too drunk.
“Why not?” he presses.
He might be closer now, slowly inching nearer and nearer.
“I just can’t.”
“I think I know.” Skylar is watching my mouth, eyes glazed over and so fucking bright—so full of heat.
I was right; we might just end up in a compromising position. I have to try and stop it, even if it’s just barely. That way I have something to lean on as I beat myself up tomorrow.
“Don’t say it.” I’m begging him, but I’m not moving away as his hand moves to rest next to my thigh and he gets impossibly closer.
“Is it me?” he asks softly. I close my eyes. “Is that why you looked like you wanted to hit me last night while I was dancing with Jacob?”
“I need a drink.” My voice is shot, and the black behind my eyelids is failing at hiding him from me.
I can see him anyway. I can always fucking see him.
“Evie.”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
Slowly—so slowly and so petrified—I open my eyes. He’s right here, right in front of me, completely in my space.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” he prompts. “You want to touch me.”
I say nothing, because I do. God, I want to touch him so badly; I want to taste him and hear him and see what he looks like once he’s naked and panting and stretching so obscenely around me.
“Please, Sky. Don’t do this to me,” I plead.
It’s my last-ditch effort. If he pushes once more, that’s three strikes. I’m out.
I will devour him.
And just as my intuition told me he would, he drops those figurative fangs of his and lunges, sinking his teeth straight into me.
Skylar is, by definition, the prettiest fucking predator.
“I want you to,” he murmurs. “I want you to touch me.”
Annnnnd, he hits it right out of the park. Home fucking run.
“Go to your room.”
Skylar startles at my demand, forcing out an absentminded, “Sorry?”
“Your room. Now.” I stand, staring down at him.
The moment he realizes what I’m insinuating, he grins, standing quickly and turning toward the bedroom. As he tips forward due to all the alcohol rushing through his system, I wrap an arm around his waist and steady him against me.
“Oops,” he laughs out, leaning back onto my chest.
I breathe him in, dragging my lips over his neck, relishing the shiver it earns me.
“Evie,” he pants out, breathless and awed.
“Go.” I nudge him forward, watching as he stumbles down the hall.
And lord help me; we are so fucked tomorrow.