Day 13 Providence, RI
MAX
I’M SUPPOSED TO BE EATING my waffles, but I can’t stop staring at Sam.
He’s looking down at his food, paying me no mind as he cuts into his eggs over easy, bright yellow yolk spilling across his plate.
He tears up bits of toast to mop it up, every movement neat and precise.
It’s just like any other morning after a hotel night, me and Sam out for a leisurely breakfast, letting Roxie and Blake have the room before checkout.
Except this morning, I woke up with Sam in my arms, my hard cock nestled against his ass and my head full of X-rated thoughts that I’ve never entertained about my best friend’s body.
And when we tried to leave for breakfast, I pinned him to the wall in the hallway next to the ice machine and kissed him until a maid walked by and giggled at us.
It’s like I’m possessed. But I’m not even mad about it.
Sam glances up from his plate, and when he catches me looking at him, he lays down his fork. “Dude.”
“Sorry, I can’t eat when you’re sitting there looking like that.”
Sam blushes so pink that I’m a little worried he’s going to start glowing in the dark. “This is, uh, just what I look like.”
“I know, but —” I lean forward, putting my elbows on the table, and he mirrors me, biting back a smile. “Remember that summer when we discovered jerking off?”
“Shhh —” His eyes dart over to the table next to us, where a mom of two small kids is giving me a dirty look.
“Sorry —” I drop my voice considerably. “You know how we didn’t even want to go outside because we just wanted to jack it all day? Well, that’s what it’s like now. I can’t think about anything except what I’m going to do the next time I’m alone with you.”
“You know, that’s kind of a thing — like being a teenager all over again,” Sam says carefully. “Like, it didn’t happen to me because I figured out everything all at once. But I’ve heard, if some of it happens later, that the feelings might be really intense, especially if you’re — well —”
He hesitates, and I tilt my head. “If I’m what?”
“Bisexual.” He looks so nervous when he says it that I want to squeeze him. “But dude, don’t let me put labels on this if you’re not ready, or if it doesn’t feel right. However you come out, or if you even want to or whatever, it’s up to you —”
“Dude, it’s okay.” He’s picking at his fingernails again, and I reach out to stop him. When he looks up at me, I take a deep breath. “You know I would always come to you about any of this stuff and I respect your opinion more than anybody else’s. And um — yeah. Bisexual. Probably me.”
Sam’s eyes get real big. Then he smiles, a slow smile that breaks across his face like sunshine from behind a cloud. And he leans all the way across the table and he kisses me, right in the middle of the crowded restaurant.
“I am so proud of you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for telling me.”
Somehow we make it through the rest of breakfast, waffles and all. Somehow I get him out of the restaurant before I pin him down on the passenger seat of the van and kiss him until I’m breathless. Somehow I’m not screaming my head off, even though my whole world is spinning off its axis.
But honestly? I’m just fucking happy. Who gives a shit about the rest?
sam
“You know what sucks about the fact that this happened on tour?” Max whispers into my ear, dropping a kiss at the corner of my jaw.
“What?” I breathe back, squeezing his sides with my knees.
We’re in a supply closet at the university coffee shop in Providence where we’re playing tonight — and yeah, I guess the insanity of the past few days has come to this.
A little while ago, Max grabbed me by the belt when I was walking by and dragged me in here — not like he had to try very hard.
Logical Sam is currently tied up with duct tape in a back corner of my brain, and I’m really liking this sassy, horny guy who has taken over instead.
But after our little conversation at breakfast this morning, who could blame me? Surely I get to be happy once in a while.
At the moment, I’m perched up on a table in the corner, my thighs spread so that Max can press up against me. It’s — well, let’s just say that it’s nice.
But Max is saying something. “If we were home, we could call in sick for the day and then I could keep you in my bed —”
“My bed —”
Max freezes, his lips hovering over my shoulder. “What?”
I slide my hand up into his hair, nosing along the line of helix piercings in his left ear. “There is no way on this earth that you are ever convincing me to hook up in your bed —”
“What’s wrong with my bed?” Max growls, his fingers digging possessively into my waist.
I pull back and stare at him, lifting one eyebrow as high as it will go.
Max snorts. “You sleep on a futon.”
“At least I can sit up in bed without cracking my head open.”
“Oh yeah?” Max might talk a big game, but he’s slowly easing my shirt up, running his palms across bare skin. “Just for that, I’m not going to tell you the sexy and romantic thing I was going to say.”
I let my eyes go big, pushing out my lip a little. “Please —”
He leans closer, his next words rumbling into my ear. “I know you can do better than that.”
Oh. Well, that starts a tingle deep in my belly that I’m not quite ready to unpack. But two can play that game.
“Please, Max —” I slip both hands into his back pockets, squeezing his hips between my knees and nipping at the side of his throat. “Please tell me the sexy and romantic thing that you were going to say —”
“Mmm, you drive a hard bargain,” he groans, grinding up against me. “I was going to say that if we were home, I could spend all day in bed with you learning what gets you off, taking our time. But instead we have to hook up in janitors’ closets and we might get interrupted at any moment.”
Okay, I’m pretty sure that I’m going to melt. “You really want to know what gets me off?”
Max lifts my face with both hands, and after all the teasing, it’s so gentle that I could cry. “I want to know everything I don’t know about you.”
I lock eyes with him, and wordlessly, I strip off my tank top and drop it onto the table beside me.
“Sammy —” He drops his hands to my bare waist, touching me almost reverently.
“Remember, uh — remember when I got these?” I push out my chest and point to one of my nipple rings. “It wasn’t just because I like how they look.”
Max grins. “Remember? Of course I do. It was that day we went into New York three years ago. We were there to meet Sage at CBGB but you just had to stop in the Village first. You knew exactly what you wanted.”
“Yeah, well —” My mouth is dry. “I heard they would make things feel — better.”
“Oh, really?” Max lifts one hand, gently dragging his index finger up my torso and stopping just below my nipple. When I shiver in anticipation, he chuckles almost devilishly. “Oh ho ho — I see what you mean.”
He leans down to kiss me, but this time it’s slow, purposeful, a kiss like molasses that cores me out and makes me clutch at his shoulders for support. I’m already whimpering when he skates his palm up my ribs, closing his finger and thumb around the jewelry and beginning to roll gently.
“You can —” I breathe. “You can do it a little harder if you want —”
This boy knows how to take direction. He increases the pressure just enough to drive me mad, bringing up his other hand to pinch both sides of my chest. I’m holding onto his neck for dear life, and when he pulls back just enough to watch the pleasure on my face, his eyes heavy-lidded, it occurs to me that he might actually kill me.
Because I thought I knew everything about Max — every one of his moods, every expression, every important event in his history.
But this Max — the one looking at me right now, in tune with everything I want, a half smile on his face that tells me he knows exactly how much I’m enjoying this — I want to get to know this Max a lot better.
He leans in to kiss my throat, and I’m desperately hard, leaking in my jeans, so close to getting off from this alone.
But then he begins to move, dragging his lips along my collarbone, down my upper chest, spreading his hands across my bare back to support me as he bends me backwards.
I know what’s coming, but I’m still not ready when his mouth fastens over my nipple, his tongue flicking over the tiny bud, my hands flying into his hair as I clutch him to my chest —
“Fucking Christ, Max —” I gasp, and I think I’m going to explode —
And then the door bangs open, and there’s Roxie, standing there with her eyes bugging out of her head.
A lot of things happen at once. I grab for my shirt and clutch it in front of my chest, as if that’s going to do anything.
Max looks over at Roxie in shock, but then he starts to laugh, howling into my shoulder as he hugs me close.
And Roxie hides her face with both hands, crouching against the doorway and trying unsuccessfully to repress some very un-Roxielike giggles.
“Good job — you fucking idiots —” she finally manages to wheeze. “I thought you would never figure it out. But hey, we still have a show to do, right? You need to get your asses out here so we don’t lose this gig for public indecency.”
She slams the door behind her, and Max grins at me, laughter all over his face.
Then he swoops down, gathering me up in his arms as he fastens his mouth against my neck.
I know he’s sucking a bruise there, and I shudder against him, clawing my fingers down his back.
When he pulls back to admire his handiwork, I run my fingers over the spot.
“What was that for?” I ask, but I’m laughing too.
Max shrugs. “I dunno. I figure if everybody is going to know anyway, we might as well do this in style.” He grabs my tank top out of my hands, helping me to slip it over my head. “Come on, let’s play some punk rock.”
I’m pretty I can’t even remember what a guitar is, let alone how to play one, but sure, let’s do that.
ROXIE
Fucking fuck, this is going to be worse, isn’t it?