CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN NICK
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NICK
The sun’s out. Yay. That totally isn’t doing anything at all to lift the dismal mood in Dean’s apartment.
That damn, dull cloud has been hanging over me for the past few days since his company emailed him.
“It’s easier if I start offloading stuff now,” he says, stuffing his thick duvet into a box. “There’s no point in trying to sell stuff after finals when there’s nobody on campus.”
“Makes sense.” I stare at the largest box on the floor, calculating whether it’s big enough to fit me, before I remember that Dean’s trying to travel light.
The boxes are for the things he’s getting rid of, and I don’t want to include myself in that. I don’t want to assist in forging my own continued fate, where everyone in my life leaves me behind in the dust.
“Do you need any help?” The reason for asking is because I don’t want to be a total asshole, even though the last thing I want to do is make it any easier for my boyfriend to leave me behind to who knows what—there’s exactly zero information on Jack Nowak’s trial, probably because the whole case is highly classified, so I’m in limbo.
We’re both in limbo, even if it doesn’t feel like it with how quickly Dean’s getting ready to leave.
Grad schools can go get fucked for setting such early application deadlines.
Dean can’t apply to any program with a fall start date, especially since he’s limited in terms of programs that would even look at his application in the first place.
He’s buffeted on both sides: China thinks he’s a national security risk for studying here, and the US thinks he’s a national security risk because of where he’s from.
It’s bullshit, and as for me, even if I was eligible to do some kind of master’s degree for physical therapy in China, their deadlines have all passed, too.
All in all, things aren’t looking up for us, but we push on.
“I don’t wanna put you to work,” he says. “Just sit there and look pretty. It’ll cheer me up.”
That I can do, even if I only have an hour before I have to leave for practice.
Or not—my phone rings, and I step into the hallway to answer it. Jeez.
Hold up. It’s Brad.
I slam my finger into the green answer button with lightning speed.
Brad doesn’t give me a chance to greet him. “Congratulations. Nowak’s out. Detroit wants you.”
And the world fucking stops.
Three words: Detroit wants you.
I’ve been waiting for those for who knows how long. Over a decade, probably, if I extend that to any major league team wanting me. The weight of it all is hard to fathom.
Yes, I’m heading for Lansing, the minor league team where Nowak was supposed to go, but there’s more.
Spring training is underway, and I’m already late.
“When do they want me?” I manage.
“When Nowak’s supposed to start, which by my count, was two weeks ago.
” Brad pauses, maybe waiting for me to say something, but when I don’t, he presses on.
“The team knows this is last-minute, so they’re willing to be flexible, but they also expect you to drop everything and get to them as fast as possible. ”
“So, within a week?” My gaze travels across the room to Dean, who’s watching me with a hopeful, tentative expression.
“Within days, ideally,” Brad replies. “Detroit’s scouts are always impressed by WMU’s level of training, but you know team dynamics. They take time to get used to, and—”
“—and I’ll need to be used to them by the start of the regular season.”
“You got it. Get yourself sorted, maybe see if you can buy your friends a case of beer or seven to deal with packing your stuff up, and let me know when you’re ready to fly to Detroit’s swanky new training complex in Phoenix.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
“Any time. I can email you the contract, since the league finally outgrew their damn fax machine fetish, so get it back to me ASAP. Congrats again.”
Then the line goes dead.
I’m still too stunned to bring the phone down from my ear. It pings, and it’s an email from Coach Ramirez.
It can wait.
“So…good news?” Dean asks after a few seconds, and my focus snaps back to his cute face.
I nod. “Yeah.” A pause. “Kind of.”
“Kind of? What’s that supposed to mean?”
I don’t even know.
The best news of my life, and it’s ripping me away from my boyfriend before I’m ready. Not that I’d ever be completely ready for—
“Detroit wants me,” I deadpan. “They want me training with their minor league affiliate before the week is up.”
Dean jumps at me and wraps me in the biggest hug before I can begin trying to read his expression. My head is in his warm chest so I can’t keep trying, and all I can hear is him talking. I don’t register any of it.
“—you’re so fucking amazing, and you deserve this.”
Hearing him say that requires a ton of focus on my part, and as soon as the words hit my ears, my body goes weak.
This guy is somehow finding the energy to congratulate me when I’m about to abandon him.
God, this is twisted as hell—if it wasn’t bad enough for people to abandon me, now I’m the one who’s actively doing it? As though being a passive bystander wasn’t already painful the last…three times.
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea how this stuff works,” he says, loosening his grip on me. “So, like, what’s training like?”
“Spring training? It’s two months long, and we go right into the regular season after it’s done.”
The amount of willpower Dean has is fucking commendable, because I barely even catch the momentary falter in his expression before his sweet face reverts to the proud smile he’s been wearing. “So that’s it, then, for your classes and the team here?”
“Yeah.” And not us, hopefully.
Although I have no idea what’s going to happen to us after I step on the plane to Phoenix.
Dean’s expression falters for longer this time, and he closes his eyes to laugh before ruffling my hair. “So no degree for you. Don’t tell me I tutored you for nothing.”
“You didn’t.” I don’t have the energy to joke back. “It’s how we met in the first place, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“Aww, you’re such a sweet-talker,” he says. “You’ll have to call me and talk my ear off when you’re in training so I don’t forget your sexy voice.”
Something inside me unlocks, reducing my brain to static and compelling me to walk the two of us further into the apartment. Keeping my hands firmly settled on Dean’s waist, I pick up the pace until there’s nowhere left for us to go, and I find myself shoving his body onto his bed.
He lands in the pile of clothes he was sorting through, and without even thinking, I close the distance between us and crash my mouth onto his, breaching those plush lips with my tongue and stealing his ability to say anything coherent.
“You’re never forgetting anything about me,” I murmur, fondling his lower lip with my teeth. “The next few days are gonna be fucking hectic. I’m gonna be freaking the hell out, so this is my chance to give you something to remember me by.”
“Hey, don’t say that. I was joking—” His words end in a gasped moan when I get on my knees and yank his shorts down. “Nick, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” My voice comes out dark, and not in the needy way I’m used to, although the sound is pretty damn close. “I—”
Don’t L-word him. It’s way too early.
“—want you.” My fingers curl around his hardening dick, and I stroke him with a firm grip, teasing his nuts with my free hand as I sink to my knees.
“You’ve got me.” Dean’s pupils are blown wide, begging me to keep going, but there’s something in the way he’s holding his body that’s telling me he’s holding back. “But are you sure now is—”
“Do you want a blowjob or not?” I ask, forcing myself to chuckle so my words lose some of their edge.
I have a million thoughts I don’t want to have, and I need a distraction. I’m not gonna talk about them, especially not now. After sliding up his motionless body, I grab his hands and plant them on his favorite place, flexing my glutes and making him whimper with arousal.
“You know I’m never gonna turn you down. You’re the fucking best, Nick.”
I slide back down and mumble into his hardening cock head, “Have I ever told you how much I love it when you say my name?”
Dean chuckles. “Just a few times.”
And at that, I nail my boyfriend with a few more seconds of soft staring, wet my lips, and suck him to the back of my throat. His fingers tangle through my hair and rub my head, sending a delicious tingle down my spine, which only makes me speed up.
“Jesus, Nick. You’re gonna kill me.”
Shit. I slow down, wanting to savor this moment for as long as I can, and glance up.
His expression collapses. “No. Fuck, I didn’t ask you to stop. Please don’t stop.”
Who am I to refuse him?
I sink back down on his throbbing erection, and the sigh he lets out is music to my ears.
With one hand twisting around the base of his cock and the other holding his thrusting hips down, I go in for the kill and hollow my cheeks, swallowing around his climax and drinking in the sweet sound of his broken moans as his body goes weak under my touch.
“Nick.” His hands are covering his face, and he devolves into a series of quiet snickers. “I’m gonna miss you for a whole lot of reasons, but this?” Another strained, happy moan. “I can tell you now, I’ll be crawling up the walls within three days. Trust.”
Then stay. Fucking useless, futile thought. We both know he can’t.
“Nick,” he says again, needy and eager and just how I like.
“What?” I scoff. “You got what you want.”
“Not yet.” He grabs at my waist.
My head tilts. “I already sucked you off.”
“No, I want you. Get naked and get over here.”
Call me emotional, but that line alone almost makes me come on the spot.
I slip my clothes off, freeing my aching dick, and Dean stretches over.
He hovers his open mouth above me before sucking me into sweet, distracting, brain-melting ecstasy and blanking my mind out.
For a while, maybe five minutes if I’m being really generous, nothing else matters except for how I’m being cared for like I never was, until I met this gem of a guy.
I almost wish he wasn’t as good at what he does, because when he shoves me over the edge with a series of brain-scrambling strokes, reality crashes back.
I need to get ready to leave.
Dean isn’t the only person I’m leaving in the lurch—I’m ditching Jeremy, and while I hope he can find someone to take over my portion of the rent, I think I can cover the rest of what I owe if he can’t.
I have to pack what I need, which in all likelihood is scattered between my place and Dean’s, and then strong-arm my friends into sorting through the rest of my shit because there’s no way I can do it myself within a few days.
I— “I need to leave.” I freeze. “Fuck! Sorry, no! I didn’t mean it like that!” In a desperate move, I put a hand on Dean’s bare thigh, a move I hope makes up for my rude slip-up. “There are just a ton of things I need to do to get ready, and I’m freaking out.”
“No, I get you. Don’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t even flinch. Do I even deserve him?
“I’d like to see you before you go, though, if you can make it happen.” He surrounds me in a gentle hug, and god, tears prick my eyes.
“I’ll make it happen,” I insist. “If it means I lie here for the next seventy-two hours and leave for training with nothing but my clothes and the toothbrush I’m keeping next to your sink, I’ll do it.”
He punches my shoulder, laughing. “Don’t do that, Nick. Go get yourself sorted, and I’ll come over to yours and help out.” The two of us stay silent, and he opens his mouth, biting his tongue between those bright, flashy teeth and looking off to the side.
I give him a weak smile—as flexible as he’s being, basically bending his whole life to fit my chaos in, I can’t help but feel as though anything we do is only delaying the inevitable chasm that’ll open up between us.
It isn’t possible to muster up a reply, so with slow, shaky movements, I put a fresh pair of pants on and slip into my hoodie. I’ve taken to wearing Dean’s, since he has way too many, but I need to take this home with me and wash it. The more stuff I can consolidate, the better.
One awkward wave later, I’m out of the apartment and heading on the well-trodden route back to my place.
Shit.
In the space of thirty minutes, I went from sulking about Dean packing, to sulking about me packing.
It’s funny, in a sick way, how things work out.