38. Wilder #3
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Beat my ass, right.” Fuck.
I run a hand down my face, feeling a lightness I haven’t felt in a long time.
Sparring with Oliver was exactly what I needed to lighten my mood.
Among other things. My mind wanders as I sit in the parking lot, breathing for the first time since I drove Oliver to my home and then to the gym.
Being in his presence was soothing in a way I’ve never experienced.
Like he took away all the worries weighing down my shoulders.
Fuck.
I blink several times. Right. I need to go home and shower. Wash away the sweat and the damn hormones taking me over and demanding I follow Oliver up to his dorm. Down boy. Not today. We’ll take this slow and see if this ship even sails.
As I’m pulling out of the parking spot, I stall, watching Oliver walk with a familiar dog at his side. My brows furrow when Waffles, the dog who likes no one, follows Oliver into his dorm building, and they disappear together.
Storm clouds gather in the distance, rumbling with thunder and promising much-needed rain. Something that doesn’t happen very often here, but seems to be happening more as summer turns to fall.
“Well, you don’t see that shit every day,” I mumble to myself and drive home with Oliver on my mind and the last image of him with Mack’s fucking dog following him. So fucking odd.
Once inside, I slam the front door closed and heave a breath. Tension radiates off every inch of me.
“Mal?” I holler through the house, peeking around every corner.
“Fucker,” I grunt, taking out my phone and calling him again.
“It’s been hours, Malic,” I growl to the dial tone when he doesn’t pick up again.
“Whatever,” I say to no one again and make my way up the stairs to my bedroom.
Closing the door behind me, I shut out the world as I gather fresh clothes to change into and throw them on my bed.
Maybe a hot, steamy shower will help wash away everything I’m feeling.
All the rage.
The pain.
The tension.
Fuck.
Once I’m under the stream of the hot shower, I place my palms against the cool tile, letting the chill run through my body. Water bounces off my skin, taking away the grief I’ve been holding onto since I walked away from Meredith’s funeral service and went straight back to work.
My fingers curl into fists, and I swallow hard. The sparring session with Oliver helped a lot of things, but also fucked with my head more. For over an hour, the grief was a distant memory. For one hour, my only thought was not to come in my fucking shorts as I wrestled a guy on the ground.
A guy.
There’s something about him, though. Something I can’t put my finger on.
But it calls to me. It calls to the deeper carnal urges trapped inside me.
I want to…to do so many things to him. But I don’t…
I’m not attracted to guys. Right? Like this is something new.
Something unfamiliar to me. I’ve had friends in my life who were gay or bi.
You know, whatever floats their boats. I wasn’t put on this earth to judge people.
Not my life. Not my fucking business. But this?
This is my life, and I’m so fucking confused by it.
“Fuck,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut as my brain rattles off a million different reasons why I shouldn’t pursue something with Oliver.
Even if it’s one time. One time to prove that whatever is happening inside my brain is curious.
Or it might solidify the way I’m feeling.
Shit, maybe Oliver is like my goddamn fated person to be with, and I’m missing out on the opportunity by being stupid and stuck in my ways.
I lightly tap my fists on the wall two times before I spin around, lean back, and let the water rush over my head again.
It pours down my face as my lips part, and water droplets pour over my lips.
It washes away the day. Washes away the sweat that formed on every inch of me as I wrestled Oliver to the ground and climbed on top of him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Images of Oliver on his knees for me flash through my mind. The way he felt squirming beneath me gets me hard all over again. My dick rises until precum glistens along my slit and tingles roar down my spine. A need I haven’t felt in years runs straight through my veins, coursing through my blood.
“Fuck it,” I breathe, taking my dick in my hand and pumping a few times. “God,” I groan softly, my voice echoing off the bathroom walls and amplifying my fucking neediness.
I swear the oxygen leaves my lungs and dots spot my vision when more imagery of Oliver runs through my head.
Again. This time, those big green eyes stare up at me as he sticks his tongue out, begging me to come all over his face and tongue.
Images of his throat bobbing and swallowing every last drop are my fucking undoing.
My balls tingle. My dick gets more and more sensitive the faster I pump.
I swear my legs are going to completely give out on me.
“Fuck,” I curse out in a breathy moan as cum shoots from my tip and coats my hand. “Oh God,” I groan, leaning my back against the cold tile wall and squeezing my eyes shut as I gather my breath and my damn wits.
Did I jack off to images of Oliver on his knees? Yes. Yes, I fucking did. Do I fucking regret the decision? Not fucking at all. I may not have myself all figured out, but whatever this is, it’s whatever.
I quickly clean myself up after that, resolving that I’ll go with the flow.
Oliver is a cool guy. More than cool, I guess by the way my dick hardens again for the fifteen thousandth time since I dropped him off at his dorm.
Whatever. This will be fun. Nothing more.
I don’t really have time for a damn relationship.
Maybe one day, I will. But that day is not today.
I have too much business to attend to. A fucking psycho on the loose.
I need to find him before he bloodies up some poor innocent person.
And a boss who is trying to bite off more than he can chew with this goddamn town.
He writes my paychecks, though. He makes sure my mom has a place to slowly deteriorate at.
And for that, I stay. It’s the only way I know how to make enough money to keep her functioning.
If I didn’t have this job, my psycho best friend, and the gym to vent my frustrations, I’d be lost.
I blow out a breath, shut the water off, and then throw back the curtain.
“Have a good shower, old chap?”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I shout, nearly slipping in the shower when my eyes catch on Malic, happily sitting on the closed toilet lid like a fucking psycho watching me.
Well, that answers that. I found my psycho best friend.
“Yes. Fuck. Malic, what the hell are you doing in my bathroom?” I glare at him as I get out of the shower and grab a white, fluffy towel. “Watching me shower now?” I scrub the towel down my face, bracing for fucking impact.
“You called me at least ten times. I thought you might need me. Besides, I thought you might be drowning,” he says, cocking his head. “So I thought it was important.” A grin splits his lips, and I’m almost dreading what comes out of his mouth next. “Did you have fun with Oliver Davenport?”
My cheeks heat, but I quickly cover my face with the towel again. “It was fine,” I grit out, wrapping the towel around my waist. Not that it fucking matters now since he barged in on my shower. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Aw, Keeper,” he coos, tilting his head. “Were you concerned about me?”
“Not you. Everyone else!” I say, waving a hand and counting to ten in my head.
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “I was worried,” I admit reluctantly, which drops Malic’s smile completely, and he blinks at me a few times.
“When you take off like that, I never know if there’s going to be blood on your hands or a body in the basement.
Or fuck, if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.
” Yeah, now I sound like a fucking parent chastising their teenager for staying out after curfew. Fuck me. I’ve turned into a mom.
“Well, you’re in luck, old chap. Neither of those things happened. Although they do sound delightful right now. But I’m saving all my energy for the fights this weekend.”
Right. The fights. His rematch against Huxley, since it was a fucking tie the last time.
“Why do you look like you’re still up to something?” I ask, eyeing him again.
“Have no fear, Keeper. My plan will all work out. Nothing up my sleeves.” He demonstrates this by pushing up his nonexistent long sleeves and hopping up from the closed toilet lid.
I shake my head. Like fuck do I believe a single word that comes out of his mouth. “Whatever you say,” I grumble through my exhaustion and push into my room. Malic slowly follows, not bothering to leave. “Dude, do you mind?” I ask, grabbing the pair of boxers I set out on my bed.
“Not at all, old chap. Let your dick fly free. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” He grins again, leaning back on my bed. “So was it Oliver you were imagining when you came in the shower?”
I sputter, turning deep red. “That’s it! Get the fuck out of my room, Malic! I swear to fucking shit, I’m going to throw you out of a window!”
He chuckles, standing from my bed with a shit-eating grin. His hands fly up in defense. “No worries, old chap. You’ll find out soon enough.” With that, Malic leaves my room, shutting my door behind him with a slam.
“Find out what?” I holler through the door, but don’t get an answer. “What the fuck!” I huff, falling onto my bed with his parting words running through my mind.
What the hell am I about to find out?