He clutched the key in his palm. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“You’ve turned over a new leaf since yesterday?” I laughed shortly. “Dude, leaving’s all you ever do. But sure, let’s say I believe you. If you’re not leaving, it doesn’t matter if I have the key, right?”
Jay’s eyes were stormy. He held out the key but didn’t let go of it. “Tell me right this minute that we’re going to Wyoming together in this van. That we’re partners.”
“Heck no.” I scowled. “I’m not falling for your Stockholm syndrome bullshit. We’re not partners.”
His face fell, and I told myself I didn’t care.
“But… fine. Yes,” I allowed. “We’ve come this far, so we’ll go to Wyoming together. I will make sure Aimee is okay, and I will let you know that she is. No more, no less. And then we will be out of each other’s lives forever. Okay?”
“For now.” Jay let go of the key, and his whole face lit up.
I told myself I didn’t care about that either.
But later that night, after I’d gotten us adjoining rooms at a motel just outside Chattanooga and done everything I could to distract myself—texting my family to let them know where I was (Gage had seemed annoyingly unsurprised that Jay had virtually kidnapped me), turning the air conditioner up as high as it would go so the white noise might drown out the sound of Jay strumming his guitar next door, chowing down an unsatisfying vending machine dinner, and jumping in the shower to scrub off the lingering stench of perfume—I still couldn’t stop my mind from going exactly where I hadn’t wanted it to go.
Back to that damn dream.
I stood under the hot water, stretching my crimped neck muscles, and my hand trailed down my stomach without conscious thought to wrap around my cock.
It had been a while—a long while—since I’d let myself think of anyone in particular when I jerked off. Mostly, these days, I took care of myself quickly and efficiently, and it was about as exciting as brushing my teeth. But after the longest day in the history of the world, all my barriers were down, and I was tired of fighting the pull. So there, in the privacy of that steam-filled shower, I closed my eyes and let myself think about Jay.
His green eyes glinting fire at me when he’d barged into the Extravaganza meeting.
His melodic voice singing along with the radio. Saying,“Remember, Rafe?”
That smile.
That fucking dream, which was so real I could almost feel the heat of the sun on me.
I reached for the tiny bottle of conditioner on the shower ledge and dumped some out into my hand. It was supposed to be cucumber scented, I was pretty sure, but all I could smell was honey and Jay. I slicked my hand up and down my length, slowly at first, the way I imagined Jay might have done it back in the raft all those years ago, with hesitation giving way to eagerness.
I used to study his hands constantly when he thought I wasn’t looking, and I knew the shape and texture of them. The wide palms and long fingers, calloused from his guitar playing. The short nails and blunt fingertips. I imagined how they’d feel gliding along my shaft, toying with my balls, sliding over my taint to toy with my ass. I wanted those hands on me nearly as bad as I wanted his mouth on mine, which was to say more than I’d ever let myself want anything in my life.
I imagined him saying things, too. Shit that was way too sappy to ever come out of his mouth in real life—like how he’d wanted me forever, and he’d been waiting for me, and he loved me—but that somehow almost felt real because that dreammaker voice made things real.
My stomach cramped and my balls tightened as I moved my hand faster and faster. I imagined him going to his knees for me, right there in the shower. Green eyes looking up at me, lashes stuck together with water. His tongue darting out of his full lips to tongue my slit before he stretched his mouth around me and sucked me down into that priceless throat.
I’d never let myself get this far, back in the day. I’d never gone beyond imagining a kiss. A touch. Shit, just alookthat said he wanted me like I wanted him. That had been enough of a fantasy. And I’d known that if I let myself go further, had let myself imagine the two of us fucking this way, I’d never have been content with friendship.
Now, though, we weren’t friends—even if he was sincere about wanting that, I didn’t know how it was possible with so muchhurtbetween us—so there was nothing to stop me from imagining the perfection of him groaning around me, being aroused by my arousal. And maybe if I could jack Jay Rollins out of my system, I’d be able to get to Wyoming and home again without losing my mind.
Fuck.
My hand moved faster and faster, and I nearly lost my balance at the insane pleasure of it. Jay watching me. Jay teasing me. Jaywantingme.
My knees went weak, and when I threw out a hand to catch myself, my palm hit the wet tiles with a loudslap.I imagined Jay next door, hearing that and knowing I was jacking off for him… then I came so hard my vision went white, and my shout reverberated off the walls of the tiny bathroom.
Holy mother of masturbation.I couldn’t remember coming that hard in… Jesus. Ever? Pretty sure it was ever.
I rinsed myself off quickly, since the water had started to run cool, and threw myself down on the bed with a grunt before I’d even fully dried off.
Surprisingly enough, jizzing my spleen had not made me feel any more in control of this situation. I had twelve texts from Whispering Key, ten of which were from the Extravaganza Committee’s group chat wondering where Jay was, and whether he preferred panko or regular bread crumbs on his chicken casserole, and whether he’d make an appearance for open mic night at Fisher’s Wreck, the Key’s new bar. The other two texts were from Gage.
Gage: An impromptu road trip less than a week before the Extravaganza you’ve spent months helping Dad plan????? This is a whole new side of Responsible Rafe Goodman. Me gusta.
Then, a few minutes later, he’d sent:
