“I do like celery.” Cliff crunched on a piece, drawing attention to that beautiful mouth of his. “So, did you know Alex is going to Paris to visit Rosie?”
“That’s cool.” Brennan’s dick shriveled up at the mention of Alex. Not really the conversation topic they were going for tonight.
“Are things good with them?”
“Alex and Rosie? Yeah, I think so.” Brennan had never talked to her, but Alex seemed crazy about her. He gave up Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups because of her peanut allergy. That was dedication. “You don’t?”
Brennan hadn’t seen Alex that much this week, mostly by design. They ran into each other at the student union between classes two days ago, and Brennan felt awkward the entire time. He kept wondering if Alex had any inkling of what happened between him and Cliff. How would he react if he ever found out? How protective of a big brother would he be?
Before the night could get off-track, he jogged to the fridge and pulled two beers. A little bit of alcohol would loosen them up.
They clinked bottles and drank. To his surprise, Cliff chugged half of his.
“Just a little liquid courage.”
Brennan smoothed out his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. He had spent most of the afternoon thinking of what they could do tonight. If only he spent that much time on his schoolwork, he’d graduate summa cum laude. Oh well, he’d have to settle for coming loudly.
He invited Cliff to sit on the bed with him.
“So, I was doing some reading online, and we should have a safe word.”
Cliff listened with wide, probing eyes. He licked his lips and nodded, the nervousness coming off him in waves.
“If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”
“I do...it’s like waiting on the sidelines during all the pre-game stuff. I want the game to start and get out there.”
“I’m not into basketball, but I get the metaphor.” There was a fine line between nervous and excited. Brennan could see the hunger in his eyes. “Safe word. I was thinking Picasso. Great artist and total horndog.”
“Works for me.”
Brennan dragged over a chair from the kitchen. “Who’s your favorite basketball player of all time?”
“Khris Middleton from the Bucks.”
Unsurprisingly, the name was not at all familiar to Brennan, but it also made him smile to himself with a fun memory. “Didn’t you have that huge cardboard cutout of him?”
“The Bucks couldn’t win unless I watched the games with life-sized Khris sitting next to me. My dad thought it was cute at first, but then Middleton went on this amazing streak, and my dad mandated he join us for all games.”
He brushed his hand over his hair, making sure it was in place. Cliff had gone through quite a few hairstyles growing up, buzzing it short and going for a side part. Brennan liked the current style the most, purposefully tousled. It was a little bit beachy. It put all the attention on his face.
“You really like it.” Brennan pulled something from his dresser drawer and tucked it into his pocket.
“What?” Cliff followed Brennan’s movements.
“Basketball.” He lit a candle on his dresser.
“Yeah. Isn’t it obvious?”
Brennan walked across the room and lit another candle on the table where he threw his keys. Cliff’s eyes never left him. “I just thought you liked it because of your dad. He’s obsessed.”
“I guess it rubbed off on me.”
Brennan’s body sparked with need. The buildup made his balls ache, and they hadn’t even started. “How about, in the spirit of collaboration, our safe word is Picasso Middleton.”
“I don’t think Khris Middleton would appreciate having his name invoked during...this.”
“All the more reason to use it to stop...things.” Brennan also had trouble figuring out a name for what they were doing. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t romance. It felt more intentional than fooling around, but more intimate than an arrangement.
