“That’s different. That’s hockey.”
The tension in the room eases slightly. Drew pushes away from the windowsill and moves closer. “You really think you’re not my type?”
My stomach flips. “I mean, have you seen your track record?”
“My track record is a trauma response. You want to know something else?”
“What?”
“You terrify me.”
I blink, not sure if I heard him correctly. “Iterrifyyou? I’m about as threatening as a goldfish.”
“Exactly.” His hand comes up as though he’s going to touch my face, then drops, probably thinking better of it. I try not to betoo disappointed. “You’re good, Jackson. Genuinely good. You don’t want me for my body or because I’m easy or because you’ve got some power trip fantasy. And that’s scarier than any rugby player or academic adviser or whatever.” The inches between us crackle with something dangerous. His body is a furnace; I can’t help but lean toward it. “Because what happens when you realize I’m not worth seeing?”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s worth everything, that I’d spend the rest of my life making sure he knows it. But that would cross the line we’ve drawn. That would make this real.
“You are worth it,” I say instead. “Even if this is fake, even if we’re nothing more than best friends, you’ll always be worth seeing.”
His eyes darken, pupils dilating as they flicker down to my lips, then back up. The air between us thickens with possibility.
“Come here,” he says finally, pulling away from me and sitting on his bed.
He pats the space beside him, and my legs move without my permission, carrying me like a moth to a flame. I sit carefully, leaving a safe distance between us. Drew rolls his eyes and scoots closer until our thighs are touching.
Before I can protest, his hands are on my shoulders, positioning me so that I’m facing away from him. Then those long, thick fingers of his knead into the knots in my shoulders. “Jesus, you’re as rigid as a rock,” he murmurs, digging his thumbs into a particularly tight spot.
My entire body bursts into flames. Those are the same fingers that were wrapped around his cock minutes ago while he moaned. The mental image slams into me, and I bite back a whimper.
“Relax,” Drew says, his breath warm against my ear. “Let me take care of you.”
Let me take care of you.The words shouldn’t sound as filthy as they do, but my dick apparently has its own interpretation. I harden in my jeans, and panic sets in. This is not happening. Not here, not now.
His fingers dig into a spot beneath my right shoulder blade, and I let out an involuntary groan. My eyelids flutter closed as his thumbs work circles into muscles that have apparently been tied in sailor’s knots for years. My shoulders slump forward without permission, head dropping as heat spreads from his fingertips through my entire body. My legs twitch with the urge to run, but I’m sinking backward instead, my weight shifting imperceptibly closer to his chest with each exhale.
Drew’s hands slide lower, and my dick throbs in response. I know he must notice how tense I’ve become. But his hands keep moving, working magic on muscles I didn’t know could be treated this well.
He leans in closer, and the heat of his body blankets me. “You’re blushing, Jacky.” His lips hover close enough that each exhale raises goosebumps across my skin. I dig crescents into my jeans with my fingernails while my toes curl in my new sneakers. When he laughs, the sound rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest, a bass note that pulses through the thin cotton of my shirt where our bodies connect. “It’s cute.”
Cute.I’m going to die. Right here in Drew’s room with a raging hard-on because he called me cute.
“I didn’t get to finish, you know,” he says conversationally, like he’s discussing the latest episode ofDownton Abbeyinstead of his masturbation habits. “Heard you and Gerard in the hall.”
“Sorry,” I squeak out.
“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it later.” His hands give my shoulders one last squeeze before pulling away. “After you leave.”
The nonchalant way he says it makes me cough. “I should—homework—I need to…” I scramble off the bed, highly aware of the obvious tent in my jeans. If Drew notices, he doesn’t comment.
“Sure you don’t want to stay?” He sinks back onto his bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other hand splayed carelessly across his stomach. His shirt bunches up to reveal a strip of skin and the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband. His legs part just enough to make room…for me. “We could watch a movie…or something.”
Or something? God, fucking yes, please,“Can’t. Essay due Monday.”
I yank open the door and sprint into the hallway. As my luck would have it, my escape route is blocked by Gerard. He’s still gloriously naked and now attempting to straighten a picture frame on the wall.
“Everything good?” he asks, turning to face me with absolutely no shame about his continued state of undress.
“Great! Fine! Gotta go!” I sidestep around him, trying not to stare too long at his dick (failing) or his ass (also failing).
