About how I got here—sleeping with the guy who used to toss snide comments at me across the cafeteria. The guy has been bullying me since middle school. The biggest asshole known to mankind. The only guy I wanted to punch so freaking bad.
The guy who everyone knows doesn't do feelings or relationships. The guy everyone wanted but no one really had.
And somehow… he’s choosing me.
It scares me. But in a warm, dizzying way.
Because it’s not just sex between us.
I mean, yes, the sex is insane, but it’s more than that. It’s the way his eyes soften when no one else is around. The way he touches my face like he’s memorizing every line. The way he listens—really listens—to me. The way his whole body relaxes when I say his name. The way he tightly hugs me, as if he doesn’t want to let me go. The way he looks at me, with admiration, love and possession in his eyes. The way he makes me wear his clothes, so his fragrance stays on me, which is his discreet way reminding me who I belong to. As if he ever made me forget.
I feel wanted.
I feelseen.
And I didn’t think I’d ever get that. Not from him. Not from anyone. Especially not from Lex Rothwell.
So yeah… maybe it’s dangerous. Maybe it’s messy. Maybe it’s wrong.
But every time Lex kisses me, every time he pulls me close like I’m something worth ruining for, every time he whispersprincessinto my neck like it’s a confession…
I think:
If this is wrong, then I don’t want right.
CHAPTER SIX
LEX
I never thought I’d breathe right after saying the words out loud.
I’m gay.
Not even a clean confession – more like a messy unravelling in front of the only person who shouldn’t have mattered this much.
Jamie.
God.
Just thinking his name makes something in my chest pull tight, like muscle memory that’s been waiting years to stretch.
For so long I thought that part of me – the part that looked at guys too long in the locker room, the part that got nervous when a cute boy smiled at me, the part that frozewhen a girl flirted because it felt I was performing – was rotting me from the inside out. I thought it made me defective. Wrong. Sick. Like someone had stitched me together incorrectly and forgot to fix the wiring.
My father would say exactly that if he knew. If he ever looked too closely at me, he’d rip me apart just to make sure the pieces fit his version of “perfect”. But he doesn’t look closely. Not at me. Not at anything that isn’t his image, his reputation, his legacy. The only reason he started to pay any attention to me, was when my soccer started to progress, and he decided that it would be a great way to parade me around his friends, because he said that one day when I become a successful NFL player, it would all be because of him. Fuck him. He’s such an asshole. I fucking hate him.
If he found out, he’d pretend to care about me for the first time in my life, but it would only be about optics. About control.
So I kept it buried. Years of swallowing it down, locking every feeling behind a wall of anger and cruelty and straight-boy posturing. I played the role so hard I almost fooled myself. Almost.
Then Jamie happened.
The night of his birthday cracked something open in me – crackedmeopen. I didn’t plan to tell him. Hell, I didn’t plan anything other than pushing him away like I always do. But something in me shifted when I saw him laughing with his friends that night. The way they were touching him. The way they were looking at him. It made me so angry. Because Jamie is mine. I’m theonly one who can touch him. I’m the only one who can make him blush and laugh.
Not them. Not any other guy. Not ever.
Now I know that Jamie would never date someone like those guys. They aren’t his type. He’s more into guys like myself: tall, muscular, body covered in tattoos. And after finding out that Jamie is, what he called, a size queen, because turns out, my ten and a half inch dick, is more than enough for a slutty freak like Jamie.
Fuck. Wrong time. Not now.
