Again, I can’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous, you know that right? And what about Troye Becker? He used to play with BU. You telling me you wouldn’t go there?” My stomach drops at the mere thought.
“Moot point. He’s taken and as we’ve discussed, I don’t do cheaters.”
“Good—”
“Having said that,” he interrupts. “Should Brady be up for a three-way, then I would need to reassess.”
“What about Quinn?” I huff, stupidly jealous even though I bought this up.
“She can watch. Or if she must get involved, I guess I could throw a few moves in. Not like I haven’t been with girls before.”
“Did you like that? Being with girls.”
“Loved it so much so I decided I was gay.” With a wink, he flicks my pouting lip with his thumb. It makes me unnaturally happy. As does the image my mind conjures of his riding my chest as I sucked on that very same thumb. My dick really likes that. “I much prefer older, hairier grumpy men. Ooh, especially fastidious ones with big dicks and mustaches. They’re my fave.” I’m tempted to reply that cheeky, glassing wearing short-ass twinks are mine, but I decide against it. My dick couldn’t take his come back.
Instead I shove a handful of dry, twenty dollar corn chips in my mouth.
“Speaking of home,” he says out of nowhere.
“Which we weren’t.”
“Would you like to come over for dinner. As friends. You can meet Billie and Mom … as friends.”
In no Marvel multiverse should the offer be accepted.
“As friends?” I stupidly confirm. “Just friends.”
“Of course.” He nods this time. “Nothing romantic or sexual at all. Eww. Gross.”
Say no. Say no. Say no.
“Sure.”IDIOT. “But I can’t tomorrow. Faith’s got some grading to do so I’m solo with Dylan.”
“Oh, well why don’t I come hang out with you guys then? Dyl loves me. Maybe I can cook? I make a killer mac and cheese.”
I bite down on my lip, trying to think of a believable excuse, something that’s really hard to do when I don’t want there to be one. Cory at my house means my usual routine will be mostly unaffected, while also ensuring emotional chaos.
Fuck it.
“Mac and cheese sounds great. I’ll text you my address.”
Idiot.
Always up for some dramatics, Faith is loitering on the staircase that leads down to my dungeon, ducking so she can see me rather than actually come down like a normal person. Still, so intense is her glare, I feel it burn against my flesh from across the room. “Do you think it’s a good idea? I mean, I know you’re the master of this …" she pauses, undoubtedly trying to come up with a polite description for my living quarters, before settling on, “… expansive domain, but should a student really be partaking in visitations?”
Probably not.
“What, like the kind you made with Brady?”
“That was different,” she huffs. “I was concerned about Brady’s well-being.”
“Yeah, well, I’m concerned about Cubby’s. Honestly, Faithy. You’re making this into something it’s not. He’s coming for dinner. No harm, no foul.”
“No harm. No foul? Wow, you really are immersing yourself into the sporting world, aren’t you.”
Suddenly I feel a headache brewing, I drop the book I was trying to read, and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m working as a physiotherapist for a hockey team, Faith. Sport is kind of relevant. Don’t you think?”
“I do too, but you don’t see me tossing around hockey phraseology.”
