As he sleeps, I stare down at Bubba like I’m trying to read his mind, so maybe I can figure out why he likes Ezra, and how come I’m not enough. I know I’m not much, but I can make him happy. I already do.
His ginger beard, with its rogue splotches of blonds and browns, and streaks of gorgeous silver, tickles my bare chest each time he inhales. Bubba’s lips are soft and pink as I place my pinkie against the corner of his mouth and gently graze his skin. Behind him, Ezra is still sleeping, so I know I’ve got a few more moments of happiness before the interloper ruins it.
Fuck-face McGee over there probably thinks he’s going to ice me out of this love triangle, but I’ll be damned if I let him win. I’m not holding anything back. Bubba’s mine. That’s why I’ve been catfishing Ezra. I’ve been trying to find dirt on the guy so Bubba will finally see sense and kick him out.
His short, wavy brown hair is tangled and sticking out at stupid angles, making him look a little like Gary Busey, but not as ugly. He’s got a ton of freckles splotched across his cheeks and nose, but I don’t see them too often, because he usually covers his face with makeup. The damn narcissist normally wears it to bed, staining all our goddamn bedding, because he claims he wants to look good in case there’s a fire. Bull-fucking-shit. He wants to look good for Bubba.
“Stop staring at me, creep,” Ezra mumbles, his eyes still closed.
“I ain’t looking at you.”
His eyes snap open, and when they lock with mine, he smiles. “Sure, you’re not.” Stretching his arms above his head, and his legs toward the foot of the bed, he yawns at a volume that’s totally unnecessary. He’s trying to wake Bubba up so he’ll roll over and give him his morning cuddle. Not fucking happening.
“Leave him alone, he’s trying to sleep.”
Ezra rolls his eyes. “Fuck off. You have no hair, so I don’t care what you have to say.” He rolls on his back and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t know why you continue this battle when it’s clear you’re going to lose.” He turns and gives me what almost looks like a sympathetic smile. “I’m going to feel really bad when he picks me over you. Too bad, so sad. I’m sure you have a line of women waiting for their chance. You’ll be fine.” He sticks his tongue out at me. “Cry about it, Baldilocks.”
The jab about my hair is one too many. I can’t sit here and let this Instagram-model-in-the-making continue to insult me. I alreadyknow he’s a hundred times cuter than me, and I ain’t about to let him list the ways.
“You’re an asshole, Ezra,” I mutter. I genuinely fucking hate his ass right now, so I stand up, my boxer-briefs clinging to me like they’re made of spandex, and I head to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway when he calls out to me.
“Johnny, wait.”
I look over my shoulder, thinking maybe he’ll apologize. “What?”
There’s no apology in store, just another of his scowls. “I need to pee.”
“So do I.”
He rolls his eyes. “I know, but I’ve really got to go.” He pulls that dumb fuckin’ face he uses anytime he wants to get his way with Bubba. Somehow, even though he’s Satan’s spawn, he can fake an angelic smile like no one else. He might have Bubba dickmatized, but his innocent smile doesn’t fool me.
“Piss out the window for all I care. I was here first. I’m taking the bathroom.” I head into the bathroom, pulling the door shut and locking it behind me. Ezra has a tendency to barge in without knocking, and I don’t want to take any chances. With my luck, he’ll whip his dick out and ask to swordfight while we piss. I don’t want his dick or urine anywhere near me.
I stand in front of the toilet and sigh, because my morning glory is still tented in my underwear. It’s hard as fuck to piss with a semi, so I stand here, willing it to go down. It’s looking a little thicker than usual, and the sight puts a smile on my face. I’m only a little over six inches, not anywhere near as big as Bubba’s, but just under double the size of Ezra’s, no matter how many times he claims he’s five-and-a-half inches.
I try to think of something to make my cock go down, but the first thought that pops into my head is the mental image of Ezra’s ass in those British flag speedos he was wearing at the lake. The way my heart fluttered faster when I saw it. The sensation of his little hole beneath the stretchy material. How good it felt when we finally connected on the boat. His precious face, twisted up in pleasure, whining and writhing in my lap as cum flew out like a yard sprinkler. He was breathtaking, and then he turned on me. I haven’t mentioned the sunblock since, because there’s no point. It took months to get us to a place where he was comfortable jerking off in my lap the way he does with Austin and Bubba, and all that progress was undone because of a stupid prank.
At the sink, I splash a little water on my face and sigh at my reflection. The man staring back at me is a thirty-three-year-old kid in a grownup’s body, pretending he knows what the fuck he’s doing, when he ain’t got a goddamn clue. I hate this is where my life has led me, bitter and jealous of a twenty-something twink, but what I hate most is how I can’t bring myself to step aside.
It’s clear Bubba and Ezra are endgame. They fawn all over each other. Sometimes Bubba even holds Ez in his lap, gently rocking him, singing lullabies. It’s dumb as fuck, but what’s dumber is how bitter I am Bubba’s never offered to rock me like a baby too.
I reach for the bathtub faucet, because even though I showered before bed, I’m going to take another one just to make Little Dick even pissier than he already is.
As soon as I turn the shower on, as expected, Ezra shrieks, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What was it you said earlier?” I shout. “Too bad, so sad?”
Overhead, it sounds like there’s metal scraping, followed by loud, echoing thuds. I look up in time to see a large metal grate fall down,held dangling overhead by the hinges. An air conditioner filter falls to the floor, and then Ezra’s legs slowly descend through the gap. Slowly, he drops down, twirling on his heel and flinging a hand into the air, shouting, “Ta-dah!”
“You crawled in through the air duct?” I ask, and he nods like it’s something to be proud of.
“I did! I think I saw a dead rat up there.” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet like a hyperactive kangaroo. I ain’t going to lie, there’s something endearing about him when he gets excited. I even chuckle a little when he clasps his hands to his chest and emphatically adds, “It was both terrifying and thrilling.”
“Why the fuck would it be thrilling to see a dead rat?”
“Because it’s the circle of life, Johnny.” To my horror, he walks to the toilet beside the bathtub and pulls out his dick. He’s got a neat cock. I ain’t ever been into dick before, but objectively, I can see its appeal. He’s uncut, and it’s maybe three or four inches soft. It gets bigger when it’s hard, and I’ve seen it hard more times than I can count. The head is this soft, baby-pink color, and there’s a pretty big vein running down the side. His small sack rests beneath, like little eggs in a basket.
“The circle of life?” I ask, my mouth feeling a little dryer than before.
