Maybe then Savannah will be less stressed, once we’ve said our vows, and drank ourselves into an oblivion.
I pull my shirt on, noticing the locker room is starting to thin out.
“See ya at Phi Kappa Delta, Brewer?” Mack says as he grabs my shoulder. I turn, the motion knocking my phone out of the locker onto the floor with a smack.
Shit!
I kneel down to grab it, nodding. “Yeah, of course, I just need to—”
That’s when I see the text from Cam.
Can’t make it tonight. Migraine.
My eyebrows furrow as disappointment swells in my chest for the second time tonight.
I was really hoping to catch up with Cam tonight and vent about what happened with Savannah because he doesn’t evenknow I went there yet. We haven’t had the time to talk about it. Not that I need his permission or anything, but we usually keep each other up to date on what we’re doing.
He’s always been a good listener, and he’s never judged me about my stupid sex shit.
I know I’m not like other guys. I know I should be gung-ho on fucking my fiancée into an oblivion every chance I get. I shouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of her. I should be jacking off way more than I do.
It’s not like I don’twant to.
I’d love more than anything to be like other guys. To want to be buried in pussy until I can’t see straight. I want to enjoy sex. I really do.
That might be ninety percent of my problem, actually. I think too much.
I’m more invested in wanting to do it than actually doing it, so I get in my head too much.
At least, that’s what Cam tells me.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, my voice faraway.
Mack squeezes my shoulder. “Aight, I’ll meet you outside.”
I swallow harshly, the weight of defeat heavy on my shoulders as I send out a text, even though I know Cam’s probably passed out. His migraines are brutal. I’ve never had to deal with them, but I’ve seen them knock him out for days before.
Maybe I’ll stop by the studio tomorrow before the gym and bring him a coffee. He always does that sort of thing when I feel like shit.
Returning the favor is nice, sometimes. Especially when it makes the other person happy.
When I make them happy.
Bummer. Feel better. Text you in the morning.
I wish I didn’t have to go to any of these stupid parties. I’ve never been much of a partier. My brother, Alex, however… that’s a different story. Growing up, my parents were adamant about me being a good boy. No drinking, no premarital sex, all that stuff.
My brother never bought into any of it, and I suppose that’s why my parents were so adamant about me sticking to the rules. Alex was a bit of a rebel, always giving my parents headaches.
“If you live in my house, you abide by my rules, boy.” That’s my dad’s answer for everything. Not that he ever said it to me, since I did follow the rules, but I heard those words shouted at Alex too many times along with slamming doors.
I don’t like going to parties and getting black out drunk, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t woken up with a bitching hangover in the middle of a field feeling like I’m dying before. But that’s because I’m better at hiding things and keeping secrets than Alex. I’m convinced he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Or maybe it’s because I care more than he does; who knows?
I turn on my smile—the one I wear like a mask. I shake off my feelings of despair, telling myself that maybe a drink will do me good tonight. Maybe it’ll ease the pain, the anxiety, the disappointment.
And with that, I slide my phone in my back pocket, run my hand through my hair and close my locker, stowing my disdain for the moment in favor of showing up and being the Austen Brewer everyone knows and loves, regardless of how I feel.
At least they’ll be happy.
