I huff a sigh and head to my shitty apartment.
The sprayof hot water feels heavenly on my muscles. I could stand in here all fucking day. My nerves and fears from the morning swirl down the drain along with my shampoo, and I feel lighter than I have since arriving.
Unfortunately, not being bogged down with stress or having to guard my every thought has made my body horny and my brain debauched. Try as I might, I work to pictureanyoneelse as my hand engulfs my cock.
Logan.
Micah.
My ex.
Anybody.
But no luck. Blue eyes under black lashes are waiting for me as soon as I close my eyes. I’m equal parts horrifiedand turned on as the rest of Stone’s face and body come into view in my mind’s eye.
He’d be so fucking disgusted if he knew what I was doing right now.
So would our parents.
Oh, God…ourparents.
How am I supposed to look any of them in the eye ever again if I come to thoughts ofStone? I try desperately to change my line of thought, but his voice rings in my head, repeating the gentle words he spoke to me on the helicopter this morning. The way his fingers felt on my neck as they monitored my pulse. The way my dick reacted to the graze of his hand as he fastened my harness.
I hadn’t even realized my hand picked up speed. My balls are heavy with the need for release, and my dick is as hard as my stepbrother’s namesake.
This is a one-off, I decide. I must be more critically tired than I thought, and this is how my body is playing out its exhaustion.
One time.
Just come and go to bed and forget this ever happened.
All it takes is remembering how it felt to be caged in by him against the door, and I release a guttural groan of shame and disgust, my self-loathing at an all-time high.
I quickly wash the evidence away and crawl into bed.
As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out.
Chapter 13
Stone
It’s not like I expected Hanlon to call me or anything, but when both of my texts have still gone unanswered by five p.m., I start to worry. Even if he’s pissed at me for sending him home, he’d still respond.
Which makes me think hecan’trespond, and suddenly, I’m gripped with fear that he’s somehow injured or struggling with a panic attack that’s causing his muscles to seize.
I know I’m being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop me from showing up at his apartment at six o’clock, banging on the door.
A guy who looks like he’s spent the last decade living in a hookah bar greets me on the threshold. I smell the pot on him and hate him immediately. Hanlon has a higher risk of asthma because, along with his other complications, he was born prematurely with a condition called bronchopulmonary dysplasia. Lana says his attacks are much less frequent now, but still appear every so often.
When he was younger, he’d often get into coughing fits if people were smoking cigarettes, the air quality was really poor, or he exerted too much physical effort.
“You know you can’t smoke in these apartments, right?” I ask the stoned idiot in front of me.
“Who said I do? And who the hell are you?”
“You smell like you just spent two hours hotboxing. And who I am is none of your business. I’m here to see your roommate.”
“Got a couple of those,” he says. “But since I haven’t seen you before, I’m assuming you’re here for the nerd.”
