“Your boyfriend is here.” He puts the word “boyfriend” in air quotes, like that’s not a thing two guys can be to each other.
Before I can tell him to fuck off for insulting both me and my not-in-air-quotes boyfriend and order him to get the hell out of my house, I feel an arm around my shoulders.
“Let it go,” Lex mutters. “He’ll be gone in a few minutes. He’s flunking statistics. He just came over to borrow some notes from Cooper.”
“Where’s Kolby?”
“Your room. I told him he could wait for you there. Figured it was safer.”
“Thanks.” He’s right, it is safer. But I hate that it has to be this way. Hate that there are still people like Slags who, for whatever reason, can’t leave people alone and let them love who they want to love. “I thought you talked to him.”
“I did. So did Tate. And since he hasn’t listened to either one of us, we’re scheduling a meeting with Coach to discuss disciplinary action.”
Thank fuck there are also people like Lex, who get it. I sling an arm around his shoulders and clap him on the back. “I owe you one.”
“You could repay me by letting me win at knock hockey once in a while.”
“What kind of victory would that be?”
“A shallow but strangely still satisfying one.”
I laugh, give him another slap on the back, and head upstairs before Slags, who’s now occupied going over statistics notes with Cooper, can lob any more insults my way. When I get to my room, I’m surprised to find Tate hanging out in the hallway outside my door, looking like one of those Buckingham Palace guards, minus the firearm and fuzzy hat.
“Do I want to know why you’re standing watch out here?”
“Your boyfriend told me to make sure no one interrupted him. Except you, of course.”
“What the hell is he doing in there that he doesn’t want interrupted?”
“Don’t ask me, ask him. I think he has something special planned. You know, like a grand romantic gesture.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you know about grand romantic gestures?”
“Hey, I’ve seenTitanic,” he protests, folding his arms across his chest. “That was pretty romantic.”
“There’s nothing romantic about drowning at sea. And there was totally room for Jack on that door.”
“We could debate that for hours, but I don’t think you want to keep your boyfriend waiting.”
He’s not wrong on either count. Except I’m the one who doesn’t want to wait. I’m dying to see what Kolby is up to in there. “Thanks, man. I think I can handle it from here.”
He steps aside, clearing the way for me to open the door, and throws some parting words of wisdom at me over his shoulder as he retreats down the hall. “Have fun. Don’t forget to wrap your willy. Or have Kolby wrap his, if that’s how you guys roll.”
“Dude, I’m not telling you how we roll.”
“Dude, I’m not asking.”
I’m laughing at his comeback when I swing the door open, but the laughter dies in my throat at the sight that greets me.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I slam the door shut behind me and lock it, not wanting anyone who might be passing by in the hallway to see what I’m seeing. Kolby spread eagle on my bed, buck naked, cock in hand. I’m transfixed by the way his fingers slide up and down his shaft, his thumb stealing out to spread a bead of precum over the tip.
“Took you long enough.” His gruff voice diverts my gaze from his dick up his smooth, flat torso, catching briefly on the shiny silver bar through his nipple, to his face. I imagine my mouth making the same journey, stopping to trace the hills and valleys of his abs with my tongue, playing with his piercing. “I broke down and started without you.”
“I can see that.”
“Are you going to do more than stand there and look?” His hand moves faster but his eyes, a fascinating combination of dark and light, mischief and desire, never leave mine.
