I’m happy for them, especially since I haven’t seen my best friend smile a lot during the past two years, but sometimes it almost hurts to look at them.
They’re freshly in love and trying to keep a low profile in public, so naturally, when inside the safety of the Nook, they touch a lot. No outright PDA, but an arm around each other or a leg hooked over the other’s in front of the TV. Xander’s hand onthe small of Nicko’s back, guiding him away from another debate with Olli, Nicko leaning into his boyfriend when he thinks no one is looking.
It’s what I pictured a relationship would look like and what I had in mind when I set up that online dating profile and filled in my details; what I thought Colin and I could have this summer.
Instead, he left me with a deadline and a task I haven’t come any closer to completing. By now, I’ve almost given up on it. It’s not for lack of trying—I’ve chatted with a handful of other guys, but all the conversations died at some point, like a flower you forget to water regularly. It’s mostly my fault for keeping them on read after the first dick pic I never asked for, after failing to provide pictures of myself or answer the most basic questions about my preferences.
Top or bottom?
I don’t know—how about we start with our names first?
I would like to know at leastsomethingabout the other person before getting naked together or for a picture. Not a whole life story, but there must be something else you have to offer me rather than a faceless set of abs!
Colin was different. We talked about his travel plans, and I confided in him about my parents.
Who would probably tell me that I should put that “damned phone” aside and try to meet someone in real life. But I’ve never been big on going out, and between the additional shifts I’ve taken over the summer and the few extra courses I’m trying to complete, I have no energy left. So, even with a party raging right in the backyard, I much prefer a cool shower and my soft bed for the rest of the night. Fingers crossed, I’ll at least manage to finish my reread ofKeeping Noahso I can return it to Olli’s bookshelf.
I grab a fresh set of clothes from my room, then dart across the hallway to the bathroom. Thankfully, since the party is outside,it's unlocked; everyone else is probably using the downstairs one. My hands are full, so I press the handle down with my elbow, then shoulder it open.
At first, I think I must have made a mistake and, however possible, barged into Nicko’s room, interrupting a tender moment between him and his boyfriend. Two men are locked in a tight embrace, their hands wandering over each other’s sides in long and lazy gestures.
It takes me an agonizingly long second to realize that, no, I’m not, in fact, facing Nicko and his boyfriend.I’m also not in the wrong place; the bathroom just holds significantly more people than I expected.
There’s a full-blown three-way make-out session unfolding right in the middle of our bathroom. It’s like looking at an accident—the most beautiful accident where a sports magazine editor cast all participants. I can’t avert my eyes even though it would be the right thing to do. Mesmerized, I watch as two pairs of hands wander up and down Micah’s back.
I recognize it immediately by the broad shape, his lat opening up like an enormous fan, the thin material of his gray shirt stretching out over it. I’ve had this exact view a hundred times when entering the kitchen in the morning, and it never fails to do something mildly catastrophic to my thinking abilities.
The smaller pair of hands settles on his hips, dotted with freckles and ending in perfectly manicured French nails; the only hint that there’s a girl sandwiched between the two big bodies.
Another set of tattooed hands hovers over hers, then grabs Micah’s sides instead, pulling him closer, squeezing all of them together.
A deep moan fills the bathroom.
I’ve heard that sound before, muffled through my ceiling on the nights Micah leads a visitor up the narrow stairs to his room.I’ve always managed to locate my headphones fast enough to cut out the rest, but right now, there’s nothing to filter it out. The sound moves directly through me, echoing in my cells, vibrating in my bones.
My face is burning, and my hands have gone very still at my sides, the change of clothes dropping from them with a soft thud.
The small hands wander from his narrow hips to Micah’s ass. I’ve gotten very good at pretending not to notice it; the perfect roundness of it, the firmness. But it’s right in my field of vision now, and I can’t look away when the flawless set of French nails digs into it.
Micah moans again, and I gasp, our voices becoming one for the smallest fraction of a moment—until I realize what the fuck I’m doing and hurry to clap a hand over my mouth.
But it’s too late.
The tattooed hands release Micah’s sides, the third body drawing back from their knot of limbs, dark eyes snapping open to glare at me.
“What the fuck?!” Sebastian Davenport growls, the anger in his voice sending me back a step. The girl detaches herself from Micah’s chest, offering me a better view. She’s drop-dead gorgeous—light freckles dusting her creamy skin, not detracting from her beauty but enhancing it with a hint of cheekiness, a slender frame, and long auburn waves that cascade down her back.
She looks vaguely familiar, although I can’t place where I’ve seen her before. Her eyes are unfocused, but once they settle on me, a flirty smile curls the corners of her full lips.
“Oh, are we expanding into a foursome?” she coos, and it sounds like she might actually be open to it.
“Definitely not,” Davenport answers, his eyes moving over me with open contempt, slowly taking in the dog hair on my shirt, the cold sweat on my forehead. His nose scrunches up in themost uncharitable gesture, as if he can smell me all the way to where he’s standing.
I involuntarily shrink into my oversized shirt.
“Seb.” Micah’s voice is low but sharp, clearly used to being heard and obeyed. It also makes the fine hairs at the back of my neck stand up—if he told me to leave in that tone, I probably would. I would doa lotof things.
“I’m sorry, but I need the shower,” I tell them quickly, even though I’ve already made another step backward, standing in the middle of the hallway now.
