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I shuddered, and Cally let go, collapsing forward to press his forehead against my shoulder.

“Holy shit,” he panted.

I lifted a hand, raking my nails against his scalp until his breathing evened out. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He sat up, our cum squelching as he pulled back to look at me. “You’re not going to freak out, are you?”

“Should I?” I asked, as he untangled his fingers from my hair, only snagging slightly.

“Maybe?” he mused, his nose scrunching up.

“Because we just …?” I trailed off, not sure what word to use to describe what we’d done.

If Cally were a woman, I wouldn’t say we’d just had sex. Fooled around or fucked around, maybe.

But this felt like sex. The best kind of sex, actually.

I had the same post-nut endorphins I got after a really good fuck coursing through me, this warm sort of … glowy feeling in my muscles and bones that didn’t happen with handies or blowjobs alone.

“Because we just,” Cally said, not naming it either as he rolled off me to drop onto his back with a grunt.

I spent a moment taking stock of my feelings. Physically, I was sated, my limbs relaxed and loose. Mentally? There was no panic, no sudden rush of shame. I felt … calm. I’d wanted this, and now that it had happened, I felt fine about it. Better than fine, actually.

I turned my head to find Cally watching me, his eyes guarded. “It would make sense if you had regrets.”

Regret was the last thing I felt.

In fact …

“I have an idea.”

SIXTEEN

CALLY

Mikey’s idea, as it turned out, was more orgasms. All the orgasms. I’d come more on this road trip than I had in the entire month before it combined.

I wasn’t complaining, but I was conflicted.

For Mikey, our hookups were a convenient way to let off steam and relax. The cherry on top of the sundae that was our friendship. He couldn’t stop saying how great the situation was, how fucking awesome it was having a best friend you could have epic orgasms with.

Great, yes.

But really fucking terrible, too.

Because this wasn’t just about letting off steam for me. My anxiety was off the charts. I was barely sleeping or eating, my stomach completely tied up in knots. And that was affecting my game, though given that we were miraculously on a winning streak, I didn’t think anyone noticed.

I kept telling myself that I needed to put a stop to it, but each time Mikey texted to ask if I was “down to hang,” I said yes. Every time he knocked on my hotel room door, I answered.

I was hooked. A glutton for punishment.

And low-key in love with him.

Which he could never know. He could never even suspect.

The last time I’d confessed my feelings to someone, it had ruined everything, and I’d barely survived the fallout.

That could not happen again. I wouldn’t let it.