“Fuck …” He hisses as I stroke him, swiping my thumb across the wet bead at his tip.
Our hands work in tandem, building the other up higher just to watch them crumble with pleasure. Sometimes, back in our happier days, we used to use this as a challenge to see who could get the other one off first. He’d swirl his fingers and bend them up into me, stroking the spot that would make me combust. I’d lick my fingers and put them in my mouth while jacking him off and then watch his eyes dilate as I mimicked sucking his dick.
I do that now, and Callum’s eyes go from predatory to lethal. He increases his circles around my clit, grinding the sensitive bundle of nerves under his fingertips. My hips buck as I try to concentrate; both on my own climax and fisting him until he’s babbling about needing to come.
I’ve dreamed about this moment for two years, thought about it constantly. I wondered if there would ever come a day where Callum would want me again, where we’d connect on this level. Love suffuses itself through every touch, at least on my end.
We explode together, almost exactly in sync, as we’ve rehearsed so many times before. There is no other feeling like this one on earth as we kiss through our mutual pleasure, with me whimpering into his mouth.
I love this person so much it physically hurts. I’m not sure if allowing him to touch me, to give me things no other man has given me, will end up causing me more pain.
Or maybe it will be the start of a brand-new chapter for us. One of healing, forgiveness, and ultimately, falling back in love.
20
CALLUM
“Why do all these teenagers look like they’re thirty years old?”
Scott points at the TV where Sophia Bush as Brooke pretends to be mad at one Lucas Scott.
“Because they are.” Gannon snorts. “Most of the people in my cast are supposed to be playing seventeen-year-olds and we’re all twenty and over. Most are in their thirties.”
“That’s actually so weird to think about.” Taya looks creeped out. “But it makes sense. I mean stealing a school bus or having their own apartment in high school while married and having a baby? Yeah, that definitely wasn’t happening to us back in Webton.”
“Can you imagine any of us being married in high school?” Amelie laughs like it’s the funniest idea in the world.
All the roommates are gathered in the living room on a Sunday night. We all just kind of ended up here and stayed, lounging on the couch, the floor, or the beanbag chair in Scott’s case.
I can’t help that my gaze flashes to Bevan. Because, well, we used to talk about getting married and having a family all the time when we were in high school. We had picked out our kid’s names and thought about where we’d retired to. We were the couple in high school everyone made fun of because we already seemed “old and married.”
And even though Amelie is asking a hypothetical, sarcastic question, my mind flashes to a time where I really could have seen myself doing exactly what the characters on this show are doing, but with Bevan.
“Absolutely not.” Gannon wraps his arms around his girlfriend. “I was much too big of an idiot in high school.”
“Well, there is something we agree on,” Bevan quips.
She seems to be in the best mood I’ve seen her in since I moved back in. Maybe it’s because I gave her an orgasm last night. She always was chipper after sex, something about the serotonin release affecting her usually dour mood.
“Wait, so they’re brothers?” Scott studies the TV screen, confusion marking his face.
“Their dad, he’s a dick, got the one mom pregnant in high school, then got the other one pregnant in college freshman year. He married the college one, so the other son is like a bastard. And they all live in the same town,” Taya explains without tearing her eyes from the TV.
“How many times have you watched One Tree Hill now?” Bevan eyes her suspiciously.
“We’ve re-watched at least four times from start to finish.” Amelie pops a piece of popcorn in her mouth.
“That’s psychotic.” Scott’s eyebrows go sky high.
“And watching five hours of baseball isn’t?” Taya purses her lips.
A laugh bubbles out of me. “I missed this.”
All heads swing to me, but my eyes connect with the green pair on the couch from where I sit on the loveseat alone. Bevan and I are in this middle ground, the past few weeks having been cordial if not airing on the side of flirty and dangerous. I know I ended it. I remember the reasons why I did. But I just can’t seem to stay away. She’s my first love, the girl I once thought was my soul mate. And seeing how she’s changed over the last two years … well, I feel like she still might be. It feels like so much time has passed, and yet this period of us not being together has been as fast as the blink of an eye.
“We missed you too, buddy.” Scott dives for me, and we wrestle onto the floor.
I put him in a headlock while the girls whine about us being noisy and interrupting their show. We’re just goofing around, and he grins as we come up for air.
“All right, who wants to get high?” Scott rubs his hands together and a collective groan goes up in the room.
“Last time we smoked with you, I ended up passed out on the front lawn with my shoes in my pants.” Taya snorts but looks like it actually might be a fun memory.
“Yeah, and I was the one who had to clean out your bong when it almost sent our carpet up in flames!” Bevan points at him incredulously.
“I made brownies this time, guys, chill. It’ll be peaceful, and you get chocolate.”
“I’m in for chocolate.” I shrug, because I haven’t gotten high in a long time and we’re not doing shit else tonight.
We’re a bunch of college kids about to venture off into the real world, and we’re safe at home watching soapy teen dramas. When the hell else would be a better time for recreational marijuana use?
Scott bounds off to the kitchen like a happy puppy and returns with a plate of fat, gooey brownies.
“Scott made these? I’m definitely not eating one then.” Amelie shakes her head.
“Come on, Ams, I’ll protect you from the weed monster.” Gannon breaks one in half, bumps them together and then eats an entire piece of it.
Reluctantly, Amelie starts munching on it, too. Scott and Taya split one, and then I look at the plate.
Bevan breaks one and passes the other half to me. The six of us are not really indulgers in drugs, aside from the occasional high of smoking or ingesting weed. Whenever we do get high, we all seem to be together, in the house, doing dumb shit instead of going out and partying. But these are some of the funniest times I’ve ever had.
“Bottoms up, motherfuckers,” Scott cheers, and I know he’s pumped it was this easy to get us to eat these.
Half an hour later, we’re all sitting in the exact same spots in our living room, high out of our minds and watching old episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants on Nick at Night.
“Patrick actually was the evil genius on this show, dude.” Scott laughs like a hyena.
“Agreed. Pass the Cheetos?” Amelie’s voice is as high as Mariah Carey’s falsetto when she gets stoned, and it always makes me laugh obnoxiously.