“Sure.”
I didn’t want to push him, but when he reached for the doorknob and was about to yank it open, I called his name, stopping him.
“If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. You know where I stand, okay?”
He looked me right in the eyes and didn’t hesitate when he said, “I want to. I’m just letting it all sink in.”
“You’re not weirded out?”
“Oh, it’s weird, but… No, not as much as I should be.” A hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Good.”
Denver left, and the reality of what we’d agreed upon hit me like a truck. My life—our lives—were never going to be the same.
And I didn’t give a flying fuck.
* * *
The following few weeks passed in a haze of blissful surrender. Denver finally disembarked from the worry train, and we spent every available moment sneaking off and exploring this nontraditional thing we’d discovered together. It was all wet mouths and quick handjobs when nobody was looking. If Tate took off for a couple of hours and Denver wasn’t digging his way through a mountain of textbooks, he’d come over, and we’d get off. Sometimes only once. Sometimes repeatedly until we were exhausted.
Denver was a motherfucking cocksucking god on his knees, and I couldn’t get enough of him or his mouth.
Shianne’s annoying phone calls had finally petered off, and school was… well, it was school. Mind-numbing and lacking any thrill. Like in high school, I did enough work to keep my grades at a passing level, but that was it. I didn’t care about anything beyond having a good time, getting laid, socializing, and drinking. I was only going to be young once, so whatever.
I was obsessed with the sneaky adventures I shared with Denver. They were one of a kind, dirty and dangerous, and if anyone found out, it could be bad for both of us, but that was part of the thrill.
There was one thing still on my agenda—a boundary we had yet to cross. The longer this went on, the more I wanted it. I remembered with explicit clarity how amazing Denver had looked getting fucked into oblivion by the blond at Ramon’s party. The way he’d screamed and writhed. He was vocal when he got into the right headspace, and I wanted to take him there again.
I wanted that for myself.
I wanted to be the one juicing those noises from him and making him scream with pleasure as he came.
Although he’d been on board with our little secret rendezvous, from time to time, he was still nervous and reticent. I knew if I initiated more, he might buck me or overthink or run away scared. Blowjobs were one thing. Letting me fuck him would lead to a whole other level of freaking out for Denver.
He didn’t voice his concerns about what we were doing anymore. The few worries that remained weren’t about what we were doing, per se; they were about getting caught.
Friday morning between classes, Corey and I made our way to the popular café in the college food court. We bought sugary, caffeinated drinks with stupid names that took far too long for the barista to make and found a table to enjoy them.
Neither of us was awake enough, and the quiet between us was comfortable. It wasn’t until we’d been sitting a while and the caffeine had a chance to kick in that Corey spoke. “Are you going to Leroy’s tonight?”
“What’s happening at Leroy’s?”
“Party, man. Not like Ramon’s, but whatever. Just the lame-ass kind, but it’s still fun, right? Get drunk. Maybe you can find a hot piece of ass, or whatever, to fuck. There’s always a willing participant, right?”
“Yeah. Cool. Party sounds good.”
I’d have to drag Denver out with us. If I didn’t encourage him to have fun from time to time, he hid in his dorm room and studied his weekends away. Denver was socially crippled, and unless he had someone guiding him and holding his hand, he didn’t know how to go about having fun in life.
“Mind if I invite Den?”
“I don’t care. Your brother’s a little square, you know that, right?”
I shrugged. “He’s okay once he’s had a few drinks.”
“Whatever.” Corey grew more alert, dragging himself upright in his seat. “Did I tell you about Alicia?”
“Who?”
Corey dragged his drink in front of him and took the lid off so he could sip it. “Alicia, dude. For real?”
“Who’s that?”
“Christ, Har, seriously? The girl I’m dating. The one I’ve been dating for a few weeks now. I talk about her all the time. Pay attention.”
“Oh, right. What’s wrong?”
“Remember your annoying one-night stand who didn’t understand the concept of a one-night stand? Shianne?”
“Oh god. Don’t remind me. I finally got rid of her. Haven’t heard from her in over a week. Knock on fucking wood.” I rapped the table for emphasis.
“Yeah, well, she and Alicia are friends, apparently. I didn’t know until, like, two days ago when we were hanging out, and Shianne showed up at Alicia’s room. Anyhow, we were talking about Leroy’s party this weekend, and I said I’d invite you. Dude, your name slipped out, and I wasn’t even thinking.”
I groaned. “Fuck me. Is she gonna start calling me again?” I dropped my face into my hands and scrubbed.
“I’m not so sure. Shit hit the fan, and Shianne told Alicia all about how you made her think you were into her and wanted to date her, but the minute she ‘gave herself’ to you’”—he put air quotes around the words—“you ran for the hills. Now, I’ve been listening to Alicia say all this shit about ‘How can I be friends with a player?’ and whatnot. You’re deplorable, FYI. Her words, not mine.”
“It was practically a month ago, for fuck’s sake. Tell her to get a grip. It’s none of her business.”
“I know! That’s what I said.” Corey shook his head. “Whatever, man. I don’t care, but next time you want to fuck and run, make it clear to the person so there isn’t any misunderstanding. Dude, you have to read between the lines. Some people don’t get it.”
“Believe me, it’s been well noted.”
“So, you gonna be there tonight?”
“I’ll be there. Gonna need something to purge this day from my mind. On that note…” I checked the time. “We should go, or we’ll be late for O’Hagan’s class.”
* * *
I pounded a fist on my brother’s dorm room door. “It’s the police,” I said in a gruff, authoritative voice. I pinched my lips, fighting back a smile as I listened to scrambling and panic from within.
The door flew open a second later, and Denver’s roommate, Chris, blinked back at me until he realized I was fucking around.
“You’re an asshole.”
“At your service. Den,” I called, shoving past Chris and letting myself in. “Get dressed. We’re going to a party.”
Denver was at his desk, computer on, books occupying all the remaining space. This was what I was talking about. It was Friday night, and he was neck-deep in homework.
“What are you doing here?”