Getting Him Back (7 page)

Wyatt spread his legs and angled his hips against mine, our dicks making contact through our jeans. It felt so good I had to make it feel even better. I tugged at his button, worked his fly, and then he was in my hand, hot and satiny, pulsing and getting harder, thicker. He groaned into my mouth, fingers squeezing my dick.

I swept my thumb over the crown, and the wetness of his precome made my jaw ache, made my knees get all loose. I got myself out as fast as I could, and rocked up into him. His dick felt sweet on mine, a tight drag, warm and silky and slick from the way he was dripping precome.

Wyatt grabbed my ass with both hands as I thrust into him. His backpack had only been over one shoulder and it banged off our sides, echoing in the stairwell.

The stairwell.

Fuck. What the hell was I thinking?

I wasn’t.

I smelled sex and sweat and him. His mouth was inhaling mine, feeding my oral fetish while our naked dicks slid together in my hand. I couldn’t stop. Not if the whole soccer team trooped by to watch. His hand fumbled between us, covering mine, working around it. Perfect pressure everywhere. God, was that his nail in the spot under the ridge?

My legs shook, and I tore my mouth free, getting a good mouthful of his sweatshirt to bury my gasps. He grunted almost soundlessly into my shoulder, but nothing could quite cover the thick, wet sound of our slam together.

His sudden stillness warned me, and thank God, I could let go of the muscles I’d been using to hold off coming. He jerked and shot. A slippery string dropped over my knuckles, the smell of come sweet and bitter between us, and I fell over the edge with him. Pleasure shook me, wringing my balls dry until there was nothing left.

I kissed his sweaty neck, then the soft curve of his ear and my lips found the tang of a barbell hidden by his hair. “Fuck.” I blew the word softly into his ear. “So good. God. I want to do that again. Wanna suck you.” It wasn’t only the sweet rush from coming making me say it. I wanted him. Wanted to see every inch of what was hidden under the sweatshirt. Wanted to taste his skin. His cock.

Wyatt wasn’t much for afterglow. He jabbed an elbow into my ribs forcing me back far enough to give him room to fasten up his jeans. “Get off.”

I couldn’t resist. “I did.” I smiled, despite the continued application of his elbow. “You did too.” I wiped my palm and fingers on the thing in my other hand. Right, the paper bag holding his sweatshirt had been between us. The tan color was streaked now with strips of dark brown from our come. “I don’t think I can return this now.”

Wyatt’s hair swung back over his face as he grabbed the bag from me. “Fine.” He unzipped his backpack and wadded the bag as small as he could before stuffing it inside. He yanked the zipper up again and slung the strap over his shoulder.

“Wyatt.” I reached for him with my non-comey hand.

“Don’t.” He stumbled back against the next flight of stairs. “Just don’t.”

“It’s okay.” I stuffed my hand in my pocket. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be anything but sex.”

He’d said he didn’t know if he was gay. Shit. I should have left it with kissing. But he’d been into it. No doubt about that. Maybe the problem—again—was me. All that stuff I’d whispered in his ear probably came off as clingy rather than hot.

“Or it doesn’t have to be anything at all.” If he was just figuring himself out... “If you want to talk about...stuff, you can. With me.”

He yanked his hood back up over his head. “What I want,” he bit the words off, his jaw snapping tight after the
T
, “is for you to leave me the fuck alone.”

He turned and took the stairs two at a time.

I didn’t go after him.

Chapter 8

I went down the narrow stairs, then through the door at the end of that hall. There was a Dumpster to my left and a loading dock to my right. A few more concrete stairs took me down to the pitted asphalt of some service road.

I threw my shoulders back and took gulps of the trash-scented air to clear my head. How had I managed to fuck that up? Not that I’d planned any of it. But I wanted it again. Wanted Wyatt.

How could I still want to be Blake’s boyfriend while wanting to suck off Wyatt?

Because I was a selfish asshole.

That’s why Wyatt had taken off. I’d been whining at Wyatt about Blake since the minute I met him. No wonder he accused me of jerking his chain. I’d gone along with all those double entendres. Flirted.

But I hadn’t known he was interested.

Shit, I still didn’t know.

I walked to the edge of the access road where it bordered the hill. A stretch of grass blotted with leaves and dandelions lead down to Lake Murphy. The fountain in the center sent up a mist that the morning sun turned into a rainbow.

When I was younger, back when just hearing the word
gay
made me nervous and embarrassed and excited at the same time, I’d always gotten this secret rush when I saw a rainbow. Like nature was telling me being gay was cool.

My eyes tracked the path around the lake, a thin strip of tan. I could even pick out the spot on that path where Blake had dumped me six weeks ago. I’d avoided the lake since then, but the rainbow was pretty. I should go back up around the student center, make my way to Perry, duck in a bathroom to clean up better and go to my calculus class. I needed all the goodwill I could get from the professor.

My phone buzzed. After wiping my hand on my jeans some more, I pulled the phone out of my pocket.

A text from Blake. Where the fuck did you go?

Oh, shit. I’d completely forgotten that I’d gone there to meet Blake. To talk. And technically we were broken up, but guilt still slithered through my stomach. I couldn’t see him now, with another guy’s come on my shirt.

Blake’s next text saved me from that. Never mind. Can’t now. See you at the game?

I’d been avoiding the soccer matches since Blake dumped me. At home, I never missed one.

Maybe. I sent back. I wasn’t playing some game with him. I was too confused to know what I was doing.

I really should go to calculus.

Fuck it. I walked down to the lake.

* * *

“Dude. You got laid.” Connor looked up from his laptop as I came in.

I froze, trying to sniff myself. I’d stayed by the lake until the cloud cover had made the rainbows vanish, then had cleaned up in the first bathroom I came to, but there was only so much I could do without a shower. I think the paper bag had taken the worst of it.

Had Connor noticed beard burn? My neck had gotten scraped a little. It wasn’t only Wyatt’s personality that was prickly.

“No shit. You totally did?” Connor shut his laptop.

“You said it like you knew.” And I’d just busted myself.

“I was only kidding. Because of your green shirt.” He pointed at my henley. “You know, you wear green on Thursday if you’re horny and wear green on Friday if you got some. But now you’re busted.”

I sat on my bed.

“So, ex-sex or rebound?”

“Uh—” I didn’t think of Wyatt as a rebound guy, or one of those just-wanting-to-get-off guys from back before Blake.

Connor stretched his arm across the space between our beds, offering his closed fist. I pounded him back.

“S’all good.” Connor stretched out on his bed again. “You were really letting down the side.”

Connor watched a lot of British comedy.

“The side?” I got what the expression meant, but I couldn’t figure out what side we were both on.

“Dudes. I’d think guys were—you know—easier. You can hook up without complications. You should be getting laid all the time.”

Guys were plenty complicated. And I’d done all the casual hand jobs and blow jobs I wanted to do before I started going out with Blake. “What about you? You seem to be keeping up the side.”

Connor’s face got red. “Not as much as I want to. My high school girlfriend and I broke up because we were going to different schools. I’ve been stuck in a dry spell.”

I’d been so caught up in my own trauma, it never occurred to me that Connor had gone through something too. He was a nice guy, never joked about gay being gross or suggested I was looking at his junk. And since the first day when he’d boldly dropped trou before putting on a robe and heading for the showers, I’d worked super hard to
not
ever see his junk. I couldn’t even tell you if he was cut or not.

“Amy?” I could try to make up for being a sucky, self-absorbed roommate now.

“We’re going out tonight. Some indie band she wants to see in the town park.”

Connor’s taste in music was varied, assuming you could discern between the different subgenres of metal he listened to, always considerately with headphones on.

I winced in sympathy. “Maybe it’ll be folk metal.”

“Their name is Peace From the Cycle.”

“Oh.” So maybe straight guys did have to suffer to get laid. “Well, after that I hope you get lucky.”

“Thanks. Um, do you know about the code for—”

“Like a sock on the doorknob?”

“Yeah.” He sounded relieved. “Not saying anything will happen.”

“No, it’s cool.”

He swung around to jab my knee with a sock-covered toe. “‘Specially since you already got some.”

* * *

In an effort to make myself scarce, I agreed to go with Makayla to the soccer game. It was apparently a big deal—Coborn’s archrivals in the league or whatever. I figured the odds of seeing Blake were slim since he’d be totally focused on the game—match, whatever.

Since Whitney had turned zombie, we had to meet her inside the stadium, which was a safe zone. She and Makayla had an agreement that if they were heading out together, Whitney would give her a two-minute head start.

Coborn didn’t have a football team so the soccer team was the big fucking deal as far as fall sports went. I heard they had a good wrestling team, and the idea of muscular guys in superthin singlets tangled together sounded like free live porn. I knew what I’d be checking out over the winter. I’d been to every soccer match Blake played over the two years in high school so I understood the basic rules. I couldn’t always figure out whether something should or shouldn’t have been a foul, but I knew good ball-handling when I saw it. Yeah, go ahead and laugh at that for a second.

We managed to find some seats in the student section, squeezing in on the bleachers. Makayla had half her ass in my lap, but I didn’t mind because it was a cold night. A perfect fall night that makes everything look sharp and clear. We stood to cheer and sing something that sounded like weird moans as our team came out.

It was weird seeing Blake like this. Every other time I’d seen him in his uniform, lining up on the field, we’d been boyfriends. I’d always had a sense of pride in that, seeing his wavy auburn hair and wide shoulders, standing out in his bright keeper uniform. Now I was only some random student cheering from this cramped corner of the stadium. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

I got into the game though. Coborn was fast, but the other team was good at controlling the ball, trying to slow them down. Our keeper made three amazing saves. One of them made everyone in the stadium suck in their breath as he barely got his fingertips on a free kick and sent the ball over the net.

We were roaring when the team came back on for the second half of the scoreless match. I stood up to let Whitney and Makayla scoot by on their way to the girls’ room, why they couldn’t go
during
the half I have no idea. As Blake trotted to his place on the sidelines, our eyes met. He smiled and winked.

Or maybe he was winking at someone else. I turned and looked over my shoulder but no one else seemed to be suffering the fluttery stomach I was from that wink. When I looked back, he was shaking his head, still looking at me. Then the ball dropped and his attention was back on the field.

The happy feeling from Blake’s attention was quickly buried under an avalanche of guilt. I’d had another guy’s come on me that morning. And it was one thing to say yeah, we were guys and that sometimes might happen, but what
had
happened with Wyatt didn’t feel like just getting off. And if it had been Wyatt’s first time with a guy, I was a total shit to have been whispering how much I wanted to suck him off and then get excited about Blake winking at me not even twelve hours later.

With everything so tense in the match, I couldn’t tell if that quiver in my gut was because it was Blake or just that I liked being noticed by someone everyone was cheering for. Fuck, I’d lost track of the play.

The other team had a corner kick coming, our defense scrambling to get coverage as our keeper pointed and shouted. There was a slam of bodies on the line, the ball went sailing over the top of the net and our keeper went down and didn’t get up.

Trainers went running onto the field. I was torn between watching that and Blake doing high-knee sprints and jumps to warm up on the sideline. If our keeper was out, Blake would be going in. With the league championship
and
consecutive scoreless streak on the line. The senior keeper hadn’t let in a goal all season.

A stretcher cart came out, and I knew Blake was going in. My gut was in knots. I doubled over.

“What happened?” Makayla asked as she pushed back into our row. It sounded accusatory, like I’d dared to let all this happen while she was taking a piss.

“Concussion, I think.”

Blake joined the teammates gathered around the stretcher. As they started to wheel the guy off, everyone clapped. Blake looked up at me and gave me a tiny thumbs-up gesture. I made it back at him, and Makayla turned to stare at me.

“What the hell is
that
all about?”

I shrugged. She got on her phone. The girl was faster than a supercomputer when it came to accessing the information she wanted. I wasn’t surprised when a momentary search had her elbowing me.

“Blake St. Pierre. He’s from your hometown. Oh my God, he’s the one who dumped you and then—wait. Are you back together?”

“No.” At least I was pretty sure we weren’t. This morning I’d known that was what I wanted more than anything, even passing the damned calculus midterm. Then Wyatt had happened. And now I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Though I still really did want to pass the calculus midterm.