Keene ignores me for the two days following the night he picked me up from the bar and brought me home. Also known as the night we made out like two lust-drunken idiots and came all over each other.
Well, he came on me, and I came in my pants. To-ma-to, to-mah-to, at this point.
Though, I’m not entirely sure if ignore is the right word. Being distant might be the better term. Whatever it is, he’s made himself very scarce around the dorm. Staying out to study at the library until he knows I’m in bed or spending time at the team’s practice facility for extra batting practice. The latter is how I know something is definitely wrong. Keene hates taking BP off the machine and avoids it at all costs during the regular season.
Guess he’s choosing the lesser of two evils in this instance.
But when it comes to the third day and I still haven’t seen more than a passing glance of him, I’ve had about enough.
I know I screwed up a bit, pulling a classic Aspen and shutting down immediately post-hookup. I also know I haven’t done shit to broach the subject about what happened the other night because I really don’t know how. But I also know I can’t keep living like this: two ships passing in the night like the other doesn’t exist.
If anything, I understand—now more than ever—why he kept the questioning of his sexuality under wraps. Because after what happened when we were texting and then the other night on the couch…
Hell.
I think I’m questioning mine.
The door to our dorm clicks open, revealing Keene with his bag slung over his shoulder. He pauses when his eyes lift to find me on the couch working on my architectural studio project—which is toeing the lines of Frank Gehry level in abstraction—and his brows lift in the way they do when he’s taken off guard.
“Oh. You’re still up,” he says after kicking off his slides. Long fingers grip the bag slung over his shoulder far tighter than they should be, and I can tell he’s looking for an out. Hilarious, considering Keene’s always the one to make us talk about our feelings when we get into a fight.
The only exception to that has been the past few weeks.
But pair his clear desire for avoidance with the way he still won’t look at me, and I know this is necessary. No matter how uncomfortable it’ll be. And I know it’ll be awkward. Especially if we aren’t on the same page as to where we go from here.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I think we need to talk.”
He nods a couple times before finally meeting my gaze. An impassive look is plastered on his face that’s even unreadable to me. My stomach rolls at the sight of it. Part of me thinks he might even tell me no or to fuck off.
I don’t think I’d blame him if he did. Rejection stings from anyone, but I’m sure having it come from one of the people you care about most hurts like a bitch.
But in true Keene fashion, he just lets a confident smirk cross his face. One he and I both know is faker than Dolly Parton’s tits.
“Okay, so talk.”
Then he walks right past me and into his room, clearly meaning for me to come with.
Well, shit. I wasn’t expecting him to make me go first. Spew my guts out without knowing what he’s thinking or feeling beforehand. Then again, this is Keene. If I can’t be open and honest with him about this, I can’t do it with anyone.
Moving my laptop to the side, I follow behind him, anxiousness and dread settling low in my stomach. I have no idea where to start, and I think that’s the biggest issue. I don’t hate what happened between us, but I also don’t know what any of it means. I don’t know if I want it to mean something, other than a stupid, drunken moment where we got carried away more than we should’ve.
Well, at least for me, it was partially due to intoxication. Though, as far as I know, Keene was sober when he came all over my stomach in what might be the hottest sight I’ve ever seen.
Passing through the doorway, I find Keene’s back to me as he tucks his duffle in the corner of the room. Plopping down in his desk chair, I take a deep breath and open my mouth to start out with what sure is gonna be a stupid amount of word vomit—the first few being I’m sorry. But then he strips out of his cut-off and tosses it with the rest of his dirty clothes, his shorts and socks quick to follow. Soon enough, he’s left in only a pair of black compression shorts.
And I’m left completely tongue-tied.
There are plenty of times I’ve seen Keene in this state. Being around each other in only underwear has been a pretty regular occurrence since we moved in here freshman year. Probably well before then too. We also can’t forget the hundreds of times I’ve seen him in swim trunks, which is basically the same damn thing.
But never before has the sight caused my brain to short-circuit like this.
Miles of tanned skin over perfectly sculpted muscles greet me, and I’m both shocked and horrified to find myself greedy for more. For him to drop the briefs entirely, so I can get another look at his—
Jesus Christ, stop it.
My eyes snap away, shame coursing through me for ogling his body…because for fuck’s sake, why is this happening? I most certainly haven’t wanted to get an eyeful of another dude’s naked dick before. Hard, flaccid, or anything in between.
When I flick my attention back to him, my eyes are immediately glued to his package again, so apparently that’s not the case anymore.
Why the way I look at him has suddenly changed, I don’t know. But now, I see the way his obliques carve his lower torso with that sinful V girls lose their shit for. The defined indentations of each of his abs, eight in total. And then there’s the sculpted curves of his shoulders that meet the sharp lines of his collarbone.
The urge to run my lips over the hard lines is unreal. Unfathomable, even.
And it’s far off course from what I’m used to feeling, that I have no idea what to do with it.
How did we end up here?
He’s completely oblivious to my eye-fucking session—or at least pretending to be. And my internal existential crisis, which is far more important. Thank God, though, because I’m not looking to make the conversation we’re about to have even more awkward.
He must get tired of my silence, though, because his attention finally lands on me when he drops onto his bed across from me.
“Normally when you wanna talk to someone, you have to speak words, Pen.” His eyes give nothing away. Not an inkling into how he’s actually feeling.
Okay, so that’s how we’re playing this. Good to know.
My eyes narrow on him, and I cock my head to the side. “You might be cool with pretending like nothing’s going on after the other night, but I’m not.”
His shoulders go rigid. Imperceptibly so, and I almost don’t catch it. But it’s the way his eyes widen that give him away. And it’s then I realize what’s really going on here.
I really hope you’re sober enough to remember this tomorrow.
As if I could forget anytime soon. I think the groan he let out as he came all over me is permanently seared into my brain. A sexy, forbidden soundtrack playing on repeat ever since I first heard it.
“I remember,” I murmur, confirming what he’s thinking as I glance away. “I remember all of it, Kee.”
He lets out a sharp exhale, relief crossing his face momentarily. It’s quickly replaced by a look of irritation, his eyes narrowing on me.
“If you remember, why’d you wait three days to say something?”
“How was I supposed to when you were avoiding me at all costs?” I counter, a slight bite to my tone.
He blinks a couple times, shaking his head. “I guess that makes sense, but you can’t blame me for wondering when you’re hardly the one to talk about shit unless I force it out of you.”
I frown. “So then, why didn’t you force this conversation the morning after?”
His lips roll in, forming a thin line, and he sighs. “I guess I didn’t want to freak you out if you didn’t remember. Or worse, have you think I was like…taking advantage of you or something. I don’t know.”
A pang of guilt rushes through me, and I roll the desk chair until I’m sitting right in front of him. “I’d never think that, Kee. Something you should know.”
“I should…” he starts, shaking his head, “but things have been so weird lately. Ever since that Chi O party where we played DYD, I’ve felt this…”
“Tension?” I supply. A little too quickly, because his head snaps up and it feels like he’s staring right through me.
“So you’ve been feeling it too?”
Hard not to when that video has been on a loop in my mind since the first time I saw it. Or that the sound of your moans has been cemented in my brain and I can’t stop thinking about how they’d feel around my cock.
Oh, and then there’s the other night when you got pissed at me for taking Bristol on a date and dared me to think about you while I fucked her…which led to the hot-as-shit make-out session where we came all over each other.
I don’t say any of this, though. After all, I don’t feel like adding more fuel to this awkward fire we’ve already got burning between us. Honestly, I’d rather go back to pretending all that shit didn’t happen in the first place, but we’re way past that now.
So instead, I just nod. That’s the safest bet here.
He nods too, eyes sinking closed. “Okay, so it wasn’t just me. That’s good to know.” The words are muttered softly, almost to himself, and another wave of guilt hits me.
Just because I wasn’t able to express what’s going on in my head about all the shit escalating between us—let alone talk about it with him—doesn’t mean it was in his head. Or one-sided.
That’s the last thing I wanted him to think.
But again, the coward in me won’t dare voice this.
As unfair as it might be to him, it’d be even worse if I were to say one thing and then end up taking it back later. I’d rather know for certain before taking that kind of leap. With anything, really, not just him. But because it’s him…it’s almost more important to be sure.
Keene lets out a long sigh, breaking me from my thoughts, and starts shifting his weight back on the bed until he’s leaning against the wall and his feet are dangling off the edge near my knees.
Which would be fine if the movement didn’t make me realize…he’s still in his damn compression shorts, and only the compression shorts.
Damn.
Clearing my throat, I glance away from him, but that only makes him burst out into laughter.
“For fuck’s sake, Pen. You act like you haven’t seen me half-naked before. Or completely, seeing as we used to take baths together as kids.”
I feel my cheeks heat, and I snap, “Yeah, well, baths as toddlers when we don’t know about dicks and sex is completely different than making out and dry-humping each other to the point of climax.”
The feeling of embarrassment immediately increases the second I realize the shit that just spewed from my mouth, and I clamp my lips closed on instinct.
Shit, shit, shit.
Keene just continues to stare at me, lips parted slightly in something like shock. After knowing him for years, I can tell he’s doing his best to read between the lines. Seeing what I’m not saying. And honestly, I’m kind of terrified of what he might find…because I don’t even know what’s hiding there myself.
Eventually, he clears his throat, eyes darting around his room before they settle on his hands. “Can you just tell me what you’re thinking? Because I can’t figure it out anymore.”
Those words aren’t anything close to what I thought he was about to say. And honestly, what kind of question is that? How am I supposed to answer it?
I’ve never come harder in my goddamn life than I did the other night, and that scares the crap out of me because he’s not only a guy, but he’s Keene. My best friend in the entire world made me come in my fucking pants.
And I can’t stop thinking about doing it again. Another huge problem.
I have no interest in messing around with any attraction toward men. Honestly, I’ve never really experienced it past seeing a dude and thinking, “yeah, he’s good-looking,” or something like that. A regular acknowledgment of male beauty, not some sexual desire to get them naked and lick their entire body. I don’t even know if that’s what I’m feeling now with Keene. I just know kissing him and touching him makes me feel things.
Unexpected things, like stupidly turned on.
But Keene isn’t good at the hook-up culture, and even if I like doing sex stuff with him, it wouldn’t change the whole I don’t do relationships bit.
I sigh, resting my face in my palms. “I don’t want to want you. Not like that.”
“And you think I do?”
Lifting my head to meet his gaze, I’m surprised to find a pained, worried look on his face.
“You think it hasn’t been fucking torture to keep this shit to myself? From you for this long? I’ve been living in hell ever since that kiss, and it’s only gotten worse over the past few weeks. So do you really think it’s been easy to want you, but know I can’t have you?”
No. If what I’ve been feeling—the confusion and overwhelming lust every time I look at him—is any indication of what he’s been going through, I don’t think it’s been easy at all.
He shakes his head, sitting up and combing his fingers through his hair before continuing. “Look. I’ve been wishing I could just get over whatever happened that night for a long time, Pen. But I can’t. I’ve tried.”
My head hangs. “I just wish you would’ve told me. So you didn’t have to go through it alone.”
He shrugs off-handedly. “I mean, I didn’t even know at the time if it was something I needed to go through, you know? Like I said, I tried to ignore it, get over it, whatever. But I can’t, and it’s made me realize this is something I just have to figure out for myself. I can’t not know.”
“Then you should.” I pause, my stomach rolling with worry. “But Kee, you have to be able to trust the person you’re gonna be exploring this with. I…” A knot works its way into my throat, and I swallow it down. “I don’t want someone to just take advantage of you. Something like this is a big deal.”
“Coming from the king of no-strings hookups.”
I smirk, because yeah, the irony isn’t lost on me.
“Well, the only person I would trust is you.” He lets out an awkward laugh. “But I can’t ask you to be the guinea pig in this either. Sending me a dick pic is one thing. I can even rationalize what happened on the couch as us getting carried away with something that felt good in the moment, even if it wasn’t smart for us to get caught up in. But sex is something else entirely.”
My brows furrow, and while I understand what he’s saying, I find myself disagreeing. Because I am the king of no-strings hookups, and the fact of the matter is, I don’t think I’d mind Keene figuring this out with me.
I don’t want him doing it with someone else.
We could have each other in the ways our bodies are clearly craving. As long as we made some guidelines and were open with each other, there’s no reason for us not to.
The only thing stopping us is…me not offering it up.
“But you can.”
His forehead creases. “I can what?”
“Ask me.” When a look of doubt crosses his face, I roll the chair closer to him until my knees brush against the mattress. “I’m serious, Kee. You know I’d do anything for you, and if this is what you need, then sign me up.”
“No fucking way.”
You stubborn shit.
“Well, I’m not gonna take the chance on you finding some asshole on Toppr who doesn’t care about you at all and only ends up making it bad for you because he’s a dickhead.”
The point I’m making is completely valid, but from the way his features flicker with a mixture of apprehension and uncertainty, he’s not feeling the same way.
As much as I don’t like being the catalyst to this whole sexual discovery in the first place—only for him to keep it from me for as long as he has—I want to help him with this. Any way I can. So if I was the reason it started, I’m gonna make damn sure I’m the way he figures it out too.
It takes balls to put yourself on the line for another person. He’s probably the only person in the world I’d be willing to do something like this for, just like I know he’d do the same for me.
Maybe that’s why I find myself uttering the question that keeps getting us into this mess.
“Don’t you dare?”
His eyes heat dangerously. “Pen.”
I shake my head. “Yes or no, that’s all I need.”
His jaw ticks, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look more pained in my life. Torn between what he thinks is right and what I can tell he really wants. And make no mistake, he wants this. He’s just too afraid to take it. I’m almost positive he’s gonna say no when his eyes sink closed and his head slumps back against the wall.
Until he nods. The slightest movement, but it’s there nonetheless.
And fuck if I’m gonna let him start overthinking and take it back, so I blurt the dare out before he has the chance.
“I dare you to suck my dick.”
