The Golden Boys: Chapter 38

The room behind him is dark and he squints to adjust to the light from the hallway. He’s shirtless, his hair’s disheveled, and a pair of black sweats ride low on his hips. And, based on the unobstructed outline of his dick through the fabric, he’s not wearing anything underneath them.

Focus, stupid.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, but—”

“I wasn’t asleep.” His tone is deep and cold, confirming what I already believed.

The switch has flipped.

Again.

Heat spreads up my neck and face and I’m doing everything I can to control my temper. Because I want to slap that cocky look right off his face. That one that makes me wonder if he knew I’d show up at his door.

But I can’t worry about that right now. I need to get everything off my chest. Once and for all.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I ask.

He gives a nonchalant shrug. “I’m listening.”

How did I ever feel anything for this asshole?

At any rate, I’m here now. So, here goes.

“I have no idea what’s changed between us overnight, nor do I think it’s even worth discussing at this point, but for some stupid reason I need to say it,” I admit.

There’s fire blazing in his eyes when he stares and I’m so confused. It’s like I’ve slept through some offense I’ve committed against him. Because his hatred is so real, so raw.

Tangible.

He works his jaw and I swallow hard. He leans away from the doorframe and glances behind him, into his room.

“You can go now,” he says to someone I can’t yet see.

“What?” a feminine voice asks. “We’re nowhere near fin—’

“Go!” West yells, cutting the girl off midsentence. “Get the fuck out!”

My heart sinks, hearing that some other chick was here with him, but it shouldn’t even affect me. Still, I feel like running off, hiding in my room to keep him from seeing how ashamed I am for coming here, but I fear that’ll make me look even more pathetic. Like some lovesick weakling who can’t stand the thought of some guy who isn’t even hers being with some other girl.

I need West to think I don’t care. Need him to think this doesn’t hurt.

While, on the inside, I’m gutted.

Of all the girls it could’ve been, Parker comes into view, and before moving to the dresser to gather her things, she shoots me a dirty look. I imagine she’s equally wounded for having been dismissed when I showed up, but it’s not like that. I have no priority where West’s heart is concerned.

As far as I can tell, no one does.

She slips a t-shirt over her bra and refastens the button on her jeans. She has several items to gather, which leads me to believe the plan was for her to spend the night.

I have to look away, choosing to stare at my feet instead.

Another dagger to my chest. Another wound that’ll take forever to heal. As if I didn’t already have enough of those.

The corners of my eyes burn, and I hold my breath when Parker comes closer. She stops beside West and hatred flares across her face.

“You’re an idiot,” she hisses at him. “When shit blows up in your face, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, she storms her way between us, slamming her shoulder against mine on her way out. She mumbles something scathing under her breath, but I don’t catch it. Then, West stands aside, silently inviting me into his space.

The space where he’d just been doing God-knows-what with Parker a moment ago.

Her perfume lingers in the air, making me secretly grateful when West opens the sliding door that leads to the balcony, letting in fresh air. Light from the city filters in, too, and my gaze shifts to the bed. It’s still made, but two distinct imprints show where West and Parker did … whatever they were doing before I showed up. Again, I force myself to look away, slowly dropping down into the chair where West’s black and gold jersey hangs over the back of it.

“You wanted to talk, so talk,” he sighs, resting against the edge of the round table in the corner.

First, I take a deep breath, and then just … unload on him. Because I’m full to the brim and if I can make him feel even a fraction of what I’m feeling, I’ll be satisfied.

“You are, by far, one of the shittiest human beings I’ve ever met. If I can even call you that,” I start. “You use people, and you hurt people, and you don’t even give a damn!”

My chest tightens with emotion and I know I should probably just abort mission and leave, but I can’t.

“I fell for it,” I admit. “Two weeks ago, in the pool, I let myself think I might actually feel something for you, then you completely ghosted me today. And for what? Parker-fucking-Holiday?”

Slow down, Blue. Don’t let him see too much.

“I keep asking myself what I could’ve done to deserve being treated the way you’ve treated me, and it took me until tonight to accept that the answer to that question is ‘nothing’. I’ve done nothing. You’re just mean, and twisted, and there’s no one to blame for you being such an evil bastard but you.”

“Maybe,” he cuts in. “Or … maybe my father’s to blame.”

I’m already rolling my eyes. “Fuck your father. Whoever the hell he is,” I snap. “He might be awful—and believe me, I get that—but you don’t get to use that excuse. Not here. Not with me,” I hiss. “Yeah, having sucky parents makes life harder, and it gives us a fucked up view of the world, but that’s not a crutch, West. It doesn’t give us an excuse to become awful people.”

And now, there’s a tear. I feel it rolling down my cheek and I’m sure there’s enough light coming into the room that he sees it, but I’m too pissed to care.

“I’m an idiot,” I admit. “Because you showed me exactly who you are from day one, and I let myself fall right into your trap anyway.”

I pause when a realization hits home. I’m becoming my mother despite every effort to be nothing like her. I’d spent most of my life judging her, thinking how weak she was for getting into the situations she’s landed in over the years, and here I am. Crying in front of the one person in this world who doesn’t deserve to see me cry.

“Don’t mistake me being emotional for more than it is,” I warn him. “I don’t fucking love you, West. I don’t even like you. I just stupidly let myself get attached.”

I regret even admitting that, but it’s out there now.

He pushes off from the table and I’m instantly on guard. When he stands before me, I can’t even look up at him. I’m not sure what I’ll feel if I do and I can’t afford to hate myself more than I already do.

“What do you want from me?” The rawness of his deep timbre works its way to my bones.

“I want you to be real with me,” I answer. “For once, just … give me something.”

That sounds dangerously close to pleading, but I don’t feel like myself, and it just comes out.

“You’re not here to hear about my problems,” he deflects, leaving me weary. “You say you want to know why I am the way I am, but you don’t. Not really.”

He pauses and I almost tilt my head back to meet his gaze, but I fight it.

“You don’t really want to hear me say it,” he concludes.

Instantly, I’m infuriated by these walls he casts up, frustrated by the riddles and double-talk.

“You think I came here to have this conversation with myself?” I shout. “That’s no different from the usual, West. I want you to man up and talk to me! Be honest for a change. Say something! Anything!”

I’m aware he could interpret this as desperation, but so what. It can’t be taken back. One thing I can control, however, is this obvious power play with him standing over me like I’m one of his damn subjects. So, when I can’t take it anymore, I stand from the chair. I expected him to back off and give me space, but he doesn’t even budge.

Immediately, I’m aware that I’ve made a mistake.

We’re face-to-face, and as much as I hate him right now, I feel it. That thing that’s always there, festering between us like an open wound that never heals. We’re raw, we’re damaged, making it so easy to grieve over our unspoken hurt together.

“I hate you.” My voice quivers with the admission as I peer up at him, but he takes it.

“You try, but you don’t,” he bites back, calling my bluff.

“No. I mean it. I hate you with everything in me. You’re cruel and thoughtless and—”

I lose my words when he steps closer, overwhelming me. “And … what else?” he presses.

My chest vibrates when my heart speeds up. “You’re getting off on this?” I barely speak the words higher than a whisper.

He doesn’t respond, but I know the answer to this question is ‘yes’. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.

“You’ve told me a million times I’m sick,” he reminds me. “Name one time I denied that.”

We have a standoff where neither of us speaks or moves, but then he cranes his neck down to whisper in my ear—soft, deep.

“No one handles me like you do, Southside,” he croons. “And as much as I hate to admit it, that shit’s like a fucking drug to me.”

His voice has my entire body quaking with need, but I manage to stay focused.

“Well, as flattering as that is, I’m not here to amuse you,” I snap. “I only came to you for the truth. That’s the only thing I want from you at this point.”

“Then take off your clothes.” I’m shaken by the authority in his tone. “If we’re ever going to learn one another’s truth, that’s where we’ll find it.”

A quivering breath passes between my lips, but I’m determined to resist.

“In bed? That’s where you think normal people learn one another’s true colors?” I question him sternly, wanting him to know I’m not going to break for him. Even if my body is already fighting the decision.

“Not normal people. Just us,” he answers.

My chest rises when I draw in a powerful surge of air, holding his gaze when I speak again.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten Parker was just in your bed, asshole?”

The bastard actually seems surprised that’s a factor. “Is that what has you so upset?” he has the balls to ask, like him having her here is nothing.

The space between us disappears even more and he reaches to rest a hand on the small of my back, drawing me toward him.

“I didn’t touch her,” he claims, sounding annoyed that he even has to say it.

When I scoff and slip from his grasp, his eyes follow me toward the balcony where I stand just inside the threshold.

“She was in your bed, half-naked, West. And you and I both know there’s not much that bitch won’t do for you.”

He brushes his thumb over his lips, hiding a slick grin.

“She came here to talk, and also thinking I’d let her spend the night, but only because she’s delusional,” he adds with a sigh. “The conversation got heated and she said some shit that pissed me off, and in Parker World, you make things up to people with sex. But I swear to you, I never touched the girl.”

I stare at him, glaring because this feels weird, having him explain anything to me so emphatically. Like … he actually cares. Meanwhile, I can’t tell if he’s just a really good liar, or if this is all true.

“Doesn’t it count for something that I put her ass out the second you showed up at my door?” he asks with a throaty laugh. “Or … have you forgotten that little detail?”

He’s baiting me. I’m convinced of it when he comes toward me again.

My eyes drop to his waist, where the muscles there are unbelievably cut, giving a preview of what’s just below the band of his sweats.

Don’t let him get inside your head, Blue. Just … don’t.

He’s in my face now, closer than he ought to be, breathing down on me when he speaks again.

“I couldn’t even get hard for her. Not like I do for you.”

He’s lying.

He has to be.

Before I can even finish the thought, he takes my hand and lowers it between us, forming my fingers against his dick, making me feel that the opposite is true right now. He’s solid against my palm and his size never ceases to impress me.

I stop breathing altogether when he takes my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. I know he intends to kiss me, because he always preys on the weak, but I snap out of his spell just in time, remembering how I’d been given the cold shoulder.

“I’ve been an afterthought for you all day. And you think you’re just going to talk your way into my pants now?”

He has zero response and it burns me up.

“You are such a damn fuck-boy,” I hiss. “You think you can do and say whatever the hell you want and just—”

I go silent when his mouth covers mine. He swells in my hand and I grip his length tighter, knowing some bruised part of his soul just enjoyed that insult, enjoys being verbally destroyed.

“Tell me what else,” he insists, pushing his tongue inside my mouth right after.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this angry with someone, but for some reason, I can’t put distance between us.

“You’re a walking tragedy,” I continue, speaking my mind in a trance as his lips move down to my neck.

“What else?” His breath is warm against my skin when he asks, making me lose my foothold in reality a little more.

“You’re stubborn and I hate it,” I say next. “Sometimes, I get so frustrated I think I could actually kill you.”

A soft laugh leaves his mouth after I speak this time, the reaction vibrating against my neck, but he doesn’t stop kissing me there. Instead, he sucks the hollow of my throat and I’m officially losing this battle. He pushes the top of his sweats down a few inches and I feel more of him, skin-on-skin, but he hasn’t exposed himself completely. Not yet.

“I need a second,” I manage to choke out before pulling away.

He’s quiet, panting, but there aren’t words.

Those godlike features of his are highlighted in faint light and I don’t miss the desperation that’s overtaken his expression.

“I’m not leaving,” I rush to tell him, although I know I should. “I just … I need a second.”

The rims of his nostrils flare as his need becomes even more apparent, but he gathers himself and nods. He steps aside and I rush to the bathroom, close the door behind me, and turn on the light.

Staring at myself in the mirror I’m not even sure who I’m looking at. The Blue I knew a few months ago wouldn’t be here tonight. Not with someone like West. Someone who definitely doesn’t deserve her company.

And yet, not a single part of me wants to leave his room tonight.

I rinse cool water over my flushed cheeks and feel drawn to the other side of the door, where temptation on two muscular legs is waiting for me to return. It dawns on me that West and I have accomplished nothing here tonight. We haven’t worked out any of our issues, and I wonder if this is the only possible way to have him.

Broken.

Twisted.

But maybe I’m willing to settle for that.

His words ring inside my head, his declaration that the only path to unearthing our truth being between the sheets. I also can’t deny the part of that statement concerning the two of us being far from normal. On that point, he’s right. Possibly about all of it.

Maybe intimacy is the only way to tell if any of what we suspect the other feels is real. The only way to tell if what we, ourselves, feel is real.

My gaze shifts to the door again and I ask whether I’m willing to be denied something I want so badly, but I don’t have to wait long for an answer. Knowing my fate is sealed, I turn off the light when I’m done, and easily see my way to the bed.

West is seated on the edge. When I step between his knees, he slowly peers up and I see more of him than before. The tender parts of his soul he keeps hidden beneath everything else. I’m reminded of what Joss said, about him being a sweetheart underneath it all. For now, I’ll have to just take her word for it, but by some miracle, maybe I’ll see that for myself one of these days.

He grips the back of both my thighs and draws me close. I watch as he undoes the button of my jeans and slides them down my legs, along with my underwear. I step out of them and lift my hands when he takes off my shirt next. Reaching back, I undo my bra as he stands, towering over me, too beautiful to really be human.

He holds my gaze, daring me to look away when he pushes his sweats down toned hips, baring himself to me completely. I only have a moment to steady my breath before the soft flesh of his lips meets mine. He kisses me deep, gripping the back of my hair. My head spins every time his tongue moves over mine.

A crinkling sound catches my attention and he backs away, only long enough to roll a condom into place with one hand. Then, I’m pulled down onto his lap when he sits. Heat moves through my back where he holds me tight. His hips flex between my thighs as I straddle him, feeling him all but begging to be let in. I show no sign of intending to make him wait, so he reaches between our bodies, aligns himself, and then guides me down onto him by my hips.

A whimper leaves my mouth and it’s steeped in relief, finally feeling him completely, in ways I’ve longed for since the first time I laid eyes on him. My lids fall closed and I ride him slow, drawing a deep moan from his lips.

“Your eyes,” he rasps. “Open them and fucking look at me.”

I meet his gaze, taking in the sex-drunk look set on his face. He’s barely coherent as our bodies move together, him wanting my full attention. He has it all, just like he wants. And, suddenly, I understand why I’m not allowed to turn away.

There’s an intensity he exudes, and he needs the same in return. I willingly give it, grinding on him faster, harder as my arms lock around his neck. I give him everything. Every ounce of hate, every ounce of anger I have inside me, and he happily receives it, absorbing it all.

His fingertips dig deep into my hips and tension builds in my core. My breaths are quiet moans now and West swallows them down when he captures my mouth with a kiss. Leaning back, he brings me down on top of him. Then, my every move is guided by his hands, the churning of my hips in rough, grinding circles as he thrusts hard underneath me. The combination has me on the verge of a scream. His head pushes back toward the mattress, and he can hardly catch his breath. My fingertips tighten on his chest and I’m so close.

“Don’t … come yet,” he says with erratic pauses between the words, still controlling me.

“I’m not sure I can wait,” I warn. My body has a mind of its own and he’s so, so deep.

In an attempt to slow my mounting climax, he eases up a bit, slipping one hand upward to grip me just under my ribs. It feels like my heart is on the verge of beating out of my chest, but then a menacing smirk curves West’s lips.

Out of nowhere, he begins the assault once again, catching me completely by surprise. This time, I can’t hold out like he’s requested, but I’m guessing that’s the point.

“Don’t stop,” I mutter incoherently, squeezing my thighs tightly against him.

He continues to work my hips, grinding my body against his until I begin to quake all over. The powerful swell of tension between my legs mounts, peaking with a euphoric explosion I feel from the inside out. I revel in the moment only seconds before West’s body writhes beneath me. He thrusts his hips a few final times, gripping me so tightly it hurts, and then I have the unmatched pleasure of watching King Midas get his release.

It plays out through a series of high-inducing expressions. First, it’s unbelievably tense, followed by pure bliss, and finally it floods with calming relief. Right after, he lets out a breathy grunt and goes completely motionless beneath me.

I find myself staring down into his vibrant eyes, but neither of us speak. It’s that lack of words that leaves me a bit unnerved, overwhelmingly aware of what we’ve just done. From there, it doesn’t take long for the full scope of things to hit me. Then, in an instant, I’m an insecure mess on the inside, hoping West doesn’t notice.

That insecurity grows and I move to climb off him, thinking a bit of space might help clear my head, but just as I do, his arm holds me in place. Locked against him, there’s tenderness in the touch I’m not sure he means for me to notice, but I do. Maybe because I’m so desperate for that, some sort of sign that I’m not the only one who just felt that—the blinding energy that just exploded between us.

His lips part and he has my full attention, thinking he’ll speak. Thinking he’ll say something that will further drive away this heavy sense of dread. Despite life having taught me that putting any measure of hope into a guy like West is a risk.

His chest moves when his breathing picks up again, and his gaze lowers to my mouth. Being held like this, I feel so much. Things I’ve already sworn I’ll deny feeling until the day I die. But I notice something. It’s slight but doesn’t get past me.

As West scans my face with a quick, sweeping look, his grip on me loosens and, just like that, he’s suddenly someone else. The shift leaves me breathless and I feel like the rug has been snatched out from underneath me.

Whatever false reality being intimate had just erased for him, it comes flooding right back to him like a storm surge. I can’t help but to hear his words again. That our truth would be revealed through this single act.

Maybe that’s what this is. Our revelation.

I move aside when West slips from underneath me without any kind of comfort, and then storms toward the bathroom. There’s anger in his stride, in those rolling hills of his shoulders and back and, watching him, my chest tightens with grief.

There’s not a question in my mind of whether I’ve made a mistake. Only of the magnitude and lasting impact it will have.

He pauses at the bathroom door but doesn’t turn. For the fraction of a second, that inkling of hope returns, but then it’s snatched away with three little words.

“You should go.”

Then, he disappears around the corner, slamming the door behind him. The sound has me shaken, and I’m frozen in disbelief for a moment.

He wouldn’t just do that. I know we’re screwed up, but … just dismissing me?

But then it registers, and I realize what this was. Just sex. Nothing more than that, and now he wants me gone. Just like he’d demand with any other girl.

It’s pride that draws me to my feet on autopilot, stifling the many emotions beginning to swirl inside me. Through tear-blurred vision, I’m in search of my clothes, knowing that, for my own sanity, I cannot still be here when he gets back.

If I’m going to hold it together, I have to get as far away from him as possible and go right into emotional-damage-control-mode. But before I can even get that far, I’m beating myself up. It starts the second I flee from his suite with my shoes in hand, trying not to hyperventilate as I rush to my own room in an epic walk of shame, fumbling with the key at the door.

How could you be so stupid?

Did you really not see this coming?

You’re so screwed. You’re so broken. You’re officially a slut. At least with Ricky, it meant something. To you. To him.

Damn.

I make it inside and don’t bother with the light. If I have to look at myself in the mirror, I might not be able to pull it together. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done, and there’s no taking it back.

As far as regrets go, it doesn’t get any worse than this.