I refill his cup before claiming the stool beside him. “That’s not on you.”
It took me ages to sleep last night after Austen revealed he is in fact single. Not that it makes any difference. Because I’m still the wrong sex, but try telling that to my overactive imagination as it conjured up all kinds of HEAs involving me and my sexy as fuck roomie.
“Thing is, if she’d been with me, I’d have been on that plane with her. Doesn’t matter that I’d have to turn around and come straight back. I would never have left her alone if she was smashed.”
“The douche didn’t go with her, did he?” I sip my coffee, trying not to stare at Austen’s fingers as they comb through his hair.
“The asshole didn’t even go with her to the airport. I spoke to Gia. She said he needed to network and he couldn’t ditch the party.”
“Wow. He sounds like a keeper.”
“I feel like a piece of shit.” He places his elbows on the counter, resting his head in his hands. “I thought I was doing the right thing helping my friend, but I’m only helping her get into trouble. If I was a true friend, I would’ve said no.”
Cautiously, I place my hand on his back, smoothing it up and down his spine. He stills for a second before relaxing into my touch. Swallowing thickly, I clear my throat. “True friends trust their friends to make their own choices. Support them, even if they don’t agree. I’m betting you told her your concerns about Hendrix.”
“I did,” he admits, letting out a little groan as my hand moves more firmly up and down his back. “Fuck, that feels good.”
Buoyed by his comment, I stand, keeping one hand on his back as I position myself directly behind him. “You’re tense. Let me help.” I move my hands to his shoulders and begin kneading the corded muscle through his light top.
Silence engulfs the room, and a crackle of electricity sparks between us. My mouth is dry as I work his knotted shoulders and upper back, savoring the feeling of my hands on his hard, muscular body, even through his clothes.
“I did share my concerns,” he says after a few minutes of silence. His voice is deeper and gruffer than usual, and it’s doing funny things to my insides. “But she loves him, and she begged me to help her. I couldn’t say no.”
“Then you have nothing to feel guilty about, and she should have your back now.” This girl sounds selfish. Like she’s taking advantage of Austen’s friendship.
“She does.” He shifts on the stool as I press my thumbs into the carved muscle of his back. “Thankfully, our parents think she’s only drunk. She told them I was drunk too and that I wanted to go with her, but she refused.”
I’m glad to hear it, but she’s still selfish in my book. I know Austen said he doesn’t have time to date, but he can’t even hook up with any girl, because his relationship status is well known on campus and he’s too nice of a guy to have anyone think he’s cheating on his girlfriend. Does she even realize how much he has sacrificed for her?
“Fuck.” Austen rests his head down flat on the marble countertop, and my hands stall on his shoulders.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. It feels good. Don’t stop.”
I resume kneading his shoulders and upper back, willing the semi I’m sporting to back the fuck down before Austen notices I’m turned on massaging him. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take, because the opportunity to put my hands on him is too great to pass up. “Do you have plans today?” I ask, as I continue to work his muscles.
“Nothing except finishing the assignment we have due next week, and I’m almost done.”
“Want to catch a movie with me?” Sunday is the only day Austen doesn’t have practice or a game or classes and the only chance I have to spend quality time with him. Most Sundays, he uses it to sleep in and catch up on his studies, but we usually do something together, even if it’s only grabbing dinner out.
“Sure.” His voice sounds strained, and he hisses between his teeth as I move my hands down lower on his back. “What’s playing?”
My cheeks heat at having to make this admission, but I soldier on. “Twilight,” I admit.
Austen picks his head up, twisting around to look at me, his lips curved into a smirk.
“They’re playing all the movies for the next few weeks in honor of the new Twilight book that just released. The one from Edward’s point of view.”
Austen stares at me, and I drop my hands to my sides, feeling self-conscious. He sits up, swiveling around on the stool, eyeing me with that penetrating lens of his. His smile broadens, and I wipe my hands down the front of my sweatpants, nervous in case he thinks I’m a freak or a dork because I have a teeny-tiny obsession with the sparkly vampires.
“Team Edward or Team Jacob?” he asks, licking his lips.
“What?” I blurt, blinking rapidly as my gaze dances between his eyes and his mouth.
“Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?” he repeats, more slowly, his eyes lowering to my mouth for a nanosecond.
“Edward,” I reply after a few silent beats.
His lips purse. “We can’t be friends anymore.” He shakes his head. “I’m disappointed. Jacob is way hotter and way more interesting than Edward.”
Have I wandered into some alternate realm where debating how hot dudes are is normal for straight guys? Has Austen guessed what I’ve tried so hard to hide? Or have I deliberately misinterpreted all his subtle glances and sly touches? Is he into dudes too?
I rake my gaze over his drool-worthy face and lick-worthy body, and I can’t see it.
Fuck.
Has he figured out I’m gay and this is his way of inviting me to open up? My head is a hot mess.
“I’ve rendered him speechless,” Austen says, grinning openly.
I flip up my middle finger, pulling myself together. I’m not ready to fess up, even if I’ve thought about it before.
No one knows my secret, and I’ve been tempted to tell Austen so many times, because he’s a cool guy and he isn’t judgmental, but the fear of losing his friendship always holds my tongue. If I’m wrong, my revelation could ruin what we’ve built here.
I hated living in the dorms freshman year because I was the center of attention and my roomie was a jerk who tried to use my celebrity status to his benefit. I thought moving into my own place last year would be amazing, but I didn’t enjoy living alone, because it was lonely as fuck. I love living with Austen, and we have slotted easily into each other’s lives. I don’t want anything to mess with that.
Still, this could be an opportunity to test the water, so I roll with it. “Only because anyone who can’t appreciate how darkly attractive and inherently intriguing Edward is deserves to be met with a blank face and utter silence.” I cross my arms, returning his smirk. “I was giving you a few minutes to come to your senses.”
He laughs, and his eyes flare to life, reeling me in to their hidden depths. My cock throbs behind my sweatpants, straining to the point of pain, and if Austen looks down, he will totally notice I’m hard as a rock. “Think you’ve got that backwards, man.”
We stare at one another, and a familiar heady tension pulses between us, growing thicker the longer we remain eye-locked. My hands twitch at my sides with an almost overwhelming craving to touch him. I have never had such a visceral reaction to any guy before. I want to bend him over the counter and fuck him senseless until he’s screaming my name.
Austen stands, his chest lifting, as his gaze trails the length of my body. Panic swirls in my chest, but I stand my ground, even knowing he’s noticed the monster erection in my pants. My eyes glide down his torso, popping wide when I spot the obvious bulge tenting his pants. I suck in a sharp gasp, as arousal ignites flames in the tiny gap between us. Our eyes meet again, and my heart is pounding in my chest, slamming wildly against my rib cage as my brain grapples to understand the situation.
Austen’s eyes bore into me, as if he can see straight through the mask I’ve spent years perfecting. I hold his gaze, staring back at him w
ith more confidence than I feel.
Kiss me. Fuck me. Love me.
I scream on the inside, pleading with him to hear. Begging whoever is listening up there to let this not be delusion.
Because if this is real—if Austen Hayes is attracted to me in the way I’m attracted to him—then I’m rewriting the playbook.
***
“I’m surprised it’s not busier,” Austen admits, a few hours later, when we’re seated in the back row of the theater, waiting for the movie to start. He hasn’t brought up the kitchen incident, and neither have I. I was worried things would be awkward after he exited the kitchen without commenting on the elephant in the room, but things are normal, and I’m grateful our friendship is intact.
“They’ve been playing it for weeks,” I confirm, grabbing a handful of popcorn as he slides his cell out of his pocket. “They’re screening New Moon from next week, and tickets are already sold out.”
Austen chuckles as he taps out a message on his phone.
“What’s so funny?”
“Orwell’s giving me crap for watching Twilight.”
“Heathen. You can tell him I said that.” I pop some popcorn in my mouth.
“He thinks I’m a bad influence on you,” Austen replies, grinning as he repockets his phone. “If only he knew it was you corrupting me.” He waggles his brows, as I try not to think about the many ways I’d willingly love to corrupt him. His hand dives into the bucket of popcorn the same time mine does, and our fingers tangle in the buttery goodness, sending delicious tingles shooting up my arm.
“I’ve been wondering,” I blurt, ripping my hand from the popcorn before I intertwine my fingers permanently in his. “Which of your parents loves the English classics?”
He arches a brow, slowly dropping popcorn into his delectable mouth, while watching me with mounting amusement.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I hate how flustered I get in his company sometimes. “Austen, Orwell, and Charlotte. It’s obvious someone named you after some of the greatest English literary geniuses of our time,” I add.
“Top marks, dude,” he replies, molding his lips over his straw and pulling deeply from his soda. “Most people don’t connect the dots. And it’s my mom. She was an English major in college, and she teaches at the local high school now. We have all the classics at home, and she could repeat most of them verbatim.”
“Impressive. I’m a fan of that era too. Wuthering Heights is one of my favorite books.”
He shifts in his chair, and his knee brushes against mine as he pins me with a focused stare. “I’ve seen some of your journals around the apartment. You write?”
I nod, chewing on the inside of my mouth. “I started journaling a few years ago. It was easier to share my thoughts on the page than out loud. And then I started writing poetry, and I’ve written a couple of fictional novels.” My cheeks are even hotter after admitting that. The only people who know about my writing are my ex and my sisters-in-law, Lana and Faye.
“I’d love to read them some time,” Austen says, and I instantly shake my head.
“Nope. Never happening.”
He wears a familiar lopsided grin. “If you’re going to share them with the world, you should at least test-drive them beforehand.”
“I’m not planning on publishing them.”
His expression turns more serious. “Why the hell not?”
“For one, the inevitable comparisons with my famous author sister-in-law. And I’m not ready for assholes to pick my words apart. Lots of people love my family, but we have our fair share of haters too. I won’t open myself to that.”
“That would happen whether you’re famous or not. Not everyone will love your words, but you shouldn’t let that hold you back.”
“It’s not just that,” I whisper as the lights dim. “I don’t know if I want to be a writer. For now, it’s more like personal therapy.”
He nods slowly. “I can relate. And it’s not like you couldn’t change your mind in the future. You could always publish under a pseudonym,” he suggests.
I have considered that, and it would offer anonymity. One part of me wishes it was that simple. If it’s what I wanted to do with my life, it would be that simple. But I have no clue what I’ll do when I finish college, and that uncertainty only mirrors the uncertainty in other aspects of my life.
CHAPTER SIX
Austen
Keaton is acting weird. Weirder than he has been lately, and I’m starting to really worry about the guy. From the way he’s virtually hugging his backpack, one would think he’s hiding the national treasure in there. He kept it close in the theater, and he has it tucked under his arm on the seat in the restaurant, like it’s his kid. I sip my water as I watch him glance at his watch for the umpteenth time, noticing how tense his entire body is. If we were at home, I’d return the favor and massage him.
Fuck, his hands on me earlier was hot. He barely touched me, and my cock turned to steel. I know he was hard too, and I thought he’d finally fess up, but he chickened out. I came close to admitting my truth, but I won’t ever force someone from the closet. He needs to be the one to open up first, because that indicates he’s come to terms with who he is and that he’s in the space where he’s ready to at least consider the possibility of a relationship.
The waitress places the check on the table, and we both reach for it, but Keats gets there first.
“It’s cool,” he says, opening his wallet. “I got it.”
“No, you don’t.” I snatch the silver plate away from him, slapping my card down and handing it to the bemused waitress before he can complain. She walks off to process the card, and I lean back in the booth. “You paid for the movie tickets and popcorn. Dinner’s on me.”
Keaton is generous to a fault. I know he has a trust fund, and his family is fucking loaded, but that doesn’t mean he should pay for everything. My family isn’t rich, but we’re comfortable, and I’m on a full ride, so I can afford to pay my way.
“Next time, dinner is on me,” he says, draining the last of his water.
I shrug, because it’s no biggie.
“I’ve got to bail. I’m meeting Mol at the library,” he says, sliding out of the booth.
He won’t meet my eyes, and that’s how I know he’s lying. That and his obvious nervous disposition. “Okay.”
“I’ll meet you back at the apartment.” He slides his backpack on over his shoulders, grabbing the straps. “Thanks for today. It was fun.”
I rest my ankle on my knee, tilting my head to the side as I look at him. He’s so adorable, and he doesn’t even know it. “It was. We should watch New Moon next. As soon as some tickets open up.”
A genuine smile graces his mouth, and my stomach flip-flops. Keaton is a seriously good-looking guy, but when he smiles? Damn. It’s like being blinded by the sun. A blanket of heat wraps around me, and fuck it. I want this guy. I want him badly. I just need to be patient and wait for him to get on the same page as me.
But it’s hard, in every sense of the word, because I haven’t been laid in a long time and I’m dying to fuck him until he passes out.
“I’m all over that,” he admits, jerking his head up. “Later, man.”
The waitress returns with my card, and I leave a cash tip before hightailing it out of there. I spot Keaton’s tall dark head in the distance, and I walk fast to catch up. When I’ve closed the gap between us, I deliberately hold back, ensuring there are enough people in front of me, in case he turns around.
He turns left, heading away from the campus, and I know my instincts are correct. I trail him from a cautious distance, into a seedier part of town, my trepidation mounting with every step. When he veers right into an alleyway, alongside a dive bar that is known as a hive of illegal activity, my Spidey senses are on full alert.
Pulling up my hood, I risk a peek around the corner. The alley is dark, and I can’t see shit from here, so I dip down, keeping my back flat to the wall as I creep after my friend.
I slam to a halt when I hear voices and duck behind a dumpster, craning my neck around the edge, instantly not liking what I see.
Keaton is behind another dumpster a little farther ahead. The single red-painted door just behind the dumpster has a subtle overhead light that casts a spotlight on him and his companion.
Keats’ stance is defensive as he glares at the tall guy with messy shoulder-length dirty-blond hair and multiple piercings. I recognize him straightaway, because he goes to Berkeley and his rep precedes him.
Brock Jonas is the only son of a media mogul from Malibu. He’s another trust fund kid, but unlike Keaton Kennedy, this guy isn’t a good guy. He’s an arrogant prick with a known drug problem. He plays drums with some seedy indie rock band and drug-and-drink-fueled orgies are their specialty.
What the fuck is Keats doing with him?
Knots twist in my gut as I watch Keaton hand him a thick, large envelope. I’m ready to intervene when the douche shoves Keaton in the chest, but Keats shoves him back, his nostrils flaring as a slew of words leave his mouth. I wish I was closer so I could hear what they’re saying, but I can’t risk being seen. Keaton would not be happy I’ve followed him. Not when he’s gone to such lengths to keep whatever this is from me.
Crouching down, I hide in the dark corner, tucked against the dumpster, as Keaton strides past, frustration and anger rolling off him in waves. I watch that prick Jonas disappear behind the door that leads into the bar before I give chase, but Keaton is nowhere in sight when I emerge on the sidewalk.
I take my time walking back to the apartment, mulling over my options. Do I fess up and risk Keats’ wrath? Or try to find out what’s going on before I face him with my suspicions?
Saying or doing nothing is not an option.
If Keaton is in trouble, and I have a chance to do something about it, then I’m doing something about it.
Keaton isn’t home when I return to the apartment, so I finish my assignment, take a shower, and flop down on my bed to call Colton. Colton banned Brock from the football house during freshman year, and he seemed to know something about him, so he’s my first port of call.
Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9) Page 5