Keats encircles my wrist, stopping my movement. “We can get an Uber home and be in bed in twenty minutes.”
“That’s too long,” I purr, nipping at his earlobe. “Need you now, babe.” I rest my forehead against his. “Please. We can be quick.”
Keats moans, tipping his head back, his skull knocking against the wooden door. “You are going to be the death of me.”
I love you. I think it, but I don’t say it. Thank fuck. Because I don’t want to tell him I love him for the first time when I’m drunk in the bathroom of a sports bar. But I need his mouth on my cock and his hands on my body, and that shit can’t wait.
He caresses my cheek, and the adoring gaze in his eyes almost has me blurting the truth. “What do you need, boyfriend?” he whispers, trailing a line of feather-soft kisses along my jawline.
“Fuck, Keats.” My cock strains painfully against my jeans. “Blow me, dude.”
He shoves me back against the sink, making quick work of sliding my jeans and boxers down my legs, and then he’s there, exactly where I need him, nudging my thighs apart and lowering his mouth over my throbbing shaft.
I grab the edge of the sink, holding on for dear life, as my boyfriend sucks my dick like a motherfucking pro. When his fingers dive into my ass, I can’t hold back any longer, exploding in his mouth as I clamp my lips shut to stop from roaring out his name.
I yank him to his feet, pulling his mouth to mine as I devour him, licking the inside of his mouth, loving the taste of me on his tongue. My hand slides under his boxers again, but he pulls back, tearing his mouth from mine. His lips are swollen, his face flushed, the heady look of lust blazing from his eyes. “Not here. I need to get you home.”
I throw my arms around him. “You didn’t get off.” I never leave my boyfriend unsatisfied, and I’m not about to start now.
His lips purse. “I’m well aware of that fact, Captain Obvious. But we’re done with the risk-taking for tonight.” He tugs my boxers and my jeans back up, fixing my clothes, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding him tight.
I love you. I fucking love you. I whisper it in my head as I hug my boyfriend, never wanting to let him go.
Keaton chuckles, wriggling out of my arms.
“What’s so funny?” I pout as he tucks his cock firmly inside his boxers, buttoning his jeans.
“You. Like this. I’ve never seen you drunk before.”
“Enjoy it,” I joke. “Because it doesn’t happen often.”
“Hold still,” he says, and I stare at him as he fixes my hair into place and brushes some lint off my shirt. My heart thumps to a new beat behind my rib cage, and I lace my fingers in his, emotion pinning me in place.
“Do you have any idea how important you are to me?” I say, my voice choked with emotion. “I want to shout it from the rooftops that you are mine. I want everyone to know I have the smartest, most gorgeous, most caring boyfriend in the world.”
He grips my face, smiling in amusement. “You’re sappy when you’re drunk.”
I hold him at the waist. “I don’t care, and I’m not drunk enough to not know what I’m saying. I hate hiding you from the world. I want everyone to know how much I lo—” I stop myself in time. “How much you mean to me.”
“I know, man.” His eyes turn glassy. “I know you do.” A veil of sadness sweeps over his handsome face, and I hate knowing I put it there.
“Let’s go home. I just want to be with you.”
Somehow, Keaton manages to get me out of the bathroom and out of the bar without drawing too much attention. Then he’s bundling me in the back of a car, talking in a hushed tone with the driver. I drape my arms around him, nuzzling his neck, just needing to be near him. He pushes me off, laughing nervously as he warily eyes the driver. I’m not to be deterred though. I have to touch him. Right now, I physically need to be touching some part of him. I can’t bear not to be.
Snatching his hand, I hold him tight, lifting it to my mouth to press a kiss there. He wrests his hand from mine, hissing at me to behave, but I can’t. I just need to be close to him. Resting my head on his shoulder, I snuggle into his side, shutting my eyes and sighing contentedly.
Keaton exhales heavily, and a few moments pass before he circles his arms around my shoulder, holding me tight. He presses his head into my hair. “It’s okay, man. I’ve got you. Sleep.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Austen
My stomach lurches, shoving me from sleep, and I stumble from the bed, staggering in the dark as I make my way into the en suite bathroom. Crouching over the toilet bowl, I empty the contents of my stomach as I repeatedly retch. A cool hand brushes damp strands of hair back off my face, and I swat at Keats’ hand, not wanting him to see me like this. “Go away, man. I’m gross.”
He chuckles. “I’ve seen worse.”
“I doubt that,” I mumble, hugging the toilet as my stomach flip-flops and my head pounds like someone is hammering on it from the inside.
“Trust me. I’ve lost count of the times I watched Kent vomit his guts up.”
“Nice visual,” I groan, dry heaving as my stomach upends itself.
“Besides, this isn’t your first time hugging the porcelain god tonight.” He chuckles again, and I slump to the floor, pressing my hot cheek against the cold tile floor.
I don’t remember throwing up before. “Kill me now.” I am never drowning my sorrows in booze again.
He presses a cold cloth to my brow before wiping my face and my neck with it, and patting it gently against my clammy chest. Warmth spreads across my chest as I watch him rinse the cloth under the tap, wring it out, and dab it across my sticky skin.
“Do you think you’ll puke again?” he asks, sweeping more hair back off my brow.
“I think I’m done.” I move to sit up, but my limbs refuse to cooperate, and I end up half slumped against the shower stall, with my useless legs sprawled across the tile floor.
Keaton smiles as he slides his strong arm underneath me, helping me to stand. “I should’ve recorded this for posterity,” he teases, as I lean on him, trying not to put my full weight on the guy.
“At least it’s good experience for when I’m old and decrepit and you’ve got to take care of me,” I blurt.
He steadies his arm around my back, staring straight into my eyes. His gaze is glassy, his face awash with emotion. “You want me around when you’re old and gray?”
“Always,” I whisper. “I will always want you.”
“You slay me, man,” he says, his voice cracking at the end. “In all the best ways.”
He helps me back to bed before returning with a bottle of water and some toothpaste. I lie helpless against the headrest as he rubs toothpaste over my teeth and then forces me to gargle and spit. Pushing me down under the covers, he tucks them up to my chin, pressing a soft kiss to my brow as he whispers, “Sleep, my love.” It’s the last thing I remember before I pass out.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Keats says, gently shaking me awake. Forcing my heavy eyelids to open, I curse as he whips the curtains back, and a burst of bright daylight floods my bedroom. Blinking profusely, I ignore the urge to close my eyes again when I spot the time. It’s after one, and I’ve already wasted half the day in bed.
“Fuck. I feel like shit,” I admit, hauling myself up in the bed as splintering pain stabs me in the head. My tongue is almost superglued to the roof of my mouth, and the taste in my mouth is like I dined on month-old smelly socks.
Keaton chuckles. “I can imagine. I didn’t think you’d drank that much, but man, you were completely trashed.”
“That’s because you only saw the beer.” I rub at my pounding temples. “I did shots at the bar with Preston and a couple of the others when we first arrived.” I should’ve known better. Me and tequila have a checkered past.
Keaton lifts a tray onto the bed, setting it on my lap. He’s cooked my favorite vegetable and cheese omelet with whole wheat toast and a glass of orange juice
. There’s also a bottle of water and a couple of pills. “Eat first, and then take the pills. They should settle your stomach and help with your headache.”
He moves to walk out, and I grab hold of his hand. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
He bends down, kissing my cheek. “That’s what boyfriends do.”
“I thought we’d go hiking today. There’s still enough time if we leave within the hour,” I say.
“You sure you’re up to it?”
I nod, because I want to show him one of my favorite places and I want to tell him I love him. I probably also owe him an apology or ten, because God knows what shit I was spouting last night. “I’ll be fine. The fresh air will be good for my hangover.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
An hour later, we are on the road, and it’s a perfect day for a hike. The skies are clear, and there’s a soft breeze in the air. It’s warm, but not too warm, and the temp is always a few degrees cooler at the peak above El Sobrante, one of my favorite trails in Tilden Park.
“This place is amazing,” Keaton says as we hike the trail from Inspiration Point along Nimitz Way.
“I can’t believe you’ve never come here before,” I say, because it’s popular with Berkeley students.
“I’m not much of a hiker.”
“There are tons of walking paths, or you can rent a bike if you prefer.” I grip the straps of my backpack, tilting my face up to the sky, relishing the feel of fresh air on my skin. I’m sweating more than normal, and I hope it means I’m sweating the last of the alcohol from my system. Coach will rip me a new one if I’m anything less than focused at practice tomorrow.
“You take all the guys you’re dating here?” Keats asks, grinning.
“Cute.” If we weren’t in public, I’d slap his ass for his sass. “You know you’re the only guy I’ve dated since coming to California. And you should feel privileged because this is my special place, and I wouldn’t take just anyone here.”
Keaton hands me a bottle of water. “You look like you need that. And thank you. I’m honored.”
I flip him the bird, and he laughs.
“I’m being serious, man.” His eyes glisten with sincerity. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome.” I’m happy he’s here with me.
“Wow.” Keaton stands at the edge of the cliff face, holding one hand over his eyes as he scans the view ahead. Emerald-green hills exist in all directions, and the late afternoon sun glints off the crystal-clear water of the lake. “This is breathtaking.”
“I like stopping here because it’s more private. If you keep going, you come to a good vantage point where you can see for miles over San Fran Bay.” Unzipping my bag, I extract the plaid blanket, setting it on the ground. We sit down, side by side, just taking a moment to inhale the minty, woodsy air and enjoy the gorgeous scenery.
“You might convert me yet,” Keats says, pressing his arm against mine. We’re far enough off the beaten track not to be noticed here. Shielded by thick, high shrubbery at our backs, it’s about as private as we can get outdoors in California.
“During the summer, I want to take you camping back home,” I say, unpacking the picnic Keats made before we left. “There’s nothing like getting down and dirty with nature.” I flash him a flirty grin.
He splutters, almost choking on his water. “I think your mission in life is to corrupt me. Getting me to blow you in the bathroom of the bar last night, and now you want to fuck around out in the open.”
“Not out in the open. In a tent,” I tease, rubbing his thigh.
He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a smile. “Like I said, you’ll be the death of me.”
“Hey.” I hold his chin in my fingers, angling his face toward mine. “I’m sorry about last night. If I made you uncomfortable, or I was too pushy, I—”
He silences me with a quick kiss. “There is no need to apologize. You didn’t, and you would never force me into anything. I know that.” He drags his fingers through the stubble on my cheeks. I was too lazy and too hungover to shave before we left. “I wanted to suck you off, and it was hot.”
My cock pulses in agreement. “It was, but it was also dangerous as fuck. Your friends and my teammates were outside. I never want to put you at risk, and I was drunk and sloppy last night. Maybe a little territorial.” I grin, because there’s no maybe about it. “But it won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Austen.” Keats clasps my cheeks in his hands. “It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“I never want to treat you with anything less than the respect you deserve.” I just go for it. “Because I love you, Keats. I’m in love with you. And that comes with a certain responsibility I never want to forget.”
Silence fills the small space between us, and I hope I haven’t pushed him too fast too soon, but I can’t contain what’s in my heart anymore. I’ve known for some time that Keaton is the guy for me, and I want him to understand he’s my future.
“You love me?” Keats croaks, his eyes welling up. “For real?”
I grip his neck. “For real, Keats. I really love you.”
He pulls me into his arms, burying his head in my shoulder, his body trembling against mine. “I didn’t dare to hope you felt the same because I didn’t want to be let down,” he whispers against my ear. His hand slides up my chest, his fingers tangling in my hair. He pulls back, keeping his eyes level with mine as he says, “I love you too, man. Have for a while now.”
We cling to one another, hugging tightly, his hand on the back of my neck and mine on the back of his head. We rest our foreheads together, letting the magnitude of the moment settle.
“Today’s officially the best day of my life,” he says when we eventually break apart a little. “You know you’re making all my dreams come true,” he adds, smiling shyly.
“You give me too much credit, but you better believe I will do everything in my power to make that a reality, because you are everything to me.”
“I thought you were just drunk last night when you joked about growing old and gray together.”
“I believe I said old and decrepit,” I tease, unwrapping the sandwiches. “But we won’t nitpick.”
He pokes his tongue out, and I laugh, feeling freer than I have in a long time. I hand Keats one-half of the sandwich, taking a large bite out of the other half.
He looks contemplative as he stares straight ahead, his gaze roaming the stunning landscape.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I say, demolishing the rest of my sandwich.
“You told me you hated hiding me from the world. That you wanted to shout it from the rooftops,” he says, in between slow mouthfuls of the turkey salad sandwich. “And you’ve said some other stuff when you weren’t drunk.” He wipes crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “Be honest with me, Austen. How bad are you struggling?”
I uncap a fresh bottle of water, gulping back a few mouthfuls before I answer. I hold his gaze as I admit my truth. “I promised you honesty, so I won’t lie. I am struggling big-time, Keats. I was struggling before I met you, and it’s worse since you came into my life, because now I have another big reason to be up front about who I am. If I don’t enter the draft next year, I’m not going to last till graduation. I can’t keep it a secret until then. I can’t deny who I am for much longer.”
He takes a few moments to reply. “I admire you so much, Austen. You know who you are and what you want, and you just go for it. I get how this is killing you, and I would never ask you to hold back on my account.”
“Like I would never ask you to come out on mine.”
“I know that, and I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, especially the past few weeks. I’m ready to tell my family I’m gay and in a relationship with the man I love. I’m going to do it.”
A wide smile dances over my mouth. I squeeze his shoulder. “Good for you. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m terrified,” he admits. “But I know it’s t
he right thing to do.” He takes my hand into his lap. “I’m also going to ask Keven for his help. I want my family to know, and for Brock to be out of the picture, and maybe then, at some point, I can find the courage to be publicly open about our relationship, but I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get there.”
“I have no expectations.” It’s the truth. Obviously, I need to consider Keaton in my decision making, and I would never do anything to hurt him, but my decision to tell my team who I am, is about me at its core. Yes, it will mean not being wholly truthful, but I won’t force Keaton until he’s ready. I know he will get there. I just hope it’s sooner rather than later, but whenever it is, we will get through this together. “It’s one step at a time, and I know there will be challenges, but I’m ready to face those with you.”
“Me too.” He leans in, kissing me sweetly. “With you, I feel like I can scale mountains.” I grin at his analogy, and he rolls his eyes. “Just be patient a little longer.”
“I can be patient for as long as you need me to be. You set the pace of our relationship. That hasn’t changed.”
“It’s going to work out,” he tells me, and I love hearing his confidence, because too often, he’s lacking in confidence and so damn hard on himself.
“It is.” I squeeze his hand. “Because we love each other too much for it not to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Keaton
“What are you sketching?” I ask, watching the fierce concentration on Austen’s face as he swipes the pencil across the page of his sketch pad. I know he likes to draw. People. Places. Potential designs for tattoos. Because he’s told me. But he’s never shown me his work, and I’ve never asked. It’s private, and just because we’re in a relationship doesn’t mean he has to share everything with me.
It’s like my journaling and my poetry. He knows I do it, and he’s never pried, so I’ve wanted to offer him the same courtesy. But whatever he’s drawing tonight has his sole focus because he’s barely lifted his eyes from his pad, not even for Ink Master, which is our favorite show, and I’m curious.
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