“That sounds really hard to deal with. What do you do to stop it?”
I cringed. “I imagine my little sister being a sarcastic smart-ass about it.” It was a trick Dr. Dimond and I had come up with together. “Let’s say I get stuck in a cycle, maybe thinking about how I answered a question wrong, so obviously the teacher is going to think I’m stupid and then I’m going to fail out of college and then the farm will go bankrupt and my family will be destitute.”
“Wow.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, so then I’ll imagine Lena saying, ‘Give me a break, Connor. You literally think your professor’s gonna remember that? How many other people answer questions wrong? You are not that special.’”
“That’s awesome. And it works?”
“Sometimes, yeah. Normally. Especially if I haven’t allowed myself to spiral.” It was the discipline to recognize the thought as intrusive and stop it that was hard.
“Do you feel like it disrupts your life a lot? Because I’ll be honest, you seem super put-together.”
“It’s worse when I’m stressed. But I’m pretty good at overriding those thoughts when they come. When it gets bad, I go to my therapist. That’s the thing about mental health though. It’s impossible to know what someone is dealing with on the inside.”
“My mom calls that an invisible backpack.”
“Oh?”
He lifted his head off my chest and smiled. “Yeah, she’s a divorce attorney—she sees some shit. She likes to say that everyone carries around an invisible backpack that is full of the bits of themselves that no one else can see. It might be trauma or secrets or chronic pain or depression or grief. Those things weigh that backpack down, make it heavy and hard to bear, but are invisible to everyone else. You don’t know the weight of what other people are carrying, so you should treat them with empathy, love, and understanding.”
“Your mom sounds great.”
“She is.”
“Now you know. My invisible backpack has a fairly mild case of OCD inside.” My family’s legacy, my anxiety about the future, and the death of my father were also banging around in there, but those were secrets for another day.
“Thank you for telling me.”
I shrugged, a little self-conscious.
After several minutes of silence and tender touches, he said, “Tonight, when you were talking to Joel, you said that your plan is to manage the family farm here in Elkville. Is that a forever type of plan? No chance of deviation?”
The subject change threw me, and I had to recalibrate. Had to slam all those doors and windows shut in my heart to protect myself against this subject. Maybe he was digging around in that backpack after all.
“Yes. It’s my family’s legacy, and it’s not only a farm. That makes it sound small. It’s an operating farm, plus the Feed Store, plus my family’s mineral rights and a wild horses lease, plus a stake in several agriculture businesses around the county. My parents want to phase out of day-to-day management, which means my younger sister and I will be stepping in. But she’s still in school, so for now, it’s me.”
“That’s a lot.”
It was so much, all of it tying me to western Oklahoma.
“I always knew this was the plan. Weird that it’s about to happen though.”
“You’ll be great,” he said, but those were empty words you said when someone was insecure. I didn’t believe them.
“What’s your plan?”
“To get the fuck out of Elkville. I loved this place when I visited as a senior in high school, but I’m ready to get out of the wheat field, you know? I got accepted to my top law school today.”
“Is that what the party was for?”
A shy smile stretched his full lips. “Yeah. Paulie thought I should celebrate. I’d say this was a good way to do that.”
Pleased by that, I trailed my fingertips down the side of his throat, inciting a shiver. “What school?”
“Oklahoma City University, but this summer, before I start, I’ve got an internship in St. Louis with SAFE Asylum.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a legal-aid charity for LGBTQIA individuals seeking asylum in the US to escape persecution. It’s a national organization with offices in most major urban areas, but St. Louis is the headquarters. It started as a regional charity, then grew. My goal is to work with them after law school.”
“Do they have an office in Oklahoma?”
I shouldn’t have felt so interested in that answer, but I did.
“No. They pick up cases when they appear in Oklahoma and contract them out to local attorneys, but don’t have any kind of infrastructure here.”
Ah, well, that was that.
Travis continued, “But that’s actually how I learned about them. I met a trans woman from Uganda in Tulsa who is a client of SAFE Asylum. She introduced me to her lawyer, who happens to be a law professor at OCU. They really opened my eyes. There’s so much wrong in the world. Being Black and gay in the South isn’t a picnic, but I want to help people who don’t have the opportunities or privileges I’ve had. That could have easily been one of us, you know? If we’d been born anywhere else. If we were Russian or Honduran or Jamaican. We could be the ones needing help.”
Affection and awe exploded in my chest in equal measure. There wasn’t anything quite as sexy as someone with a charitable heart.
“I think you’ll be an amazing lawyer.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
“Why was OCU your top choice? Because of the lawyer you met?”
Travis nodded. “Dr. Chuma. She directed me to some financial help there. I want to pay my own way through law school. My parents would happily hand me a check, but I want to do it on my own. After law school, though, I’m outta Oklahoma. If I want to keep working with SAFE Asylum permanently, I’ll have to move.”
I nodded. I could tell he was hinting at something here.
I was stuck in Oklahoma permanently, and he was very clear about his desire to leave.
This could never be serious.
It would be the most logical thing to cut my losses and run. Recognize this as a one-time thing. I loved logic. I tried to keep my life as logical as possible because every once in a while it was diverted by such illogical fears, and I hated that. Hated how those fears and thoughts made me feel so out of control.
So yes, I could see that our life plans were diametrically opposed. We didn’t have a future, and it didn’t make sense to play at being boyfriends for three months before he moved away to do amazing, important things.
I didn’t want to do the logical thing, though. I wanted Travis.
TRAVIS
Sneaking out of Connor’s house when he was asleep was not the nicest thing I’d ever done, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. And I left a note. I should not have been feeling guilty.
Fuck, I felt guilty.
Scary explosive sex evidently melted all of Connor’s prickliness and made him a warm, talkative teddy bear. He was bad for my health. There’d been a moment there where I’d thought, Maybe this is the guy for me.
I liked everything about him. I liked how his eyes had lit up when he’d spanked me. I liked how silent he’d been when he came, as if the experience was too big for words or noise. I liked how he’d opened up and told me about his OCD. And I liked how he’d held me until he fell asleep.
But Connor Blume was not my soul mate. He was going to be a farmer, for fuck’s sake.
The whole night had gotten out of hand. I kicked a fire hydrant as I passed it and walked faster through the deserted campus. Maybe Paulie would be awake when I got home, so I’d have someone to talk this out with. He was supposed to have prevented me from going home with Connor. Instead, Paulie had seen David Mc-fucking-David flirting with Connor, and whisked him away, opening the door for me to swoop in. I’d asked him to cockblock me, not be my wingman.
Then Connor had smiled at me. He’d smiled, dimples popping, and how was I supposed to resist
that?
I’d better figure it out because this crush I had on him was not going to stand. We could fuck, but we weren’t getting serious. I needed to pump the brakes. Put some distance between us. Let the hormones and endorphins diffuse so we weren’t drowning in them.
Paulie was awake when I tiptoed back inside our house. So was Joel. I could hear them quite clearly. Thin freaking walls.
I fell back on my bed and hissed when my ass hit the mattress. It wasn’t the hardest spanking I’d ever had, but it had been the sweetest. Seeing Connor’s eyes gleam when everything had fallen into place—it’d been intoxicating.
Too bad he was not for me.
I reminded myself of that fact a million times over the weekend. When he texted me on Saturday morning to make sure I’d made it home, I chanted, “Not for me, not for me,” until my heart stopped fluttering. Texting me only proved he was considerate, not that he was boyfriend material.
When I fed Troilus bananas, which he liked, and radishes, which he didn’t, I told myself that Connor and I were not star-crossed lovers or anything as awesomely epic, or tragic, as that. We were two dudes who liked to smash but had incompatible life plans.
Simple.
When I jerked off Monday morning because I was so excited to see him in class and wasn’t sure I could contain it if I didn’t get some relief, I knew we were going to have a problem.
Connor arrived three minutes early—I was an eager five—and he was wearing work boots, a flannel shirt, and a cap. He looked every inch the farmer, but I’d bet a hundred dollars he’d ironed his shirt. He might be a farmer, but he was deliciously stuffy and I wanted to eat his face.
I sent him a tight smile, and he nodded at me before arranging all his shit. I almost asked him if he wanted to discuss the questions on the board, but discomfort locked me down. I needed to check myself. We weren’t besties, and we weren’t boyfriends. Talking through our class participation questions wasn’t a wedding proposal or anything, but I needed to assert that distance between us before I got hurt.
I scribbled out an answer to one of the questions on the overhead projector and handed it over to him. He met my gaze and the corners of his eyes crinkled up like he was about to smile. I turned away. I could not withstand the full force of a Connor Blume smile this morning. He took my paper and copied my answer onto his own before passing it in.
We didn’t speak during class, but the warmth from his body made me dizzy. Every time he breathed, I felt it in my gut. Everything from his rigid posture to the flexing of his hand while he took notes turned me on. He wasn’t even trying. He was just existing.
I didn’t retain a single fucking thing from Dr. Greer’s lecture, and Connor and I packed up our book bags in silence. I was scared to break it and give too much away.
We walked down the stairs together, and I was shaking apart by the time we reached the fourth-floor landing. I desperately wanted a trip to our closet, but couldn’t allow myself to be the one who asked for it. Without a word, Connor grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the empty corridor leading to our storage closet.
Thank you, Jesus.
We snuck inside and stared at each other. There was a mop in here today, and the room smelled like dishwater. The light was dimmer, as if it was about to burn out, which made the green glowing stars starker against the back of the door.
“Hi,” he said. His eyes were so unguarded. So open.
“Hi.”
He cupped my cheek, his thumb resting on my chin, and it brought me back to how he’d touched me right before he’d come in my mouth. Sweetly, but with control. No hesitation.
“Can I?”
“Can you what?” I whispered.
“Kiss you. Touch you. Anything. Whatever you’ll allow.”
His voice seriously turned me on.
“You can do whatever you want to me.”
He crouched down with no fanfare, and all the heat in the room hit me at once.
“Uh, Connor, wait. Maybe that was a hasty offer. We shouldn’t trade blowjobs in public.”
His face was glowing, and I wasn’t sure if it was the shine off those silly stars or if his face was just magical. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, and I thunked my head back against the door. I was totally going to let him blow me.
“Turn around,” he said softly.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to make sure you’re not bruised or anything.”
A laugh cracked out of me. “You could ask me, you weirdo.”
His hands found my hipbones through my sweatpants, and I sucked in a harsh breath. His fingers were long and strong.
“I guess that’s true. Is your ass okay?”
I knocked his hat off his head and touched his sideburns. The hair there tickled my fingertips.
“Yeah. It’s fine. No bruises or anything.”
I’d checked the day after for visible signs of the spanking and been disappointed when there were none.
He cupped one of my butt cheeks. “This doesn’t hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“Your ass is incredible.”
Connor Blume—best at giving ridiculously earnest compliments.
He stood and pushed me against the door with his body.
“Can I kiss you?” I asked. I couldn’t stand the anticipation.
He nodded, his chest rising and falling with every breath. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he tipped his head back, his eyes closed.
So much trust for someone who craved control. I wanted to reward him. I started at the corner of his lips, sucking and kissing all the way to the other side. Then I did it again and again, and he let me have my wicked way. By the time I captured his bottom lip with my teeth, pulling on it lightly, we were grinding against each other and his hands were pressed to my bare back under my shirt.
Maybe I liked kissing him because it was an ego boost. Knowing he’d rarely enjoyed this until he’d done it with me was heady shit. I loved being able to read him, learn him, and give him what he wanted.
I pulled back, our lips separating on a sigh that I felt all the way to my knees, which were weak, and his mouth followed me, as if he wanted more. I wasn’t strong enough to withstand a Connor Blume who wanted more.
I dove back in, and he parted his lips for me. I licked the little dip in his top lip, and we both froze.
“You don’t like kissing with tongue, right?” I asked, my voice thready. I was pretty sure that was the root of his discomfort around kissing. His silence stretched for a long second, so I nipped his bottom lip. “Be honest.”
“No. I’m probably just bad at it, but I’ve never enjoyed having a tongue in my mouth. And I dislike spit drying around my lips. I know kissing isn’t always sloppy or messy, but for some reason it locks me up.” His hands slid out from under my shirt and grasped my arms where they were wrapped around his neck. “But we can, if you want. I’d do it for you.”
I loved that we were negotiating kissing technique.
“Does it bother you if spit gets on you in other places?”
A blush rushed up his face, and he angled his head down. His ears were pink. “I certainly didn’t mind your spit on my dick the other night,” he said shyly.
I laughed so loudly he had to cover my mouth with his hand. I refrained from licking it.
Once he’d sufficiently smothered my laughter, he said, “I’m sorry I’m weird about certain things.”
I pulled his hand away from my mouth. “I like it. Keeps me on my toes. Look, I’m kinky without being into the formal sub/Dom stuff, which confuses people sometimes, and tickling me is the fastest way to get an inadvertent elbow to the nose. Everyone has stuff they’re not into. It’s normal.”
He trailed his thumb up my cheek and nudged my glasses. “You’re nice.”
He was going to kill me with his compliments. “I know.”
His eyes tracked over my face, like he was memorizing it, and self-consciousness wiggled into my brain. I wanted to glance
away, but then he smiled, and I couldn’t.
“Travis?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I kiss you with tongue?” he asked. “Once, to try it.”
Dizziness threatened to sweep my knees out from under me. And not because I was so crazy for his tongue in my mouth. I didn’t miss using tongue. Our kisses were scorching without it, frankly. What got me was that he trusted me enough to try this with me.
“Of course. What do you need me to do? Or not do?”
“I don’t know.” His shoulders hitched up toward his ears.
“How about you decide how much to use, and I promise I won’t stick my tongue in your mouth. I won’t move. I’ll let you do all the work. If you don’t like it, that’s cool.” I lifted my hands above my head because he normally enjoyed that. “I’ll leave these here.”
“Thank you.”
His hands cupped my face gently and he feathered his lips over mine once. Then again. Then harder. He parted my lips with his own, and licked tentatively at the inside of my top lip, right where I’d gotten him earlier.
I was woozy from that one second of contact, but he held me steady. He was bolder now, his tongue sneaking inside for small sips. I didn’t move, tried to be impassive, and let him explore, but when the tip of his tongue touched mine, I moaned too loudly for a secret closet liaison.
His hands tilted my face so he’d have better access, and he stroked deeper inside before returning to soft brushes against my lips. By the time he pulled back, I was shaking and my lips were so sensitized I could feel blood throbbing in them.
He touched my chin.
“You need to go to class, Travis.”
He could talk? He was doing better than me. And how fucking long had we been making out in this closet?
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