Unraveling Josh

by Edie Danford

  He stood and I gripped the arms of my chair, surprised by the shift in the room. His mouth was taut and his eyes were shuttered. He was totally shutting me down. Crap. I’d messed up. I had taken a risk with sex with Nick McQueen—again—and I’d messed up. Again. In a way I never would’ve predicted.

  He did up his fly and then he zipped his messenger bag. He put the strap over his shoulder, crossing it over his chest, settling the bag against his hip. I watched silently, waiting.

  He nudged my knees with his. Surprised again, I opened my legs, letting him come close. “Josh.” He rested his hands gently on my head. “‘Starting to think’ we should be together isn’t enough,” he said. “I want you to be sure.” He took an audible breath and then let it go slowly. “I want you so bad. I love you.”

  “Nick—”

  He pressed a finger against my lips. “But I want you to think about this. I don’t want to have ‘oops’ sex in your office. I don’t want to fuck around just because we need to get off. I don’t want you thinking ‘maybe’ thoughts. Or wondering if it’s worth compromising your…values just to have my cock in your ass again.” He dropped his hand and I licked my lips, tasting him.

  He frowned at me and I wanted so badly to tug on him, pull him down into my lap, hold him as he struggled to tell me all this shit. But I knew he needed to say this and I needed to hear it, so I kept my hands to myself.

  He cleared his throat and continued. “All this stuff I’ve been doing—the skiing and the being a stellar student and working out like I’m Captain Fucking America or whatever—it’s obviously me trying to prove something to you, right? Well, I’m not that noble really. Mostly it’s just me trying to be near you.” He laughed sadly and I bit down on my lip to keep from saying anything. “I’m different now than how I was when I picked you up on Labor Day. I’ve been trying to figure out why there are holes in my life and figure out better ways to fill them. Because I love you and I’ve been seeing things…differently. But I’m still the same guy who fucked up. Still the guy who scored points on your ass. I can’t erase that guy. He’ll always be here between us. And I want you to be sure you can deal with that, you know?”

  Letting the words sink in for a few moments, I pressed my forehead against his sweater, wishing I could meld my brain with the soft wool. “Okay,” I said finally. “Thanks for your honesty.”

  His fingers tickled against the spot where we’d bashed. I closed my eyes as he dropped his hands. I felt a warm flutter on the same spot on my head. A kiss.

  He stepped back and when I opened my eyes he was putting on big mittens made from the same brown-green yarn. Kelsey had been busy bundling up my boy. And, yeah, it was time to admit I still thought of him that way.

  I’d sent him away back in early November, tried to banish him from my tower and my thoughts and my dreams. But I’d been thinking of him constantly ever since. He’d taken up residence in my heart and my head and had refused to be evicted. He hadn’t left me at all, had he?

  I didn’t say any of this to him, admit any of it. Right here, right now wasn’t the time, even though my still-ready-to-go dick was literally weeping at the thought of letting him go.

  He smiled. And it struck me that if someone came in the door right now they might guess that this guy and I had shared more than just history lessons and ski tips.

  “You take care, Josh Pahlke,” he whispered.

  I nodded. “You too, Nick McQueen.”

  I watched him go, thinking about how every time he saw me lately his goodbyes sounded like they might be for forever. As if he believed any day I’d cut him out of my life for good.

  Those casually delivered serious goodbyes must really suck to say, and it made my chest ache more to think about it. I stood, flinching against the various stiffnesses in my lower body, and finished packing my backpack. I didn’t see anyone on my way out of the building.

  I headed slowly toward the tower, ideas swirling in my head, floating in fat, sweet flakes like the late February snow.

  Later in the evening—despite a good dinner and a decent nap—I was still feeling like crap. My ass was stuck on the couch and my brain was stuck on Nick.

  Johnny Reed had texted me to let me know Valentine’s shenanigans were happening at Fen House. Took me point-zero-two seconds to send him a big “no thanks” on that one. I’d had lunch and coffee with him a couple times since the beginning of the quarter. He wasn’t a bad guy—just young. While I wasn’t permanently soured on Johnny as a person, I’d completely lost my taste for Ellery undergrad parties. Safe to say I’d moved on from basements, beer pong and jello shots…

  My thoughts turned to Nick—again—and I thought about how in some ways he seemed years older than Johnny and pals. And in some ways…not. I kept discovering—in life and in my research—that wisdom was a fluid thing.

  Probably because I was thinking of Lake Woods, my gaze snagged on a post on Facebook as I absently scrolled through the accounts on my laptop. A guy I knew in high school was crowing about a new job. He’d been on the soccer team; a standout freshman when I’d been a senior—one of those nice guys who turned into a snarling animal when he was competing. His post related the happy news that he’d just been hired on at Lake Woods High as a guidance counselor and an assistant soccer coach.

  I congratulated him with a private message and was surprised when he enthusiastically messaged me back.

  We chatted back and forth briefly about what was happening with our lives. Then, on impulse, I mentioned that I’d seen a few Lake Woods High alums recently—namely Austin and Nick.

  Weirdly, he didn’t remember much about Austin—who had been closer to his age. But he did remember Nick.

  Nicholas McQueen? For real?

  Yep, I typed. He’s a sophomore here at Ellery.

  No joke? I haven’t thought about him for years. Weird, but his case was one of the inspirations for why I went into counseling. The bullying sucked at Lake Woods back then and I really want to keep up the changes they’ve been making lately.

  I stared at the words and then slowly typed, Nick’s case?

  You don’t remember? They gave him that horrible nickname. Dickolas the Queen.

  Oh Jesus. Nick. My heart started up a fast, painful thump in my chest.

  No, I responded. If I’d known, I hope to Christ I would’ve done something about it.

  A moment or two passed before he sent back: You graduated before all that shit hit the listserv I think.

  The listserv. That fucking listserv. As someone who hated gossip, I’d stayed far away from it. But hearing about it had sometimes been unavoidable. I pressed my fist to my chest, trying to ease the ache. I had to ask, had to know. What happened?

  Remember a dude named Tyler Griegson? Played football?

  I recalled a thick-necked guy with beady eyes and a bad vibe. Vaguely, I typed. I stared at the screen for a couple minutes. Waiting. The letters looked wavy. Like they were vibrating.

  Finally the response came. The story that got passed around was that McQueen sprung wood in the locker room or something. Griegson posted a pic of his dick on the listserv. McQueen—who was out and had an unfortunate name—never lived it down. Got the shit beat out of him a few times. Verbal abuse never let up. On the listserv everyone started posting the most obnoxious dick pics they could find—donkeys and elephants and shit. All with the subject heading of Dickolas the Queen. You know how it is when guys like Griegson are on a mission.

  Something thick and sludge-y rose in my throat. I shoved myself up to a sitting position and drained my water glass. My throat felt raw and my stomach was churning. Griegson was a fucking criminal, I typed, my fingers slipping over the keys.

  Yeah. Pretty much. How’s Nicholas doing? Hope he recovered from the hell those assholes put him through.

  He’s doing okay, I typed. He’d been doing okay until I’d jumped him in my office, anyway. I sucked in a big breath of air. My cheek felt wet and I swiped at it with trembling fingers. I
flexed my hand and typed with steady deliberation. Thanks for chatting. Good luck. Gotta run.

  See you. Stay in touch.

  I stared at the screen. There was so much shit churning in my brain and my gut I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. But I knew I couldn’t just hang out in my tower for the rest of the quarter and let life happen. And let Nick keep thinking that I could take him or leave him. I looked at my phone on the ottoman. I wanted to text Nick, tell him to get his ass over here so I could hold him and ask him a thousand questions.

  But, yeah. That was a crap plan. He didn’t have a phone. And he’d want to know why I suddenly wanted him over here after kicking his ass out a couple months ago. Words didn’t seem like enough to convince him. I knew I needed to come up with a plan. Something bold.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nick

  I WAS BAD and blew off working out on Friday.

  Valentine’s Day had been depressing, even though the party my housemates put together was fun. And the Valentine Todd Johnson had sent me via Kelsey was awesome.

  But after I’d left Josh’s office, my skin humming and my lips burning, I couldn’t shake a feeling of doom. For the first time since I’d dreamed up my plan, I felt it was doomed for failure.

  What he’d said that awful night in his tower was always with me, mucking around in various parts of my brain. We’re fundamentally different people. We have different values. I don’t think I can come back from this.

  Those words had inspired me to keep going as I’d adjusted to living with a fucked-up, screwed-back-in-too-tight heart. They’d been the backbeat that kept me moving forward. I’d known there must be some way to prove to Josh—to show him—that we weren’t so very different. That we shared so damn much in terms of interests and tastes and world view and background that it was kinda freaky.

  Also, his words had forced me to actually think about stuff I’d never deeply considered. Did I actually have values? If so, what were they? And if people were in love, did differences truly matter?

  Those were questions I’d been exploring since November.

  So on Valentine’s Day when he’d given me the most mind-bending blowjob of my life and then said with lust hazing his gorgeous eyes, I’m starting to wonder why we shouldn’t…it was the ultimate head and body check. Because having Josh Pahlke blow me in his office, getting him to actually think about fucking around with me again—that had to be a win, right?

  My dick sure as hell thought it was. But for once in my life I didn’t want to listen to my damn dick, and so the joke was on me. I’d forced myself to actually talk instead of dropping to my knees to return the favor. I’d made myself be honest with him. And then, after listening to me silently, he’d let me go with a simple “take care”.

  With those thoughts clanking around in my head like three-hundred-pound dumbbells, I hadn’t really felt like showing up at the fitness center where I’d have to pretend like I wasn’t still dying from the way he’d me come. I didn’t feel like pretending it didn’t make me crazy to feel every little brush of his skin against mine, to inhale his clean-sweat Josh scent, and hear his deep, kind voice explain stupid shit about exertion and force and muscle mass.

  On Tuesday I went to the history seminar discussion and did my best to participate. I’d done the reading and Josh, as usual, introduced some great talking points. But instead of making my typical off-the-wall connections and playing devil’s advocate like I usually did, I stuck with basic answers and nods or head shakes.

  When Josh approached me after class, I thought he’d ask me what was wrong. My toes had clenched inside my Sorels as I fought the urge to run. I didn’t want to tell him what the hell was wrong. I want to fuck you! But I don’t want to fuck you!

  But he didn’t ask that. He offered me a thick ivory envelope and said, “Here.”

  I took the card-sized envelope. There was no writing on it. I looked at him questioningly.

  He gave me my fave lopsided smile. “It’s because I can’t text you.” He glanced around the room. There were a few people lingering in their chairs, talking about getting lunch or something. Josh shoved his hands in his pockets. “Um, why don’t you read it later?”

  My heart was beating fast and I wasn’t sure why. Probably because he was being uncharacteristically mysterious. I nodded and stuffed the envelope in my bag.

  “But not too much later,” he qualified.

  I smiled. He wasn’t very good at being mysterious. I could tell he wanted me to open it now and analyze my reaction. “Okay. I have to go back to the house to let the puppy out for Kelsey. I’ll read it then.”

  He nodded. His cheeks had gone a little pink. “Sounds good.”

  Interesting.

  My step was definitely perkier leaving the history building than it had been going in. I wanted to extract the envelope and read it right the hell now, but I made myself walk through the Green and then go past the admin buildings and then turn down frat row and then cross through the alley and clump through the snow in Vegan House’s backyard before I opened my bag and looked down at the fancy envelope.

  I glanced up at the back door. Todd first? He’d be a total nutjob spaz the moment I let him out of his crate. And he hated to poop in the snow. It might be a while before he was calm.

  I extracted the envelope and ripped it open. I read the single-sided card.

  The prince commands your presence at the tower. Tonight. Nine o’clock.

  A gust of laughter escaped my lungs.

  Oh my God. It was a booty call.

  I laughed again. A very fancy booty call.

  It was written in ornate script with purple ink. Obviously done by hand because a couple of the letters were blotchy. But most of them were beautifully done. I recognized the gothic style from one of Josh’s fave manuscripts. Looked like it had taken a good several minutes to do each word.

  If I’d had my phone I would’ve sent him a bunch of question marks and exclamation points. And some stupid emojis. Because I didn’t have words.

  But I didn’t have a phone. So a fast response to this summons wouldn’t happen. I was going to have to think about it. And wonder. I was already wondering.

  Was this really just a booty call or was it more? Would I go? Would I answer the prince’s summons? Haul my very un-royal ass up the hill and service the guy who ruled my heart?

  Was that the way this fairytale should end?

  I was probably never going to be able to win his trust or his heart. After three months of hanging on, it was probably time to move on. As Pete would say, there were other fine, fine fancy fish to get down with.

  But I could give Josh pleasure if that’s what he wanted from me. I could pay one last visit to the tower—give him everything he asked for and more. And then, at the stroke of midnight (ha), I could leave, having vanquished his lust but keeping my heart intact. I’d responded to a lot of booty calls in my life—just for fun, just for pleasure. I could do it again. Or fake it so it seemed as though it was all for fun.

  Couldn’t I?

  Clutching the paper in my shaky fingers, I climbed the stairs and went into the house to take care of Todd.

  Josh—six years ago

  AUSTIN’S BODY WAS sleek and hot under the cool water—testing the resistance of his hard muscles and long limbs was the perfect post-workout comedown exercise. I’d happily run twelve miles at dawn every day if I knew horsing around in the pool with Austin was the reward at the finish line.

  Maybe it was the freedom offered by the lazy-hazy early August day—soccer camp was done and we were alone at my house on a Tuesday morning—or maybe it was that Austin was finally comfortable being with me like this out in the open and in full daylight, but, damn…his kisses were way more take-charge than usual. And I really liked it.

  In fact, if he didn’t stop the addicting grind of his dick against mine—a back-and-forth and around-and-around motion that kept perfect time with his tongue’s thrusts into my mouth—I was gonna come right her
e in the deep end of the family pool.

  “Josh,” he breathed when we finally came up for air. “You get me so frickin’ revved. Don’t think I can stop.”

  “Mmm.” I kissed drops of water from his lips. “I like the sound of that.” Austin was such a reserved guy it felt like a stellar accomplishment to bring him to the edge of his held-too-tight control.

  His seriousness was part of what had attracted me to him. He was a couple years younger than me, but, in many ways, he acted a lot older than the guys I knew in college. As I got to know him better, though, I was beginning to realize his reserve masked a lot of shit he was struggling with.

  He’d come out to his family just in the past year. His parents were being assholes about it, which obviously sucked. He felt like he couldn’t be honest with them or with his friends—some of whom seemed like total douchebags—about his feelings. While I relied on academics, athletics and volunteer work to keep blues at bay, Austin fought depression by partying and drinking way too much.

  My mom called Austin “one of my summer challenges”. I didn’t like thinking of him that way. He was a multi-faceted guy who seriously interested me, not some project with a beginning, a middle and an end. Truthfully, though, I was beginning to worry his issues were more than I could handle. And because I was tenacious when it came to conquering challenges, I didn’t want to push him or keep holding on just because I didn’t want to deal with failure.

  “And I like this too.” I brought my fingers to his lips, tracing the curve of a rare full-blown grin. “Almost the end of summer and I think I’ve finally figured out how to make you totally happy.”

  “Get me soaking wet?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. While doing this…” I twined my legs with his, rubbing our dicks together, wishing like hell I could make our swimsuits disappear.

  He gave me with another smile. Wrapping his hard arms around my shoulders, he whispered in my ear, “Wanna get off?”

  “Hell, yes.”