“Who?”
“He was the subject of the episode Brain Surgeons Who Kill.” I remember calling my dad immediately after watching that episode. I told him he’s never, ever allowed to inject poison into a patient’s frontal lobe, and he asked me if I was high.
As I resettle in my chair, I almost rest my hand on Hunter’s knee, a habit I have when we’re sitting together on his couch. This morning I forcibly have to stop myself. PDA isn’t allowed until I know what this is. But my gaze keeps flitting toward him. I wish I could touch his leg. Or even better—slide my hand inside his pants and wrap it around his cock. I find myself wanting to touch this man all the time.
And I mean all the time. Sometimes I want him so badly I can’t even wait for him to close the bedroom door before I’m mauling him. Today is one of those times, except we’re not in a bedroom and my throbbing body is furious at this predicament.
By the time Andrews dismisses us, my core is one dull ache. I barely hear Andrews thanking us for being so attentive this semester, wishing us luck with our future. Any other day, I’d linger after class to express my own gratitude, but I think I’ll need to settle for sending a lengthy email.
I’m so aroused, I’m practically leaping out of my own skin as we exit the lecture hall. My impatient gaze darts around the wide corridor. We didn’t drive, and there’s no way I can last the long walk back to my house. So, as Pax and TJ walk on ahead of us, I grab Hunter’s hand and drag him around the corner.
33
Hunter
Demi shoves me through the nearest doorway. Luckily, it leads into an unlit room with tables and chairs arranged in a semicircle. The blinds are shut, but the room isn’t pitch black. Just shadowy, with thin stripes of sunlight peeking in from the slats.
“What are you doing?” I ask in amusement.
She hurriedly shuts the door. “I was going crazy not being able to touch you in there. You have no idea how close I was to just taking off your pants and riding your dick, right there in front of everyone.”
My groin clenches. Oh Jesus, that sounds hot. The two of us are all over each other, all the time. It’s almost become an addiction. And I’m embarrassed to say it hasn’t affected hockey whatsoever, which means my vow of celibacy was completely fucking pointless. If anything, I’m playing even better these days.
I’ve avoided talking about it with Demi, because I’m afraid she’ll tease me, tell me I’d been acting out a scene from Wizard of Oz or some shit. Like, you had the power to be a good captain and teammate all along, Hunter! It was your guilt, and your fear of being a selfish jackass like your father, that stopped you from seeing that.
I can totally see Demi using a cheesy analogy like that.
But I guess it’s a lesson I needed to learn. Last season’s fuckery had scarred me. And I started this season wanting to put my team—and not my dick—first. I wanted to be a good captain. I wanted to prove to myself that I’m not a selfish narcissistic asshole whose needs are the only ones that matter. When our season went up in flames last year, it was a wake-up call for me. The first thing I thought after we lost that game was, maybe we are two of a kind. My father and I.
The first time he’d said that to me, I blanched inside. I felt dirty. Spooked by the notion that I could actually be anything like him. A dirt bag. An egomaniac.
But sex with Demi hasn’t resulted in anything but me going to bed sated every night and killing it in practice every morning. Not to mention the playoffs—we’re dominating the other teams.
Demi loops her arms around my neck and yanks my head down for a kiss. Christ. I love kissing her. I love fucking her. I love doing everything with and to her.
We both know this thing between us is more than a rebound. More than sex. But I don’t know what that more is. And I’m enjoying it too much to rock the boat by asking.
I laugh when she pushes me against the door. She clicks the lock into place, and her hand is at my belt before I can blink. She undoes my jeans and tugs them and my boxers just low enough that she can reach inside and pull out my hot, heavy cock.
“Oh my God, I wanted this so badly the past two hours,” Demi mumbles in anguish. “I want it all the time.”
“Take it,” I say huskily.
She sinks to her knees and my body tightens in anticipation. When her mouth engulfs my dick in one wet glide, I hiss in pleasure. So does she, and her brown eyes shine happily as she releases me to say, “I love having this in my mouth.”
“You and your oral fixation,” I mock, all the while trying to nudge my cockhead through her sexy lips again.
She laughs at my pathetic attempts. “So when I need my candy, it’s, what did you call it the other day? A serious problem. But when I’m craving your dick, my oral fixation is just fine and dandy?”
I grin. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”
Demi sticks out her tongue, and I take full advantage of that. Within seconds, I’m in her hot mouth again.
“Oh yeah.” I hold the back of her head with both hands, guiding her along my shaft.
There’s a murmur of voices out in the hall. I don’t care. Demi makes me forget that other people inhabit the world with us. We’re the only ones in this room, in this building, on this planet. When I’m inside her, nobody exists but us. When she’s petting and rubbing and sucking on my dick, nobody exists but her.
She swallows me up, her eager tongue curling around the head of my dick. She gets it nice and wet, while her fist moves up and down the length of me. Squeezing the tip on each upstroke, sucking me to the root on the way down.
I rock my hips, restless, aroused, my balls beginning to tingle. When she pulled me in here, I assumed I’d fuck her against a wall. But this blowjob is so criminally good, I won’t last long enough to get inside her.
“Baby,” I groan, trying to still her.
She peers up at me with big eyes. Her lips are wrapped tight around my cockhead. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I trace that naughty O with my thumb, rubbing the corner of her mouth.
“I’m close,” I warn. “If you came in here wanting to fuck, you’d better stop that.”
Her wet mouth slides off me, and my cock emerges with a pop. “No, I want to make you come right now. I want to hear you moan my name when you shoot in my mouth.”
Jesus. This girl will be the death of me.
She resumes her wicked task, and in less than thirty seconds I’m giving the woman what she wants.
“Demi,” I groan when my climax breaks the surface. Her lips remain firmly around me as she swallows everything I have to give. I’m dead. She’s killed me. She’s perfect.
Demi plants soft kisses on my still-hard shaft as I float down from the high. Smiling, she tucks me into my cargo pants. Primly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she rises to her feet. She zips me up and stands on her tiptoes to brush her lips over mine.
I can’t help but deepen the kiss, and when I taste myself on her tongue I’m damn near raring to go again. I shiver.
“You okay?” she teases.
“Peachy,” I croak.
She snickers, then gives me a long appraisal before unlocking the door. We reenter the hall, and the bright fluorescent lighting blinds me for a moment.
“Are you coming over tonight?” she asks as we fall into step with each other.
“I can’t. I’m having drinks with Hollis. But I can come over now and hang out with you till I need to meet him?”
“Boooooo.”
“Don’t boo me.”
“Why not? You boo me all the time.”
“Because I’m a child, Semi. You’re far too mature for that nonsense. Have some respect for yourself.”
She bursts out laughing and I smile. I like making her laugh.
“I’d bail,” I say, “but Hollis stressed that it was important.”
Demi stops walking. “I’m sorry. Mike Hollis implied that something was important?”
“Implied? More like explicitly stated.
He pulled me aside this morning and asked if we could talk tonight.”
“Why was he even home? It’s Monday.”
A frown touches my lips. “He called in sick to work, but he didn’t look sick to me.”
“I hope everything’s okay with him.”
“I’m sure it is. Hollis is indestructible. I bet he just wants to talk about something random, like what to get Rupi for her birthday.”
“Is it coming up?”
“Oh, you’re going to love this. The girl was born on…wait for it…February fourteenth.”
Demi gasps. “Valentine’s Day! Oh my God. Poor Mike. He’s going to have to go all out. Maybe even buy her a pony.”
I snort.
When we enter the lobby, I notice TJ standing a few feet away chatting with one of the TAs. A frown twists his mouth when he spots us. It seems like an extreme response for no reason, until I realize that his gaze is on my crotch.
I look down and swallow a curse. Demi must not have zipped me up all the way, because my fly slid right back down. I discreetly do it up, but that does nothing to erase the distrustful look on TJ’s face.
* * *
Later that night I slide into the booth across from Hollis, signaling the waitress as I settle in. Hollis didn’t order yet, despite the fact that he’s already been here for ten minutes. I was late driving over because there were four feet of ice on my windshield when I left Demi’s house. Nearly froze my balls off scraping it all away.
“Sorry, I was scraping ice,” I grumble.
“Fuckin’ ice. It should be banned.”
“I’ll be sure to let the climate know you feel that way, Michael.”
I smile in gratitude when the waitress returns with my lager. Hollis ordered a can of Boom Sauce, which I think he likes just because of the name. We tap our drinks in cheers.
“So what’s going on?” I ask my buddy. “Why did you drag me to Malone’s in the dead of butt-fuck winter when we live in the same house and could easily have talked there?”
Hollis plays with the rim of his beer can. “Needed to get out.” He shrugs. “How’s it going with you? You still seeing Demi? Did Coach approve the pig yet?”
He’s stalling, but I play along for the time being. Hollis is so dramatic that pushing him could potentially result in him storming out in a huff, and I’d really like to finish my beer.
“I’m fine. Did well in all my courses last semester. Still seeing Demi. And no, Coach hasn’t green-lit the pig yet.” I mull it over for a moment. “But I just realized—once he does, that means Pablo has to go.” Shit. I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye yet.
“Dude, it’s about time. Do you know how much that little dude stinks? Eggs aren’t meant to be out in the wild.”
I chuckle. “I don’t even notice the smell anymore, to be honest.”
“We should get a pet for the house,” Hollis says.
“Ha. Sure. Rupi would never let you have a pet. It’d mean less attention for her.”
“True. It’s hard enough only giving her attention on the weekends.” Hollis rubs his eyes, and I notice that he looks deeply exhausted. I knew the two-hour commute to New Hampshire was taking its toll on him, but it appears it’s gotten even worse. His eyes are actually puffy, as if he hasn’t slept properly in years.
“You heading back to your folks’ place tomorrow or calling in sick again?” I ask carefully.
“I’m heading back.” He takes a quick sip. “Honestly, I don’t want to sell insurance anymore, Davenport. I hate it up there. I hate living at home again, and I hate working with my dad. That dude’s crazy.”
“Mmm-hmmm, he’s crazy.”
“He is! And he tells the stupidest jokes all day long.”
I stare at Hollis. “I truly cannot conceive of the kind of torture you must be going through.”
“Right?”
Whoosh. Right over his head. “Why don’t you try to find work in Hastings?” I suggest.
“I have, but nobody is hiring. Or at least hiring for positions I’d actually want. There’s a job opening for a graveyard-shift clerk at the gas station, but what’s the point of that? I’d just sleep all day and work all night, and the pay is shit.”
“If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.”
“And I guess for now you just keep your full-time job of selling insurance during the week and your full-time job of Rupi on the weekends.”
“Dude, she really is a full-time job.” Yet he’s grinning broadly as he says it.
“I don’t understand your relationship at all.”
“Of course you don’t. It’s transcendent.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Exactly,” he says smugly. But it isn’t long before his blue eyes grow serious again. It’s not an expression you often see on Mike Hollis’s face. “She’s only a sophomore, bro.”
“Rupi? So?”
“So she won’t graduate for two and a half more years. That means two and a half more years of me making this God-awful commute so I can sell insurance with my crazy father.”
I put down my beer. “Are you considering…breaking up with her?”
He’s utterly aghast. “What! What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course not. Did you not listen to the part where I said we’re transcendent?”
“Right, sorry, I forgot.” I study him again. “So what exactly are we talking about here? You hate your job. You hate living at home again. You hate commuting. You hate that Rupi has a couple more years of school left. But you love Rupi.”
“Yes to all that.”
I purse my lips. “Okay, answer me this. If none of those things you listed as hating were in the equation, what would you be doing?”
“I’m not following.”
“Pretend you don’t have to worry about jobs and commutes and all that crap—what would you want to be doing?”
“I would—” He stops. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“No, tell me,” I order. “Let’s figure this out, man.”
Hollis gulps down some more Boom Sauce. “I’d travel,” he finally confesses. “Like, dude, do you realize how many other countries there are in the world? Dozens!”
“Hundreds,” I correct.
“Don’t be crazy now. There’s only seven continents, why would there be hundreds of countries? Your math is erroneous. But yeah, that’s what I’d do. I’d travel all over the motherfucking world and meet new people and experience new cultures and eat weird food and—oh, Rupi and I could bang on trains and airplanes and camels if we go somewhere with camels—”
“Wait, Rupi’s on this trip, too?”
He nods fervently. “Where else would she be?”
I nod back, but slow and thoughtful. “You want my advice? You should talk to Rupi about all this. Be honest about how exhausted you are, and tell her you’d love to go on a trip with her. Maybe you can plan something for the summer? It’d give you something to look forward to while you make that long commute to New Hampshire…” I trail off enticingly.
Hollis narrows his eyes at me.
“What?” I say.
“Have you always been this smart or have I just always been this stupid?”
I grin at him. “I choose not to answer that question.”
34
Demi
By the end of January, Hunter and I still haven’t defined our relationship. We’re just sort of floating along, having sex on a consistent basis, cuddling, texting, giving each other advice. I attend his hockey games even though I still don’t care about hockey. He watches crime documentaries even though he finds them disturbing.
As Brenna likes to say, we’re in a situationship. But according to Pippa, we’re a married couple who won’t even call themselves boyfriend and girlfriend.
Pippa’s right. He’s my boyfriend, and I’m his girlfriend. It’s funny—for two people who communicate extremely well, neither of us has raised the subject. I know why I haven’t, b
ut I wonder what’s holding Hunter back.
Me, I’m scared to make that commitment. What if things change the moment I call him my boyfriend? What if suddenly he decides I’m tying him down or cramping his style, and starts looking elsewhere? It’s an irrational fear, and the bitter memory of Nico’s cheating isn’t helping matters.
The ambiguity of our relationship is a constant source of anxiety for me. Human beings have a compulsion to define things. Definitions provide us with comfort. But I’m torn about what I want more—to label us, or to avoid possible rejection. For now, I simply don’t bring it up, and neither does Hunter.
His team is in the midst of playoffs and he’s been working hard this past week. Practices are grueling, and he’s covered in bruises every time I see him. Tonight he was feeling particularly sore, so I decided to go out with my friends and give his body some time to recover. It’s impossible for me to see Hunter without climbing all over that hard body and banging his brains out.
Hunter, however, is grumpy about being alone tonight. He keeps texting pictures of various parts of his body, some bruised and some not, begging me to come over and kiss them. Eventually, I interrupt Pippa midsentence and say, “Hold that thought. Let me just tell him to eff off.”
ME: I’m with my friends, Monk. The world doesn’t revolve around you.
HIM: Sure it does.
ME: I see. Are you channeling your father?
HIM: OMG you’re right. I’m sorry. The world is not my oyster. I’m just one pearl floating in a sea of pearls.
ME: That analogy is nonsensical. Now go away. I’m with my friends.
HIM: Fine!
I put the phone down. “Sorry, that needed to be done,” I tell my friends.
Pippa, TJ and I are in a cramped booth at one of the campus bars. Corinne is on her way to meet us, and this will be my third hangout with her since everything exploded back in November.
The Play: Briar U Page 30