by Eden Finley
“So … you’ve been avoiding me,” I say.
“You waited until we were in small confines before you asked that, didn’t you? I can’t get away.”
“Precisely.”
“I got your texts, and I’m not lying when I say I’ve been busy, but yeah, I have been avoiding you a little bit.”
The train car shudders and pushes me into him so we’re chest to chest. “Why?” I croak.
Damon takes a small step back. “Honestly? I’m waiting for the memory of you kissing me to go away so I’m not tempted to do it again.”
CHAPTER TEN
DAMON
Damn it. I was doing so well. I’ve been preoccupied and distracted with work and study, so I’ve barely had time to think about Maddox. Then he goes and swoops in and saves me from the most awkward night of my life. And that’s saying something considering a few weekends ago I traveled interstate with a straight guy I didn’t know and pretended to be his boyfriend.
Maddox takes a step back, but on the crowded subway, he doesn’t get far. He hasn’t said anything to my admission, and I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to ask me to kiss him again, because I know I’ll do it, but I also don’t want to hear that he’s over whatever attraction he had to me.
The train car comes to a stop and the doors open. “This is us,” he says and walks off. His steps are fast, and I have to scramble to keep up, pushing my way through the crowd.
“Maddy, wait up.”
“Can’t. If I stop moving, I’m going to do something you don’t want, so I’m going to walk as fast as I can to burn off this excess energy.”
He couldn’t have answered more perfectly.
His East Village apartment isn’t far from the subway, and I practically have to chase him the whole way because his feet don’t slow down. As we enter his building, I can’t get over how he could afford this place.
“Are you fucking your landlord?”
Maddox stops dead in his tracks, and I don’t have time to slow down, so I run into the back of him. “Did you just ask what I think you asked?”
“How can you afford a place in this building?”
“You a real estate agent now? One of my frat brother’s parents own it, and they gave me a good deal.”
“I pay over two grand where I am. It’s not a studio, but it’s a fucking dump.”
“The joys of living in New York.”
“Just tell me one thing. The guy isn’t …” Matt’s name gets stuck in my throat.
“No. It’s not my freshman year hookup.” He turns and cocks his head. “Would it be a problem for you if it was?”
Busted. “Nope. Just … curious.”
My sister is already halfway drunk when we enter Maddox’s apartment. She’s lying on the small couch that’s in front of a queen bed, watching Sex and the City reruns. She’s been obsessed with the show since before she was even old enough to watch it. “What’s my brother doing here?”
“Love you too,” I say.
Jealousy over Maddox’s apartment rears its ugly head. Yeah, it’s small, but the countertop in the kitchen—which is bigger than mine—is granite, the floorboards are a sleek oak color, and if there was to be a wall that divided his sitting area from the bed, it’d basically be the same size as my one-bedroom apartment but fancier.
This is why I should be nicer to people. They could give me an apartment, damn it. Maybe I’ll tell Noah he’s slacking in the friend department. He’s like a kazillionaire. He lives in a four-bedroom brownstone. I could totally move in—no, wait, then I’d have to be Noah’s roommate, and I don’t think there’s anyone alive who could deal with his ego twenty-four hours a day.
Stacy wobbles as she stands from the couch. “Why aren’t you out celebrating with Eric?”
An excuse would be a good thing to come up with right now, but I’ve got nothing.
“His fiancée was there,” Maddox says. “She had a headache so they left early. I invited Damon back here for drinks.”
Stacy screws up her face. “Is drinks a euphemism for something else? I’m all for you two doing the nasty, but not while I’m here, ’kay?”
“Yay, loose-lipped drunk Stacy has arrived,” I say sarcastically.
Maddox snorts. “Nope. Not gonna happen between me and your brother, Stace. He’s made that perfectly clear.”
And now I feel like an asshole. “Mad—”
“Tequila me.” Maddox cuts me off which is for the best because I have no idea what I was going to say.
“Come and get it.” Stacy pours a shot, licks her hand and shakes salt on it, and then shoves a lemon wedge in her mouth, facing outward.
“Oh, geez, shots?” I ask.
Maddox doesn’t hesitate. He licks the salt off Stacy’s hand, takes the shot, and then leans in to take the lemon wedge out of her mouth. And fuck, if I don’t hate my sister right now.
That’s when he turns his sights on me. Shit. I watch as he licks his hand and gets a shot set up for me. “I haven’t done shots since I was like nineteen,” I say.
“Stace, I think your brother is calling us immature.”
“No,” I say, “I’m pointing out that I chugged three beers at dinner, and if I do this, I probably won’t be able to walk.”
Stacy coughs in between saying “Lightweight.”
“I’m sorry I grew out of the binge-drinking phase sophomore year of college and applied myself to get a usable degree.”
“Oooh, they’re fighting words,” Maddox says.
“Marketing is usable. I’m employed, aren’t I?” Stacy says.
“You’re smart, Stacy. You could’ve been anything you wanted, and you chose a highly unstable industry—”
Stacy throws her head back. “You sound like Mom. Besides, kettle meet pot. How is marketing more unstable than sports agenting … agentry? Is agenting a word?”
Maddox ignores my sister’s ramblings and places the lemon in between his lips as his eyes bore into mine.
“Guess I’m doing this then.” I step forward and lick salt off Maddox’s hand—ignoring his sharp intake of breath—and throw back the tequila. My heart pounds in my chest as I move in to take the lemon. A small piece of fruit separates our mouths, and my head chants for him to “accidentally” drop the lemon wedge. He doesn’t.
When I pull back and am done screwing up my face at the taste, Maddox grins. He looks innocent and adorable as fuck.
Our eyes lock and I can’t tear my gaze away even if I want to.
“Ugh,” Stacy whines, breaking Maddox and me apart. “Big is such an asshole.” She plucks a tissue from the box on the coffee table and throws it at the TV.
“What have I told you about watching that shit here?” Maddox says. “Last time, you threw a coaster at my TV.”
“You love it, and now you’re riding the rainbow train … oh, wait, the bi train is blue, purple, and pink, isn’t it? Either way, you’re allowed to admit your love for Sex and the City now.”
My sister, ladies and gentlemen—saying the shit that could get her bitch slapped if she said it to anyone but me. And now Maddox, I guess.
“You don’t like it because Big is your spirit animal,” she says.
I rub my temples. “How is a character from a shitty TV show a spirit animal?”
Stacy waves her hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. They’re both commitment-phobic manwhores.”
I nudge Maddox with my elbow. “There’s a hockey game on. You should be a supportive brother-in-law and watch it.”
Maddox sighs. “I don’t know what’s worse—Sex and the City or hockey.”
“Ooh, sexy hockey players with missing teeth. I’m sold.” Stacy grabs the remote and flicks it over.
Maddox throws himself on the couch and puts my sister’s feet in his lap. He gestures for me to take the single armchair, but I can’t stop staring at his hands on Stacy’s feet.
“Another shot?” Maddox asks me.
Definitely. “Sure. Studying hun
gover is always fun. Getting back to SoHo tonight will be interesting.”
“Crash here,” Stacy says. “I sleep on Maddox’s couch all the time.”
“She’s right. And it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” Maddox says and hands over the shot glass.
I forgo the salt and lemon this time and throw it back. Then Maddox fills the same glass and slams it down his throat.
“I thought you were making margaritas,” Maddox says through a wince at the afterburn.
“Effort,” Stacy says. “Shots were easier.”
Despite Maddox’s protest of hockey, that doesn’t stop him from yelling “That’s my brother” every time Tommy’s on screen. And every time Tommy takes a shot on goal, Maddox pours us a shot each.
I tell him that the game is to drink when they actually score a goal, but he argues that will take way too long and hockey is a lot more fun when he’s buzzed.
Stacy bows out in the third period and falls asleep, which means I have to keep my yelling at the TV to a minimum.
Maddox and I watch as Detroit tries to take down Boston, but the game ends up tied and heads into overtime.
“Oh my God, there’s more of this?” Maddox whines.
“We can watch something else.” Totally empty gesture. The game is tied 2 – 2 and all that’s left is for one team to score. He won’t really make me change it, right?
“It’s cool. I can see how into it you are. I’m gonna head to bed, but as I said earlier, you’re welcome to stay.”
My cock likes that idea, but I don’t think I can handle being in a bed with him without touching him. I’ve tried not to think about him for the last two weeks, but my distractions have only taken the edge off.
While Maddox goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Tommy sinks one and the lamp lights up. I can’t even get excited about it, because I’m freaking out about staying.
My brain goes from telling me to go for it and forget about Eric to getting angry at myself for letting Eric affect my decision at all. But if I were to start something with Maddox, I’d always wonder if I was manipulating him somehow. I have a theory that homophobia stems from two things—guys who are confused about their own sexuality and are afraid of it or people who are literally dicks for the sake of being a dick. In the beginning, I believed Eric was the second type, but after he kissed me, I realized it’s because he doesn’t want to admit that a part of him—even if it’s a small part—is attracted to males. What happened between us not only ruined our friendship but also made his attitude drop the passive from passive-aggressive. And while Maddox seems fine with his realization, I don’t want to screw him over. Not that I plan to. But I never planned to screw over Eric either. I don’t want to pressure him or push him into something he’s not ready for and then have him freak out on me.
“You okay?” Maddox asks, reappearing from the bathroom. Guess I was staring into space.
“I should go. I’ll catch a cab home.” I stand to leave.
Maddox’s face falls, but he tries to hide his disappointment. “I’ll walk you out.”
“It’s not like it’s far to the door.”
His lips quirk. “True. Are you sure you’re going to be okay getting home? How drunk are you?” He gives me a playful shove, but I don’t budge. “Okay, not that drunk.”
“I’m sure I can handle fifteen minutes in a cab.”
“Okay.” He looks at his feet and leans back on his heels.
“What?” I stupidly ask. Leave already.
“You going to go back to ignoring me?”
I rub the back of my neck. “No. I don’t think I can anymore.” Shit, not what I should be saying.
Maddox steps toward me, and I stumble backward.
“But, uh, I … umm.” Great time to forget how to talk.
By the smug smile on his face, I’d say he’s enjoying me fumbling over myself. He closes the gap between us, his chest against mine. The urge to reach up and pull on his blond hair has my fingers twitching.
“Dik …”
My gaze falls to his mouth, and there’s no doubt that I want him, but I won’t be that guy for him. “I can’t,” I whisper and step back.
“You can. I’m not Eric.”
My eyes dart to Stacy who’s still passed out on the couch. My family can’t know what happened. Ever. “As much as I want to kiss you again …” I force myself to spit out a lie. “I’m not into the whole inexperienced guy in the bedroom thing. But I know a heap of guys who’ll jump at the chance to help you out.” My feet shuffle toward the door, walking backward. “I’ll, uh, text you. I’m catching up with the guys next weekend.”
Maddox puts his hands in his pockets. “Yeah … uh, sounds good.”
I mentally check off a list of all my friends who would be into Maddox. And then I make a note not to invite them next weekend. Because even though I can’t be his experiment, I don’t want them to go for him either.
Asshole level achieved: expert.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MADDOX
What am I doing here?
Since Damon made his escape from my apartment last weekend, I’ve been telling myself to let it go. He doesn’t trust me not to freak out on him. End of story. I need to move on.
So now I’m standing outside the bar where he told me I could meet his friends—friends who could “help me out.” Damon doesn’t understand this isn’t about experimenting but wanting to go out with him. If I was looking for a hookup, I’d go out and do what I’ve always done.
Why is it that the one person I’ve genuinely liked in years—the one person I could see myself having more than one date with—doesn’t want to go out with me because I’ve never been with another guy before? And that’s a technicality because I’m not sure what my thing with Matt would be classified as.
A guy passes me, and his piercing blue-green eyes roam over me. When his lips quirk, I realize he’s checking me out. Do I have a sign on my forehead now? Or am I only noticing it now?
When his lips turn into a full-blown smile, I swallow hard and turn away from the bar. I swear I hear the guy chuckle, but it might be my imagination.
I only get a few steps when I stop and turn back. Then I change my mind and go to leave again.
I get seven steps this time before I pause.
Just do it. Enter the bar.
When I turn this time, I almost run into Damon.
“When Noah said there was a hot, freaked-out guy out here, I thought it might’ve been you.”
“Noah?”
“The annoyingly attractive black guy with blue eyes who eye-fucked you until you got weirded out and left.”
At that, the tension in my gut eases. “Oh. That guy.”
“In my defense, Noah wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. Wyatt invited him. I didn’t want Noah to … uh, scare you off. Apparently, he doesn’t even need to open his mouth anymore before people run the other way.”
“It wasn’t him that scared me off. I-I don’t know what I’m doing here.” I mean, I do. I’m here for Damon, but I can’t say that aloud. This isn’t supposed to be about that.
“Come in and meet everyone, have a drink, and then you can go. This was to make you more comfortable, not intimidate the hell out of you.”
I manage a nod, and he leads me inside to a table with four other people—including the guy who checked me out—and their conversation doesn’t stop at our arrival.
“How can you say that?” a skinny guy says. He looks like he could be a surfer with his sun-kissed, long blond hair. “It’s the most offensive thing to ever come out of your mouth.”
A girl with long, wavy brown hair throws her arm around a chick with a short, black bob haircut. “Stop being so dramatic. Skylar’s trying to get a rise out of you.”
I look at Damon for any type of explanation. He shakes his head with a smile.
“But she … and …” The guy’s voice goes high-pitched. “There are lines, Rebecca. Your girlfriend crossed a
major one. No one can say things that offensive without being ridiculed.”
In my experience, only three things can create this type of argument: politics, religion, and—
“All I’m saying is,” the girl with black hair says, “The Phantom Menace was so much better than Empire. Get over it.”
“Agreed,” Damon says.
Star Wars it is. This shouldn’t need debating. I turn to Damon. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with someone who thinks Episode One was better than the originals.” Then I face the rest of the group. “And if any of you say The Force Awakens was even better, I’m going to walk out. Right now.”
“Well, you passed the nerd test,” Noah says.
The surfer guy leans in. “Ignore him. He’s a closet Trekkie.”
Damon points as he goes along. “That’s Rebecca, Skylar, Wyatt, and Noah. Everyone, Maddox.”
Staring at the group, I can’t help noticing how mismatched they all are.
“Damon, I think we broke your friend,” Noah says. “He’s staring at us weird.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Just … odd dynamic.”
“Think you have us figured out already, huh?” Damon asks. “By all means, tell us how we’re odd.”
I’m worried I’m about to offend a table of people I’ve just met. “Uh …” I clear my throat. “Wyatt surfs. Skylar’s in a band or is an artist, and Rebecca looks like she’d be a nurse or in childcare.”
Noah leans in, resting his elbows on the table and his blue eyes shining. “And me?”
“I could see you as an athlete. Basketball or track, maybe.”
“Congratulations,” Damon says, “You got none of them right.” Everyone at the table snickers. “Although, you came close with one. Skylar’s the nurse, not Rebecca.”
The black-haired punk smiles at me. “Pediatric nurse to be exact.” My eyes fall to her tatts. “I wear long sleeves at work and take out the nose ring.”
“Rebecca’s in some of my law classes, and she’s going to be a killer litigator,” Damon says. “Don’t let the sweet appearance fool you. She’s a shark. Wyatt’s an analyst—”