by Neve Wilder
I finally got out of bed and dragged ass down the hall to the shower, unable to resist sneaking another quick peek in Eric’s bedroom. Still no sign of him.
I found Ansel in the kitchen after I’d dressed, sitting at the tiny table engaged in a fierce stare down with a plate of eggs and what appeared to be oatmeal. He glanced up as I came in.
“Did I see you last night?” I asked, squinting at him. I had a vague memory, but it was rare for Ansel to come out with us.
“Maybe?” He sounded as uncertain as I was as he pushed his plate across the table in my direction. “Want this? I keep trying, but I can’t. Already puked twice at morning practice. Never again.”
I snatched up the plate and chowed, eyeing him because it was unusual to see him so hung over. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever seeing him drunk. He went out, yeah, but his track career was his top priority, so sometimes he’d have a beer, but typically stuck to water. “I think I’ve got some of those electrolyte replacement powders in my room if you want.”
He dismissed the offer with a weak wave of his hand. “Thanks. Already did that. Might try again later.”
I bit my lip and shrugged. Fuck it. Wasn’t my problem. As soon as I’d scarfed the eggs, he pushed the bowl of oatmeal in my direction and I annihilated it, as well.
“The VA thing’s tonight. You gonna make it?”
He nodded and gave a full-body shake. “Yeah, I’ll rally. Got my duds already, anyway.”
“All right. I’m out.”
He lifted a few fingers from the handle of his coffee mug in an approximation of a wave as I scooted out of the kitchen and toward the front door. I figured I’d hoof it to the frat house and make a pledge drive me to the botanical garden where I was supposed to help set up the tables and decorations.
At the same time I reached out to open the front door, someone pushed it on it from the outside. I caught the edge, narrowly avoiding a direct hit to the forehead, and found myself face-to-face with Eric. The fucker was fresh-faced and dapper as a daisy, and he looked me up and down as if sizing me up before he clucked his tongue at me. “Long night, frat boy?”
So we were back to that.
“Could ask you the same,” I grumbled. I needed to step back out of his way and let him pass, but I couldn’t. My feet stuck where they were as if cemented to the floor even as Eric took a step closer and bumped his chest against mine.
“So ask.”
“What?” Having him all up in my space like that flustered me, the coffee bean and laundry scent of him, and underneath that, traces of his cologne. He was so fucking warm, and this close I could see his stubble as if enlarged by a macro lens; a tiny dry patch of skin at the corner of his sensual mouth tempted me to dart out my tongue and lick it.
“If it was a long night,” he prompted me, one brow arching.
His palm landed on my chest and shoved me a half step backward. I shook my head. I wasn’t sure to what: asking him or the shove.
“Ansel’s here,” I said, instead. As if on cue, Ansel appeared through the kitchen doorway and Eric shifted aside smoothly. Not that it would have mattered; Ansel was moving fast, barely managing to lift a hand in Eric’s direction as he passed by. Seconds later the bathroom door slammed shut. We both winced as we heard him hurling into the toilet. Poor dude was a lightweight.
Eric chuckled and kicked the door closed, then turned back into me. And shit, he moved fast, too. Felt like the whole damn world was about two steps ahead of me today. My shoulders knocked into the wall beside the door, my head thwapping against a framed poster of Rocky. “Fuck, stop doing that shit,” I gasped.
“You make it way too easy to take you by surprise.” Eric grinned, pressing his forearms harder against my chest. “And I like it too much.”
“I’m late,” I argued, and sucked in a breath as he jammed his hand behind the waistband of my jeans and gathered up my package in his grip as if he had every right to do so. I’d gone half-mast at the sight of him, but the skim of his hand over my shaft had my pole ready to support an entire UN Summit’s worth of country flags.
“Ask me,” he demanded.
“No.” I groaned as he stroked me. “Don’t care.”
“I can still smell the alcohol coming off you. Think if I kissed you, I could get drunk?” He gave the head of my dick a merciless squeeze, and when I shuddered out a breathy moan, he clapped a hand over my mouth. All too familiar. Fuck, I was on fire just like that, and I knew he saw it in my eyes. His gaze bored into mine, a silent challenge in it. What the hell did it matter to him if I asked? I resolved I wouldn’t do it, solely because he so evidently wanted me to.
I tried to tear myself away but only managed to pump myself harder into his hand. He put his face close to mine. “Give it to me,” he said quietly, every word sizzling through me like a high-voltage charge. “Three…”
Oh fuck, I was going to. I was totally going to blow my load in a span of seconds just because Eric told me to in that velvety rumble that was pure sex. It was as if he’d called to me at a decibel that bypassed my brain and shot straight to my cock. I might as well have been his dog. I couldn’t decide if that was the hottest thing ever or the most mortifying.
“Two…” He licked the side of my neck and I whimpered, my hips bucking into his hand out of control.
“Fuck,” I rasped out, the word garbled by his fingers against my lips.
“One.”
The sound of the hallway door opening reported like a gunshot. Once again, like some fucking ninja, Eric was suddenly three feet away, yanking the front door open and pushing me through it while my eyes flew wide, my bewildered dick throbbing and leaking, so damn confused and pissed off.
“Fuck, you’re cute,” he whispered, squeezing a handful of my ass before shutting the door behind me.
I clenched my fingers at empty air and growled in frustration, then tripped down the stairs, glancing over my shoulder expectantly, though there was no way he’d come after me. What the hell had just happened? Actually, I knew what had happened. Eric had played me like a goddamn fiddle. Again. Gotten me all worked up and left me to weave down the front walk like a drunken sailor, balls painfully heavy and aching.
God, fuck that dude. Just fuck him.
I found Marty at the fraternity house, sweeping the front porch and bagging trash, and got him to drive me to the venue at the gardens.
As we rode, I rested my head against the coolness of the passenger-side window and closed my eyes, content with the silence until he spoke up. “You were dating Ashley, right?”
“Yeah, a couple months back. Why?” I didn’t bother opening my eyes.
“She was at the house last night, asking if you were there.”
“Would've depended on the time. She has my number. She could’ve texted or called.”
“Oh yeah, sure.”
He didn’t sound like he was finished, though, so I cracked an eye and tilted my head a little, studying him. He was a good-looking freshman dude. Tall and gangly with light brown hair that did this little swoop thing over the front that girls loved to play with at parties. He could drink like a fish, too. “You interested in her?”
“Nah.” He shook his head a little too quickly.
“You’re a terrible liar, dude.”
He chuckled. “That’s against bro code, right? So no.”
“Psht.” I scoffed. “I guess technically, but we didn’t end on bad terms or anything, we just…” I’d gotten bored, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Ashley was cool. “It just didn’t work. How about this: feel free to move in. She’ll be there tonight.” I rubbed the aching spot between my eyes, giving Ashley some thought. “She’s pretty low-maintenance. Crazy about House of Spades.”
“The TV show?”
“Yeah. Get her started on that and she’ll probably love you immediately and talk to you all night about it.”
Marty drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then nodded.
“Okay. Thanks dude. Are you
sure? She’s so hot.”
“One hundred percent. Go for it.” Was I sure? I could have laughed; I hadn’t thought of Ashley or a pussy in weeks. My channel was stuck on an extended episode of dick, and Eric appeared to be the one with the remote in his hands.
We didn’t finish getting everything set up until almost five, which meant Mark and I had to rush back home to get showered and suited up in order to be back at six. No pre-partying for us tonight, which was fine with me; it’d taken hours for my hangover to dissipate.
When we walked inside, it was a hive of activity. Ansel and some of his track buddies were hanging out in the kitchen. Jesse had a couple of people over I vaguely recognized, and they’d parked in front of the living room TV playing some video game.
Mark opened the fridge and glanced back at me, asking, “Shower beer?”
“Hit me.” I held up my hand, and he tossed me a cold one. One of life’s underrated pleasures: a hot shower and a cold beer. I cracked it and was on my way out when Ansel called out my name. “Grab that box on the counter and drop it off in Eric’s room on your way? He said he needed some cufflinks.”
I nodded, looking around until I found the small black box sitting on the edge of the counter and took it with me upstairs.
Eric’s door was open, and I could hear the shower going in the hall bath, so I stepped inside and inhaled his scent. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in his room, and I meant to just set the box on the desk beside the door and jet, but a few pieces on top of a dresser shoved under the window caught my eye. Bridges. One meticulously constructed of toothpicks, striking in the detailing. I didn’t know the names for all the components, but it was like art.
The other looked as if it was made of balsa wood or some other kind of thin, pliable veneer, and it too was carefully rendered. He must have put hours upon hours into them, and I moved closer, flicking on a nearby lamp so I could study them. Bending down, I craned my neck to see the underside and found the detailing continued there. Tiny support beams and crossbeams held the sucker up, not even a fucking glue drip to be seen. I didn’t know why I was so surprised except that our trysts—or whatever the hell they were—were marked by what I thought was a certain carelessness on Eric’s part; he didn’t give a shit about getting down and dirty, and he sure as hell didn’t give a shit about getting me dirty.
“Final projects for a class last year.”
I jumped as Eric spoke behind me. I hadn’t even heard the shower turn off or him coming down the hall.
“They’re amazing. You did them on your own?” I glanced over my shoulder, and my gaze got stuck on the trail of dark hair that disappeared behind the white terry cloth towel cinched around his waist. I wanted to drink the water droplets clinging to the hairs just below his navel. Jesus, how was it that even a bath towel could look obscene on him?
“Yeah. Took forever and a day, just about. But I got an A.”
“I’ll bet,” I said, distracted. More water droplets dusted Eric’s shoulders, a few running down over his dark, pinched nipples, the buds so tight I wanted to take them between my teeth. Lick them, nibble them, see what kinds of sounds he’d make. He was always making me moan, but could I make him do the same on my own, without him touching me? Seeing him from a distance like that, when he wasn’t actively engaged in getting me hard or getting me off, his body was…graceful. Lean. On a Savannah, my bulk would make me the lion, but he’d be the cheetah that outran me.
I straightened, angling toward him but turning my attention back to the bridges. Still, in the corner of my eye, I detected movement, the squeak of the door as he pushed it gently—not fully closed, but cracked. Eric tugged the towel free, so fucking casually, caught it in his hand, then lifted it to rub briskly at his hair.
My breath hitched as he took two steps closer, heavy dick swinging. The balls below looked swollen and juicy, ripe to be sucked. Fucking hell, I needed to get a grip. Yeah, I’d been turned on by guys before as had already been established, but I didn’t recall ever wanting to suck on a guy’s sac. Now I was all but salivating at the prospect. Eric’s brows rose in a silent question.
“Ansel asked me to bring up the cufflinks you wanted to borrow.” I pointed them out on the desk.
“Right. Thanks.”
Man, did I want to see him in a suit, all cleaned up and sleek. He’d shaved, his jawline smooth and pronounced now, the sexy bow of his mouth all the more seductive. Or maybe that was just my libido talking. No doubt he could see the damn Rock of Gibraltar trying to bust out of my jeans.
Eric touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth contemplatively, then let the towel sag and drape over one shoulder, releasing it to close a fist around the base of his cock. His abs contracted as he squeezed, his gaze rolling over me like a heat wave. Fuck, he knew how to use his eyes. They might as well have been arrows pinning me in place.
One stroke. Two. Three. Slow, sleepy caresses like it was all an afterthought. But I knew better. His dick filled and darkened. My tongue felt swollen in my mouth.
“Hmm.” The sound was a gravelly purr. “I like your eyes on me. I’ll keep that in mind.”
My mouth dropped open and I scrambled for some cool retort, but he’d caught me off guard, as usual.
“So, ummm, what made you want to get into structural engineering?” Total non sequitur. I grasped at straws, trying to keep myself from begging him to get me off. Instead, inexplicably, my question had the effect of a cold shower on him. The heat in Eric’s eyes dimmed abruptly, and he tossed the towel onto his bed before bending to sweep up a pair of boxers lying there and tug them on.
“My father,” he said, snapping his waistband and running a hand through his hair quickly.
“He’s one, too?”
Eric’s chuckle was short and bitter. “No. He’s dead. The guy you met when I moved in is my stepdad. Weren’t paying much attention, were you?”
I cringed. I hadn’t been, nope, but I was now. “What happened to him or is it too—”
He shook his head. “It was ten years ago. He traveled a lot for work. He was on a bridge that collapsed in Japan.”
“I remember reading about that. Man, I’m sorry.” It was sincere, and if he’d been a girl, I’d have offered him a hug or pulled him into my arms, but I didn’t know what to do with him, and his posture seemed stiff, like if I were to touch him quills would pop out and he’d prick me.
“Yeah. Sucked,” he said succinctly, and crossed to his closet, yanking the bifold doors and flipping through the hangers, then pulling out a suit while I kept leaning against his dresser like an oaf.
“So I decided I wanted to build shit that was solid. That wouldn’t collapse from beneath an entire fucking family on vacation, or a pregnant woman trying to get home, or a dad with a son halfway across the world just because some jackoff hadn’t given proper consideration to tectonic pressure on the substructure.”
I thought I must have paled or made a weird expression because when Eric looked over at me, some of the tension carved in his features faded and he bit his lip. “Sorry. I’m still a little bitter. Clearly.”
“No. Fuck, don’t apologize. I’d be pissed as hell. That’s fucking awful.”
“Yeah.” He ticked a look in the direction of his nightstand where a digital clock glowed. “Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be there early or something?”
I glanced at the time and winced. “Ah shit. Yeah.” I was going to be late again.
There was a light rap on the door and Jesse pushed it open, double taking at finding me inside, too. “Oh hey. I think Mark’s looking for you,” he said to me, then turned his attention to Eric. “You still want a ride, man? We were thinking of going to Easy’s first and grabbing dinner.”
That was my cue. I headed out, Jesse skirting out of my way as I passed.
“Sure, I’m in,” I heard Eric say as I headed toward the bathroom.
I’d wanted to ask him about last night at the bar, but I didn’t have time,
and besides, when I thought about it, I figured I knew. I hadn’t been thinking clearly about all the frat brothers around me. But he had.
My mom called while Mark and I were en route to the botanical garden. We spoke once a week so I could assure her I hadn’t failed out of school, OD’d on drugs, gotten a girl pregnant, or succumbed to some other catastrophe. She was a bit of a worrier.
She asked about my grades first, and then it was on to Thanksgiving plans. It was weeks way, but Mom was a planner, so she’d probably been thinking about side dishes for months. I was an only child, and we usually ended up hosting extended family, sometimes other friends of my parents’.
“So you’ll be arriving Wednesday?” she asked.
I laughed. “Yeah, just like last year. And the year before that.”
“Oh, leave me alone. I miss my son and want to spend time with him.”
“Maybe you should show your son how much you miss him by making one of those red velvet cakes,” I teased.
“Hmmm. That’s a thought. I wonder if he’d help me make it?”
“I imagine he’ll want to watch some football. Relax a while. Making all those good grades wears him out.” I knew I’d end up helping her, though. We’d always been pretty close.
“Is it the good grades or the partying? I saw that picture you were tagged in on Facebook.”
I squinted, trying to think of which one that might have been. And then remembered and groaned. “I swear, I’m going to block you, Ma. Please quit looking at my stuff. It weirds me out. And I was in a costume in that photo and really not that drunk.” I’d been completely hammered.
She hummed skeptically. “You’d better not be drinking and driving.”
“I’m not,” I assured her, which was the truth. DDs were easy when you had pledges. “Listen, gotta run. We just pulled up to the fund-raiser.”