CLAM JAM

by RC Boldt

  “He stayed with us for a long weekend, and Ry ultimately strong-armed his new friend into updating his wardrobe and getting a haircut. Basically, Ry didn’t have room for much of his clothes in his dorm room, so they went to Jack as they were roughly the same size.” She glances up at me. “You’d never guess it looking at him today, would you?”

  Stunned, I shake my head slowly. “Not in a million.”

  She grins. “They both pledged the same fraternity and have been best friends—inseparable ever since.”

  Best friends, huh? Guess Mrs. James is in denial. Either that or she doesn’t realize that Ry pledged more than a fraternity with Jack. Likely, he pledged a whole hell of a lot more.

  Ahem, ahem. Wink, wink.

  Suddenly, loud voices from outside interrupt us. Rushing over to the oversized windows in the kitchen, Mrs. James and I see Ry and his father arguing outside. Finally, Ry storms off and down the long set of stairs leading to the lakefront.

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. James wrings her hands with worry.

  “Should I …”

  She grasps my hand. “Just give him a moment, Maggie. He likely needs to be alone down there. By the time dinner is ready, he’ll be all right.”

  When dinnertime comes, the conversation is stilted, proving Mrs. James’ prediction wrong.

  So very wrong.

  * * *

  After everyone bids each other good night, I close the bedroom door softly with a click and rest my forehead against it. Releasing a part weary sigh, part huff of laughter, I let my eyes fall closed as an anxiousness settles over me.

  I need to do it. I have to call Sean.

  Slowly lowering myself to the bed, I swipe the keypad of my cell phone until my thumb rests over his name. After a millisecond of hesitation, I press the key, waiting to hear the dialing.

  The moment he answers, I know I’ve made the right choice.

  “Hey.”

  My brows instantly furrow because of the sound in the background. You know when you see a dog’s ears perk at a certain sound? That’s how I imagine mine are right now. Because in the background is a distinctive female voice. As if that’s not enough, the owner of the voice is requesting that he “come back to bed.”

  Mmmmmkay. I’m done here.

  “Yeah, so, I was just going to say that something’s come up and I don’t think I can see you again.” After a beat, I hastily add, “But I’m pretty sure you’re good with that, so I’m gonna go now. Bye.”

  I press the button to end the call before Sean can even respond. Because I know whatever he says won’t be something I want to hear.

  Throwing myself back on the bed with a huff of breath, I stare up at the ceiling.

  I’ve done it. I’ve cut ties with Sean. That’s not the worst part, though. My ego has taken more of a hit tonight than anything has. In the past few months we’ve been dating, I hadn’t wanted to admit to the fact that something has been holding me back from taking our relationship to the next level.

  And apparently, right along the lines of my creepy, internal foreboding, he’d had enough and began sticking it to some other woman. Talk about a blow to the ol’ Magster’s ego.

  Great. As if things couldn’t possibly get worse, I’m also referring to myself in the third person.

  Brilliant.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ry

  A shower didn’t help, regardless of my attempts at scrubbing away my father’s words. Slipping on a pair of pajama pants but not bothering with a shirt, I glance toward my bed, knowing I’ll only end up tossing and turning.

  Everyone’s in their bedrooms, fast asleep, and as I creep past the spare bedroom Maggie is staying in, I fight the urge to knock. It would be selfish of me to wake her just for a damn hug.

  Not to mention, pathetic as hell.

  Slipping outside, I step onto the darkened deck lit only by dim lantern-style lights along the perimeter and stairs, and I welcome the faint chill of the night air upon my skin.

  Descending the steps leading down to the waterfront and our dock, I barely notice the slight chill from the smooth, oversized paving stones beneath my bare feet. Once I arrive at the dock, I open the door to the large boathouse and pull one of the cushioned chairs out. Lowering myself into it, I face the water.

  Gazing out onto the lake that’s reflecting the light of the moon like glass, I recall just how many times this very spot has been my safe haven, of sorts. Far too many to count.

  When will I get it through my damn head that my father will never accept me as I am? His love for me is conditional; in order to gain it, I have to give up everything I love and everything that ultimately makes me, me.

  Letting out a frustrated grunt, I rise from the chair. Walking over to the railing of the dock, I lean my forearms on it. I’m unsure of how long I stand here, gazing sightlessly over the expanse of the lake before picking up on the sound of light footfalls behind me. Tensing, I pray it isn’t my father because, at this rate, I think I’d likely drown myself in the lake just to get away from his badgering.

  “Ry?”

  Maggie’s voice carries over to me, its soft, tentative quality easing a bit of the tension in my back. I feel terrible for inviting her up here and then subjecting her to my family drama.

  “Hey.”

  I expect her to come up and stand beside me, so it’s difficult to withhold my surprised jolt when she wraps her arms around me from behind, hugging me, her breasts pressed against my spine. We stand like this for a long moment before I quietly admit, “I’m really not the greatest company right now, Mags.”

  Her lips press against my back, and I swear I can feel the kiss go straight to my heart as she whispers, “You’re incredible, Ry. Don’t ever forget it.”

  With a brief, derisive snort, I shake my head. “My father would be the first to disagree with you on that.”

  “Screw him.” Her warm breath washes against my bare skin with her mumbled response.

  Bringing my hand up to cover one of hers over my chest, a ghost of a smile forms on my lips. “Thanks, Mags.”

  We stand in silence for an indeterminable amount of time before I notice a shiver run through Maggie at the cool breeze, which has begun coming off the lake. Turning around, I scoop her up, snagging a throw blanket from inside the doorway of the boathouse before walking back over to the chair and settling her on my lap. As she curls up on my lap, her head on my chest, I tuck the blanket around her.

  One of her hands is splayed flat against my chest as we sit there listening to the quiet night. I’m not sure how long we sit before I realize that—with Maggie in my arms—my tension and stress have eased. Having her here with me is a soothing balm after everything my father verbally inflicted upon me earlier. And the reason I feel calmer, the reason my pain has eased, is likely because I have the most important person in my life in my arms.

  Running a hand along her blanketed back, I dip my head to press a kiss to the top of her head. With my lips still pressed against her silky hair, my eyes fall closed.

  “I love you, Mags.”

  My voice is hushed, and especially right now, I mean those words more than she could possibly imagine.

  “Love you, too, Ry.” Her whispered words wash over me, and not for the first time, do I wish with everything I have that she meant them. That she would feel the same way.

  That she would love me the way that I love her.

  * * *

  Making our way back up to the house, Maggie slips her hand in mine as we ascend the steps, quietly entering the house and closing the door behind us. Climbing the stairs to head to our bedrooms, I stop at her door and drop her hand.

  “Thanks, Mags. For everything tonight.” My fingers twitch in my attempts at restraining from tugging her to me and sliding my arms around her because I’m not sure I could let go.

  I sure as hell don’t ever want to.

  “Good night.” Turning away, I make it the few feet across the hall to my room, as she murmurs soft
ly, “Good night, Ry.”

  Softly closing my door, I slide into bed, lying on my back with my hands behind my head and find myself wishing my bedroom door would crack open. Wish that I didn’t have to fall asleep alone tonight.

  With a derisive sound, I scold myself as my eyes fall closed. You’re a grown man, Ry. So you’ve had a shitty day. Doesn’t mean you can’t fall asleep without your “security blanket.” Man up, for God’s sake.

  Inhaling deeply, I silently remind myself that I shouldn’t be acting this pathetic.

  At the sound of the doorknob turning, my eyes fly open, and I stare as the door slowly opens.

  “Ry?” Maggie’s tentative tone draws me from my surprised daze. Because, hell, it’s almost like she magically showed up the moment I wished for her.

  She’s standing with the door cracked partially open, her head peeking around it, and even in the dark room, only lit by streams of moonlight, I can detect the uncertainty etched on her face.

  Wordlessly flipping back the covers, I slide over to make more room for her. The door closes with a soft click, and within a moment, she takes two quick steps before vaulting herself onto the mattress, making it bounce.

  Laughing softly, I tug her to me, gazing down into her smiling face and smoothing some strands of hair back from her forehead that were displaced. “That was impressive. Form still needs work, though.”

  Her lips form a dramatic pout. “I thought that at least warranted an eight point nine, buddy.”

  “Nope. Definitely a five point four.”

  Her palm flies out to shove me playfully. Falling onto my back, I take her with me, both of us smiling at one another. Her hair falls loosely around her face, and the ends tickle my shoulders.

  And just like out on the dock earlier, Maggie knows what I need most.

  Her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maggie

  Reaching up, Ry smooths my hair back from my face, cradling my face, expression sobering. “Mags …” He trails off.

  “I know.”

  Dipping my head to brush my lips softly against the corners of his, his eyes fall shut. As if, although it’s in no way passionate, my kiss went straight to his heart. When I press my lips to the opposite corner, his eyes open.

  My breath lodges in my throat at his expression, the way his eyes lock on my lips. It seems like everything happens in slow motion, my head descending to press my lips softly against his. Except this time, it’s not playful or meant to be comforting. It’s … different.

  It’s more.

  As though Ry’s paralyzed, he still doesn’t move a muscle.

  Mumbling softly against my lips, he says one word. “Sean?”

  My eyes hold his, and I whisper, “We’re over.” After a millisecond pause, I have to ask. “You really have an open relationship?” With Jack? I tack on silently.

  Once he nods, my lips dust over his tentatively—once, twice, three times—until suddenly, everything changes. Ry’s fingers entwine in my hair, angling my head to press closer as his lips feverishly move against my own. The moment my tongue slides between his parted lips to taste him, I hear the low growl rumbling from deep within him before he flips us so that I’m trapped beneath him.

  My tank top has ridden up from the movement, and the feel of my bare stomach against his is nearly my undoing. As my breasts press against his bare chest, there’s no mistaking the hardening of my nipples. My thighs instantly part for him, and at the feel of his arousal through the thin fabric of his pajama pants, arousal floods through me.

  And absolutely shamelessly, I arch my hips, rocking against him. The moment he hears my muted moan, it’s like his hands have a mind of their own, slipping beneath the fabric of my tank top and sliding it up farther to bare my breasts. Breaking the kiss, Ry lifts up on his arms, gazing down at me. His eyes travel from my lips, which I’m certain are glossy from our kiss, down to my hardened nipples.

  “Perfect.”

  That one word, uttered so tenderly, sends waves of ardent need flowing through me. Reaching up, I slide my palm against his cheek, now covered with light stubble; his eyes darken before turning his head to press a kiss to the center of my palm. The action makes my heart jump, and it’s at that particular moment that I throw caution to the wind, tugging his head down to me for a devouring kiss.

  The pad of his thumb grazes over the tip of one nipple, and I arch into his touch, wanting—needing—more. He swallows my moan, continuing to toy with my nipple before he breaks the kiss. Dipping his head, he latches his lips onto my hardened peak.

  “Ry,” I gasp.

  His tongue and lips drive me mad with desire, and I can’t stop rocking against his cock, the tip pressing right where I want it most. He seems to know what I need, his lips returning to mine as I arch against his firm body, against his prodding hardness. I don’t even care that my shorts are damp from my own arousal. Ry gives short thrusts against me, his cock hitting my clit, and my fingers grasp at the flexing muscles in his arms as I gasp at the sensations rolling through me.

  The instant my orgasm hits, my back arches, toes curling as my inner muscles clench and release, and Ry’s mouth stifles my loud moan. He gives two hard thrusts against me, his body stiffening before he slumps against me. Our lips part and he drops a kiss against my neck, still bracing some of his weight on his forearms.

  “Shit,” he mumbles against my skin.

  At his words, I tense because I realize just what we did. What I did. God. I’m the one who crept into Ry’s room, catapulted myself into his bed, intent on offering him comfort. And what did I do? Oh, not too much.

  Except for the fact that I just freaking molested the hell out of him.

  And came in my shorts.

  Lovely. Just, lovely.

  How does one even begin to apologize for something like this? I mean, really. Not like I can just casually toss out, “Hey, um, about what just happened. The whole using your cock—which feels pretty magnificent, by the way—as my personal sex toy? Mmm, sorry about that.”

  Except that I’m not really sorry. At all. Because it was hot.

  Oh, my gosh. I’m a terrible person. A terrible friend. I’m like pond scum. Or that annoying tree sap that gets on your car and takes just about everything short of turpentine to remove it. But you have to remove it because, otherwise, it’ll ruin your car’s paint job.

  Wow. That was way too entailed. Clearly, I have issues with tree sap.

  And also with coming all over my roommate and best friend.

  There’s likely a special place in hell for people like me. Like, maybe they have a little nook that’s specifically designated for “Those decrepit, soulless individuals who orgasm all over people who mean the most to them and also have serious issues with tree sap.”

  With my eyes pinched shut, I force myself to speak in the quiet of the bedroom with nothing but the sound of our breathing slowly calming.

  “Uh, Ry, I …” Crap. Inhaling deeply, my speech is hurried, and my words run together. “I’m sorry. Forusingyourcockandcomingalloveryou.”

  My apology is met with silence, and it takes a moment before I realize Ry’s shoulders are shaking. Raising his head, his eyes meet mine, crinkling with laughter, lips quirked in a grin.

  “Mags.”

  Biting the edge of my bottom lip, I’m hesitant. “Ry?”

  His grin widens. “You weren’t alone.” Resting his forehead against mine, he whispers, “I haven’t had anyone make me come in my pants in years, Mags. Years.”

  Whoa. I hadn’t realized that. “I’m just that good, huh?”

  Raising back up, he shakes his head at me. “Don’t get cocky.”

  “But we could actually say that I just got cocky, though, can’t we?”

  He chuckles at my play on words, smiling down at me for a moment before his expression sobers, and I know where he’s heading with his thoughts even before he speaks.

  “Are we okay, Mags?” His eyes search mine. “I don’t want t
his to be weird. I mean”—he breaks off, looking away—“we got caught up in the moment.” The way he says the last part, more mumbled, sounds reluctant. Like he’s tossing out a reason that’s not entirely true. Or heartfelt.

  “We’re okay,” I answer softly, wishing he would look at me. I know we crossed a line, and while I can’t deny the tinge of awkwardness present, I want to dismiss it. I need to ensure that our friendship doesn’t change.

  His head turns, eyes finding mine once again, and I’m taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. His lips part, and it looks as if he’s going to speak but falters. Lips pressing thin, he offers a brief, tight smile.

  “I have to get cleaned up.” Winking playfully, he slides off me, walking to his adjoining bathroom. “Since someone decided to take advantage of me.” Grabbing one of the bed pillows, I toss it at him, but it falls short, his laughter fading as he closes the bathroom door behind him.

  Staring up at the ceiling, I barely register the sound of water running in the bathroom as thoughts race through my mind.

  What the hell is happening to me?

  What just happened crossed so many lines, yet … I don’t regret it.

  What happened was unbelievably hot. And my reaction to Ry’s kiss was so different from Sean’s.

  Sean. Not once did he cross my mind. Not. Once.

  Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. You know what that means.

  Then a dawning realization hits me. I turned Ry on—that much was evident. I mean he came in his pants, for crying out loud. But he’s never once mentioned anything about being bisexual. All he’s ever talked about has been Jack. I mean, sure, I get that he once dated girls in high school—specifically, Stacy—but it was likely before he truly “came out,” right?

  Fingertips massaging my temples, I’m suddenly facing the realization that I’m caught in a crazy situation. One I’m not even entirely sure I understand.

  But the moment the bathroom door opens and a freshly showered Ry exits, a towel wrapped around his waist as he walks to his small bag to retrieve a pair of boxers, his body so finely muscled and toned, I’m faced with something I can no longer deny.