by Angel Lawson
“You think you’re doing her a favor?”
“I think I’m trying to keep her safe.”
What he’s saying is crazy—but it’s also true. These men? They don’t play by the rules. Coach Chandler, Brice Waller, and Ezra Baxter do whatever the hell they want despite the consequences—because there are no consequences.
“How upset is she?” I ask, cutting through town.
“I didn’t stay to find out.”
At least he looks ashamed.
“I hear what you’re saying but Kenley is strong. She’s on top of this and honestly, she needs us.” I glance over at him, but he’s still focused out the window as we drive over the bridge. “Why are you fucking up a good thing?”
“Shouldn’t you be happy? More time for you?”
I shake my head. “What we have is a good thing. Kenley’s into it and although I had some reservations, I like it. Being with Rose had me so isolated and tied up in her world, I like being part of something cohesive.”
I know he gets what I’m saying. It’s obvious when his jaw clenches tight. He doesn’t want to do this any more than we want him to, but he’s made his decision. I pull into his driveway.
“Just think this over. We can fight your dad another way.”
“It’s for the best, Finn,” he says, opening the door and stepping out. He leans in. “Take care of her, okay?”
“Ezra—”
He slams the door and walks toward the back door without another look back.
If I thought getting into this type of relationship was difficult, I didn’t understand that the real challenge would be dealing with what happens when it falls apart.
21
Kenley
In the end, I don’t go home. Ozzy takes me back to his place, going through the basement door. When his sisters turned twelve he gave up his room upstairs, so that they could have their own rooms. He moved down to the guest room.
“What did you tell your mom?” he asks once we’re in his bedroom and I’ve put away my phone.
“That I’m at your house.”
“She doesn’t care?”
“I think she’s just happy I have a friend—boy or girl.”
“You mean she doesn’t think we’re dating.”
I wrap my arms around him. “Being an enigma has its benefits.”
I feel like a truck ran over me—make that a train. A truck would be one and done. The train just keeps coming, like the tears that refuse to stop.
Another wave rolls over me and I press my face against Ozzy’s chest. He runs his hands over my back.
“Do you want me to go find him?” he says. He’s been confused and pissed ever since I told him what happened between me and Ezra. “I can go find out what the hell is going on.”
“If Finn drove him home, hopefully he can talk to him.” I look up at him. “I also really don’t want to be alone.”
“Then you won’t be.” He presses his forehead against mine. “You want something to eat? Want to kick my ass in Smash Bros? Whatever you want.”
I wipe my eyes. “Can we just go to bed?”
“Yep.” He kisses my forehead and releases me. “Let me find something you can change into.”
He crosses the room to his closet, and I look around it. I’ve mostly only been over to his house when the other guys were here—out in the main room. The room is a perfect reflection of Ozzy. Band posters and shelves of books. He has an intricate computer set up, including a head set and a different gaming system. On his dresser, tucked behind a wooden box, I spot a picture of the two of us at homecoming—another of the four of us.
“These may fit,” he says, handing me a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. He grabs his own clothes off the end of the bed and goes into the bathroom, giving me privacy, as if we haven’t seen each other naked.
We haven’t ever spent the night together.
I change into the slightly too big pants and the soft, threadbare Foo Fighters T-shirt and pull back the comforter on his king-sized bed. I’m not used to something so big.
He steps out of the bathroom in shorts and a T-shirt, hat off and his hair dipping into his eyes. He pauses, seeing me propped against the pillow, eyes sweeping over me. He walks over and flips off the overhead light.
“Lucky you,” he says, easing in the bed next to me. “I just changed my sheets.”
“I am lucky,” I say, and lean over to kiss him. I run my hand down his stomach. He pulls away.
“I didn’t invite you here to, you know. I know you’re not in a good place right now.”
“Actually, I’m in a very good place. Right here with you.” I hold his eye. “I’m upset about Ezra. Like, really upset, but this relationship is about more than just him. We’re still solid, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good. Then there’s really nothing that would make me feel better than fucking you right now.”
His eyes light up at my language and with our close proximity I can see that he’s already aroused.
“You may not have invited me here for sex, but you sure seem ready anyway,” I joke.
He brushes my hair over my shoulder, fingers skimming my neck. “I’m always ready around you.”
“I’ve noticed.”
His fingers move under the hem of my shirt, grazing my lower belly. “It was worse before—back when you weren’t mine.”
“What do you mean?”
The clothing I’d just put on starts to peel right back off. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs rolling over my nipples. “That there’s a reason I always sat behind you in class. Close enough to see you, catch the scent of your hair if you moved the right way.”
“Really?” I push my hand under his shirt, down his waistband. I think back a few years, realizing that Ozzy was always in a seat nearby. “I didn’t know.”
He looks up at me and smirks. “You had no idea you were driving me and half the class crazy in those tight sweaters?” I shake my head. “Fair enough, I didn’t want you to know that I was sitting behind you with a hard-on all the time, anyway. I spent half the day reciting math equations just to calm myself the fuck down.”
I laugh, and he makes quick work of discarding my pants and his. Our bodies are heated against one another. I fight the urge to grind into him. His hand runs down my thigh, his thumb dipping between them. Everything fades in the peripheral with that one simple touch.
“I noticed you too,” I say. “Your sarcastic jokes and scathing classroom commentary. I thought it was funny.”
“Did you? You always scowled.”
“I couldn’t let you know I thought it was funny.”
“Of course not. Had to keep up that good girl persona.” He bends and licks the skin between my breasts while slowly rubbing his thumb between my legs. Ozzy is an observer and he quickly learned what makes me fall apart. “Few people know the dirty girl with a wicked brain and killer body and destructive mouth, that hides underneath those crew neck sweaters and that innocent ponytail.”
He reaches behind my head and yanks out the tie, my hair spilling over my shoulders. He kisses me as he reaches behind him for a condom in the bedside table. He rolls it on, faster and more efficiently that first time in the car. He settles into me and I ready myself for him, locking my ankles behind his back.
He holds my eye as he pushes in, an intimacy that Ozzy likes. He wants closeness and I’m happy to give it to him—he’s a steadiness in the rocky world we’re living in—especially after tonight.
His movements increase, and his eyes drop, focused down on my chest. I look down as well and see my tits moving with every thrust. He glances back at me, a small grin twisting his lips from getting busted watching me. I run my hand down his cheek and lift up, kissing him hard on the mouth.
Our talk subsides, both of us consumed with one another. My breathing comes quick and shallow and I grip his arms, tumbling deep into our rhythm. He straightens with my legs still wrapped around him, and he touches me again,
coaxing me toward my climax. The tension builds and my brain splits, shattering at the same time as my body.
Ozzy slows his thrusts as my body comes down, but then rearranges, lying flat over me and driving into me quick and fast. His face buries into my neck and he groans, muffling his noise, his back tensing.
After a moment he pushes up on his elbows and kisses me before rolling off to clean up.
“Beds are nice,” I say after we’re both redressed and warm under the covers.
He threads his fingers with mine. “It helps not having a door handle in your back.”
I laugh, because yeah, space makes things a little bit easier. I shift to my side, spooning into him and I feel his lips on my neck. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Ezra isn’t far from my mind, not even during all of that, but I do feel better. We’re missing a limb, but we’ll fix it. Together. Soon.
Voices wake me and at first, I panic, thinking Ozzy and I are about to get busted by his mother or maybe worse, his sisters. I feel the bed next to me, realizing Ozzy is gone.
“Yeah, I dropped him off. He thinks he’s doing the right thing…trying to keep her safe.”
Finn’s voice travels from the TV room, and I lean over to see him and Ozzy standing just outside the doorway.
I get out of the bed, my feet touching the cold floor. I’m only in the Foo Fighters shirt that grazes my upper thighs. Finn sees me first, eyes dropping down to my legs, then back to my face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was waiting for you to get back home and when you didn’t…I well, came to check on you.”
“How is he?”
“I don’t know.” He looks tired and his hand tugs at the ends of his hair. “Kind of an ass, really.”
Sounds right.
“Well,” he looks between me and Ozzy, “I’ll leave you guys alone.”
Before he moves, I reach out and grab his hand, looking at Ozzy. A ripple of communication passes through us. It’s been a rough night for all of us. We got in this together—and what Ezra has done—it affects all of us.
“Do you want to stay?” I ask. I glance back at the rumpled bed. “There’s room.”
Finn’s eyes dart to Ozzy’s, who nods. We may be splintered, but we’re still strong.
None of us speak as we head back in the darkened bedroom. I get in first, finding the warm spot I’d just left. Ozzy comes after settling in beside me, head already on the pillow. I watch Finn in the faint light; he removes shoes, then his jacket and sweatshirt. Then his jeans.
He tosses them all in a pile on Ozzy’s desk chair and looks over at me.
I stretch my hand out to the empty side of the bed. I know this has to be weird for him. Being in a bed with another guy—a friend. But I want to take this to a new level, if they’ll go with me.
Finn sits on the edge of the bed and slides his legs under the blankets. He takes my hand and scoots down, filling up the space with his big frame. I rest my hand on his stomach, feeling his body heat, along with the stiffness of nerves. I snuggle into the pillow, pulling Ozzy’s hand over my stomach and press my nose into Finn’s shoulder before letting my eyes close, and falling into a comfortable sleep.
22
Finn
I sense the bed shift and open my eyes, blinking at the early morning light. Ozzy’s quietly crossing the room, looking for his wallet on the desk. He sees me.
“Hey,” I say, stretching in a way that doesn’t wake up Kenley. Her body is warm and still in the middle of the bed. It’s not helping my morning wood in the slightest.
“I’m going to go grab some coffee.” He picks up her keys. “If she wakes up, tell her I took her car.”
I nod and rub my eyes. He pulls on his hat and shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. Leaning back into the pillow, I reconcile the fact I just spent the night with Kenley in Ozzy’s bed—while Ozzy was here, too.
I shift and look over at Kenley. For so many years she was literally and figuratively just out of reach. But now she’s right next to me; her eyelashes long and soft, her cheeks tinted, and her hair…I push a strand off her forehead. It’s twisted in a tangled nest and she’s never been more beautiful.
I start to turn away because my body is so riled up already that I can’t just lie next to this girl and not have an increased reaction. It’s one thing to wake up with a normal body function—it’s another to have the girl of my fantasies next to me.
I start the process of going over my football stats in my head, but she blinks, fluttering her eyes, at first disconnected, but then holding mine.
“Hi,” she says.
“Morning. Ozzy took your car to go get coffee. How are you feeling?”
Darkness flickers in her eyes. “Less angry and more worried—I don’t like what Ezra’s doing.”
“Me either.”
She scoots toward me, her hand moving under the blanket. I adjust, hoping she won’t encounter my full-blown erection, but she brushes against me and I grimace at the combined pleasure and pain. Her eyes grow wide.
“So it’s true,” she says, leaning on her elbow.
I push the tip under my waistband. “What’s true?”
“That guys wake up excited.”
“Oh yeah, that’s not an urban legend. Wait, we had ninth grade health together. I’m pretty sure you were there for the horrifically embarrassing talk about nighttime emissions and morning erections.”
“It’s different hearing about it and seeing it.” Her eyes drift downward. “Can I see it?”
The remaining blood that was making the rest of my body function drives straight between my legs. I honestly didn’t know I could get harder. “That’s not something you ever really have to ask me.”
She smiles and pushes against my chest. I lean back and take a deep breath as she lowers the blanket. The outline of my dick is obvious under my shorts, even if I managed to tuck it against the elastic. She runs her hand down the cotton and I clench my jaw.
“It’s really hard.”
“That’s why they call it wood.”
She reaches into the flap and coaxes me out with a soft, delicate hand. “Does it feel…different? You know, than a normal boner.”
This girl.
“It’s, uh, sensitive. Like, really sensitive. And harder than normal, which is really fucking saying something. Most mornings I have to deal with it or I can’t even get on with the day without feeling like it’s going to just spring back out at any moment."
“Deal with it?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Jerk off.”
Kenley’s not naïve, but she’s not overly experienced. She likely has no idea that sitting in this bed with her tits pressed against that threadbare shirt and knowing her panties are just an inch away under the hem, that after sleeping next to her all night…this whole damn situation has me wound so tight I’m about to lose it. It actually does feel different this time, which is not something I really knew. Mixing the bodily function with actual, emotional arousal.
It’s a whole new feeling.
“Maybe I can help.”
I swallow. “Here?”
She nods.
I look over to Ozzy’s empty side of the bed. “I’m not sure Oz would be okay with it.”
She scoots closer, her warm, bare legs shifting against mine.
“He was okay with you being here last night.”
“Yeah, but…” I start, trying to come up with a rational argument. It’s lost somewhere as my brain fades out, watching her reach for me again. My jaw clenches, every damn nerve in my body frayed and on end. She bites down on her bottom lip and I get the distinct feeling my girl likes dick. A lot.
She moves to straddle my legs, and it’s a testament to the fogginess of my brain that I’m stunned when she lowers her head and runs her tongue over my tip. A shudder runs through me. She looks up at me and our eyes connect.
She’s so goddamned beautiful.
I touch her hair and neck and feel
every muscle in my body tense as she takes me in. She’s wet, warm, and when she clamps around me with those perfect, puffy lips, I see stars. The aching need is instant, coming from deep in my spine. My cock, my balls, my lower belly tingles in anticipation. Her tongue works, her cheeks pucker. I wrap my and around her neck, feeling my heart race, pounding hard and furious in my chest, beating faster as she picks up speed.
Her hair brushes against my legs and her tits cling to her shirt. I want to feel her everywhere, anywhere, but I’ve run out of time, the sensation building to the point that I know I can’t hold on.
“Babe,” I say, tugging at her. She releases me, sitting up and shifting to use her hand to stroke me through the final wave. While I tremble, overcome with euphoria, she watches in fascination. Her jaw relaxes, her lips glisten, her nipples poke through the fabric, and I come, thick ropes of cum spilling down the sides of her hand.
“Jesus,” I mutter, trying to regain focus. I pull her to me and kiss her hard, wanting her close.
“Feel better?” she asks when we come up for air, reaching for a shirt off the floor to clean her hand.
Words don’t describe how I feel, how she feels, how much I love this girl, so I kiss her again and hope that she knows it.
23
Ezra
The sick, nauseating feeling I went to bed with is still there when I get up. Not that I slept much. I stared at the ceiling, ignoring the internal warnings that I’ve made a terrible mistake by throwing away the best thing in my life. That it’s not too late to fix it.
But I know that’s the selfishness speaking. This isn’t about what I want. It’s about doing the right thing, and that’s probably why I feel so out of sorts. When the hell do I ever do what’s right?
Not often.
Hunger drives me to the kitchen, but when I see my father standing over the counter,
I almost turn around. Then I notice the bruise by his jaw and a sense of satisfaction runs through me. It feels good, after all these years, to know I’ve finally inflicted at least a little bit of pain on him.
