My body felt boneless, and I almost slid off the chair before the girl grabbed me, pulling me back up. I decided, Fuck it, because I wanted to see who was with me in the closet, and I started to yank away the blindfold when hands stilled mine. My heart was thundering. The person lowered my hands. A second later, footsteps. The opening and closing of the door. I yanked off the blindfold and searched for my pants in the dark, tugging them on. I didn’t want the girl to get away. But when I stumbled into the bedroom, it was empty. The girl was gone.
A touch to my shoulder jolts me back to the present. I blink the fog from my mind, the world coming back into focus. Austin stands in front of me, his cheeks flushed, his eyebrow ring a glint in the dim. “Logan?” He looks worried. “Are you okay?”
My throat bobs, and my gaze unintentionally drops to his mouth. I hadn’t thought too much about it when Austin confessed to what he’d done at the party, but now it’s all I can think about. He was the one who had given me that mind-blowing orgasm. His mouth. On me. My best friend.
“Logan?”
My head snaps up. Austin frowns at me. “Yeah, sorry.” My head is swimming. Austin liked me in high school. And I had no idea. And now I don’t know how I feel about that. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to check on you, see how you were doing.” He looks at the beer I’m drinking and is probably putting two and two together that it wasn’t the beer he or the other guy bought me, so it’s at least my third.
I’m pretty sure it’s my fourth.
“I’m good,” I manage. My attention lands on the person he’s been dancing with for the last two hours. He’s a shorter guy with a muscular build, brown skin, and brown eyes.
Austin introduces us. “Logan, this is Travis. Travis, this is my friend Logan, also a soccer player.”
“Nice to meet you.” His voice is smooth and deep as we shake hands.
“We’re going to dance for a little while longer, if you’re cool with that.”
Do I have a choice? It’s not like I want to cockblock Austin and a potential hookup. So I nod, even though I want to ask him when we’re going to leave. The night is young. We don’t have much time before we have to fly back to Paris tomorrow. I thought we’d be exploring Rome together.
They return to the dance floor, and I’m once again left to my own devices. For the next hour, I drink. A lot. And I get hit on. A lot. Currently there’s an older man with an Australian accent drinking me in like I’m a cold glass of water on a hot day. He stands close enough for me to feel his body heat, but my focus keeps returning to Austin. If Austin goes home with this dude, I’m going to be on my own.
The thought sends a streak of unreasonable anger through me.
“Excuse me, man,” I say, interrupting whatever it is he’s saying. Pushing him aside, I fight the crowd to reach the dance floor. It’s mostly couples grinding together or making out. Or both.
I spot Austin, his mouth close to Travis’s, and my stomach drops at the sight. They don’t kiss, but they’re sharing breath. It feels like I’m having an anxiety attack. What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s probably the feeling of claustrophobia creeping over me. Some fresh air will do me good.
Grabbing his arm, I draw his attention back to me, and I feel some relief when he steps away from Travis, who’s currently glaring at me hard enough to bore holes into my head. Well, too fucking bad dude. He was my friend first. “Getting ready to head out,” I tell him.
It’s a dick move, because I know Austin—loyal, steadfast Austin—will leave if he thinks I’m feeling uncomfortable. And it’s unfair because, technically, I’m crashing his night, ruining his plans. And it’s selfish, but I’m feeling a little selfish right now. Also, a shit ton of drunk. My head pounds.
Austin stares at me with a mixture of confusion and irritation. That’s new. It’s not often I see Austin angry, if ever. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him angry, and most of those times were if a ref made a bad call during a game.
“Oh.” He hesitates. It’s written all over his face—the internal battle. I’m suddenly afraid he won’t come with me. That he’ll choose this random stranger, who he met only a few hours ago, over me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, waiting for his answer.
He turns to the guy. And then—and I can’t believe he says this—but he says to Travis, “Logan and I are heading out. Do you want to join us?”
No fucking way.
I’m starting to see red. For the past three hours, I’ve sat at this bar and watched my friend hit it off with someone else, essentially ignoring me, when the only reason I came to Rome in the first place was to hang out with him. Does Austin not see that?
Travis smiles, but his expression is uncertain as his eyes flicker to me. The DJ shouts something to the crowd, and the crowd screams back. Strobe lights start flashing, adding to my headache. “Are you sure your boyfriend won’t mind? Seems to me he doesn’t like sharing.”
Austin’s face twists in shock. Again, he looks at me, searching. “It’s not like that,” he says, but it sounds uncertain. “We’re just friends.”
Something drops in the pit of my stomach as we lock eyes. I have no idea what’s happening to me right now. I have no idea where this jealousy and resentment is coming from. Or maybe I do. When Austin removed himself from my life after high school, I honestly thought a piece of me had died. He was my best friend. Still is, if I’m being honest. I’m thinking of laughing with him and trusting him and being completely myself and playing soccer with him and the memory of that earth-shattering blow job I received all those years ago, and I realize I’m hard. And as Austin turns to say something to Travis, something inside me snaps. I grab his arm, yank him around, and smash my mouth to his.
Austin stiffens, even as he doesn’t fight what’s happening. Or maybe he can’t keep up with what’s happening. I sure as hell can’t. The only thing I know right now is what I’m feeling, and what I’m feeling is attraction toward my best friend.
The bar fades away. A moment later, I feel the first hesitant brush of Austin’s tongue against mine, and I growl into his mouth, plying it open wider with my tongue, even as I press closer to him, my desire swelling against his thigh. Dimly, I hear the other guy stomp away.
Austin jerks back, breathing hard. His eyes are wide. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.
Finally, he finds his voice. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he rasps.
The words are quiet. Shit. That means he’s angry.
The smart thing to do would be to apologize.
But I’m drunk. And I’m not feeling smart right now. I’m pissed off and confused and horny.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I throw back at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What are you talking about, Logan? You’re the one who’s acting like a douche.” Warm bodies press in, shoving us a few inches closer. Our chests brush, and my breathing deepens of its own accord. The taste of him lingers on my tongue. I want more. I don’t know what’s scarier—that I’m thinking these thoughts, or that I don’t seem to have a problem with them.
It’s almost as if Austin is thinking the same thing, because his gaze dips to my mouth. His features are a stone-cold mask. If I didn’t know what a kind-hearted person he was, I’d be freaked out about the tats and eyebrow ring. He looks like a scary motherfucker right now. “You acted like an asshole to Travis. Like a jealous, possessive boyfriend.” The music is deafening. He has to shout to be heard. I’m guessing he realizes we can’t very well converse on the dance floor, because he grabs my arm and pulls me into the long hallway leading to the bathrooms.
“If you hadn’t ignored me this whole time,” I manage, jerking my arm from his grip when we reach the end of the deserted hallway, “maybe there wouldn’t be a problem.” The words are choked with fury and embarrassment. And ne
ed. A whole lot of need. “The only reason I came out was so we could hang out some more. Instead, you abandoned me while you and Travis got all cozy on the dance floor.”
It’s almost funny how comical his shock is. Almost. “Logan, you’re the one who wanted to come with me. I never said I was going to spend my time paying attention to you. You’re a big boy. You can entertain yourself.”
Oh, that drives me up a wall.
“And that kiss back there?” His eyes are hot enough to sear me, but I’m not sure if it’s from anger or desire. Maybe some combination of both. “That was out of line.”
Blood roars in my ears. I know he’s right, but it’s not the answer I want to hear. I can’t think straight. My head is foggy. “Why? Why was it out of line? I wanted to do it. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re straight and I’m gay, that’s why!” He lifts his arms, drops them.
I try to keep the exasperation from my tone. I mean, he’s not wrong. “Well, who says I can’t be attracted to men? It’s obvious I’m attracted to you.”
“Logan.” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “You’re not attracted to me. There’s no way you are.”
That’s where he’s wrong. Heat rips through me at the memory of our tongues brushing. Years ago, that tongue gave me pleasure in the closet at a house party. I step closer, forcing Austin back against the wall, forcing him to drop his arms and look at me. Fear flares in his eyes. We’re tucked into a small alcove, mostly hidden.
Leaning forward, I brush my mouth to his. His green eyes glitter. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t push me away either. I can feel the tension vibrating through him, feel the strain in his limbs of holding back. I fight a smile. It seems I’m not the only one who wants this.
I do it again, parting my lips slightly so they sink against his. I pull back, and he says in a warning tone, “Logan.”
“Austin.” We’re staring at one another. What’s happening right now is a change in motion, and there’s too much momentum for it to stop. A part of me knows that if I go any further, things can’t go back to the way they were. I’m not sure if I want them to.
“You’re drunk,” he says, a quaver in his voice.
Not drunk enough.
This time, I close the gap with more force, and our mouths slide together. It’s warm, wet heat tasting of beer and mint, and the taste pulls me under. After a moment, his mouth opens beneath mine, tentative. Our tongues twine and curl around each other, and my dick twitches at the desire building under my skin, spreading through my already overheated body. Austin is a wall of heat against my chest. Heat and strength and solidity. One of his blond curls brushes my cheek, and I take great pleasure in twining my fingers through the tangle, tugging him even closer. He radiates tension. His hands are fists at his sides.
The kiss deepens. He still doesn’t move. That’s fine. I’ll wear him down slowly. I never back down from a challenge, especially when I know I’m right.
Then, it’s like Austin suddenly comes alive, because the kiss goes from slow and soft to hungry and deep before I have time to prepare myself. It’s all teeth and lips crashing together, deep strokes of my tongue, and his. Austin’s chest rumbles with a groan. I swallow it down.
Whatever uncertainties he had about this, he lets them go. His hands are strong, but gentle. Different than a woman’s. His long fingers trail up my chest to my neck, and he angles his body so I feel his erection pressing against my stomach. That sends a jolt of confusion through me, but also dark pleasure. I’m trapped in this in-between state of horniness and confusion for feeling this way about my friend.
I may have started this kiss, but Austin takes over like a champ. Suddenly he’s leading and I’m holding on for the ride. His hands cup my nape, and he angles my head for deeper penetration with his tongue. I feel like I’m on fire. My dick is hard enough to break in half. I moan, my hands splayed across his wide chest. There’s no softness to him. His grip tightens, and he switches positions, shoving my back against the wall, grinding his hips into mine. I think I see stars.
Fuck. I feel my orgasm start to build.
I can’t believe it. He’s not even touching me. We’re basically rutting in the corner of a gay bar, and yet it’s one of the most erotic sensations I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I want to tell him. Keep doing that.
“Wait.” He mumbles the word against my mouth. “Wait.” He pulls away, panting. The green of his eyes is so pure so as to appear crystallized. “This is a mistake.”
I blink, still foggy with lust. I feel cold with him gone. “How is it a mistake?”
He gives me a flat look. Someone screams something on the dance floor. “You’re seriously asking that question? How about the fact that you’re straight and I’m not? Or that we’re friends?”
Those are decent reasons, I guess. But it doesn’t explain why I want him. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” I press against him, and his eyes darken. Yep, that’s definitely desire there.
“Whether I want it or not doesn’t matter.” He pushes me away, but gently. He keeps his grip on my upper arms. “You’re drunk, Logan. You’re going to regret this tomorrow, and I don’t want things to be weird between us. We still have to live with each other for another four weeks.”
“And if I don’t regret it tomorrow?” The beer makes my tongue looser than usual.
He inhales sharply, suddenly uncertain. Finally, he steps away from me. He avoids my gaze, brows drawn inward. “You will.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Tonight, we’ll go back to the hostel, you’ll drink some water, take some Advil, and get some rest. We’ll chalk this up to beer and curiosity. Tomorrow things will go back to the way they were.”
“Austin—”
“Logan, you’re drunk. Let’s just leave it.” His voice is uncompromising. I know I won’t be changing his mind.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I did drink too much. Funny thing, though. After that kiss, my head has never been clearer. I wanted it to keep going.
Austin pulls away and heads for the exit, leaving me no choice but to follow. The walk back to our hostel room is silent and more than a little awkward. Being the good friend he is, Austin gets me some water, making sure I have what I need before he slips into bed, turning his back to me. The other hostel goers are already asleep. Austin’s breathing deepens quickly, but it takes some time before sleep claims me too.
Chapter 11
Austin
The next morning, we pack our things and ride to the airport in silence. We board the plane in silence, and though we sit next to one another, we fly in silence as well. Logan hasn’t spoken one word to me. Hasn’t even looked at me. It makes me feel like shit. Logan’s anger and resentment is the last thing I want.
When we land in Paris, it’s early evening. We catch a cab from the airport and ride the thirty minutes in—you guessed it—silence. Sitting less than a foot from Logan in the back of a taxi is my private hell. I smell the soap of his skin, the detergent he uses for laundry. The heat from his thigh pressing into mine is tortuous. The only thing I can do is grit my teeth and deal with it. What would I even say to him? Why did you kiss me? He told me why. The problem is I didn’t believe him.
When I woke this morning, Logan’s bed was empty. He came into the room as I finished packing up, and we stared at one another for an awkward second before he mumbled something about getting breakfast, his face red.
At some point, we’re going to have to talk about what happened last night. Logan—my straight best friend—kissed me like he was a drowning man in need of air. And me, the guy who dreamed of this exact moment, for years, was desperate enough to give it to him.
The memory plays in my head on repeat. How his fingers tangled in my hair. The hard length of his erection, the pound of his heart against my palm. The guttural s
ounds he made when my teeth scraped across his lower lip. And the taste of him, the taste—
I close my eyes. Whatever Logan felt last night—and I’m pretty sure he was wasted off his ass—it didn’t come close to what I felt. I spent my senior year wanting nothing more than to do dirty, dirty things to my best friend: in the bedroom, in the locker room, in his parent’s den when we watched The Twilight Zone on Friday nights together on the couch. He was the only thing I wanted.
I’ve spent the past four years trying to forget Logan McGregor. And I was doing a pretty decent job at it, until last night. That kiss will forever be branded into my heart.
But last night—I shake my head and stare unseeingly out the window as we pass by the old, sweeping architecture of the buildings and too many fountains to count. A part of me wants to believe that kiss meant something, but I know it didn’t. By nature, I’m a logical person. I’m not an idealist. I never have been. Growing up the way I did, there was never any room for dreams and ideals. So last night, I think of the facts. Logan drank too many beers. He was feeling left out when I danced with Travis. He’d broken up with his girlfriend two weeks ago. I can understand why Logan did what he did.
Yet I can’t help the gratitude I feel. Logan couldn’t possibly know this, but he gave me a gift. A small taste of him. Though maybe it’s less of a gift and more of a curse. Now the memory swells between us, pushing us farther apart. A few days of distance will do us good.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He stares out the window, head turned away, chin resting on his palm. His face is tight, body taut with tension. If he tells me that he regrets what happened last night, it might kill me. I decide not to mention it at all. I’ll pretend like it never happened. I’ll suffer, but at least it won’t break my heart.
When the taxi pulls up to the university, I tell Logan to go ahead of me while I pay the driver. He gives me a curt nod, and I watch him vanish through the wooden doors. I pay the driver. Then I wait.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes. This gives him time to gather himself while giving me a chance to think about what to say to him.
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