I hate college.
Correction. I hate this particular college. I’m busy all the time. Always trying to keep up with courses I have no interest in, and I fight to stay awake in every single class.
Including the one I’m sitting in right now.
Finance.
Yawn.
I’m sure this subject is enthralling to some of my classmates. Looking around, I see some of these fuckers are actually foaming at the mouth as they listen to the professor lecture on billionaires and investments they made a killing on. But not me.
I smile as I look down at my phone where I took a picture of what I drew last night. It’s rough. All I had was a box of colored pencils I found at the bookstore on campus, but I like it.
It’s the cabin and the lake, with ridiculously bright colors for the trees and the blue water. It’s not lifelike. More abstract. It makes me yearn for that time over the summer. I want it back.
I sent the picture to Rhett this morning—not letting myself overthink it. But I imagine he’s at work. Probably with the super-talented, awesome pan chick he’ll fall for soon.
The thought makes my gut twist with bitterness.
She gave him a tattoo.
A beautiful, bold ink-splatter tattoo on his flesh. Skin I want to lick. Skin I already know the taste of but want more. So much more.
My phone lights up but doesn’t make a noise since it’s muted for class. I can’t believe my eyes when I see the sketch he sent back. It’s a charcoal sketch, the exact same scene in perfect contrast to the one I sent him, and it makes my dumbass heart flutter in my chest.
I text him quickly, trying to keep my phone in my lap. But no one really gives a damn anyway in this big lecture hall.
Me: Have you been there since the summer?
I’m pretty sure he would have told me if he had.
Rhett: No. I don’t think it would be right to go without you.
I miss him. I hate how much I miss him. Why didn’t I just tell him that I’m in love with him and I want to find a way to make it work?
Why?
Because I’m a chickenshit.
Me: Maybe for fall break?
I can see the three dots of him typing something. Then it stops and then starts again.
Rhett: Yeah. Maybe.
It’s not a no.
Rhett: I have to go. Talk later?
Me: Yeah. The drawing’s not bad. With a little practice, it could even be great someday—maybe.
He sends me back the middle finger emoji, and I swear that makes me smile bigger than any amount of lame-ass attempt at flirting ever has on this campus.
No one here knows I’m gay. I’ve gone to a few parties and met a couple of guys I think were interested, but I wasn’t. Not one part of me was into them.
I am so fucked.
FORTY-FOUR
It’s Halloween already. I’ve talked to Grayson off and on, but not nearly enough. I know he’s busy—like super busy with homework and classes, and I’ve been putting in a lot of hours at Hostile. But it still sucks.
He’s always on my mind, and I know I have it bad. I keep thinking about what Bree said—that to have the person you love, love you back is the biggest gift and might be worth having to hide. But I just can’t wrap my head around the idea. I can’t be his secret, no matter how much I love him.
And he doesn’t even know I love him.
I don’t even know if he feels the same. For all I know, he could be hooking up all over campus. Or have a boyfriend.
Fuck.
I rub the spot on my chest that aches like hell at that very thought.
“You’re not going to make that face the entire time, are you?” Bree jokes, and I look at her, wearing her Wednesday Adams costume. She looks beautiful in all black, and then Fletch wraps his arms around her in his black-and-white-striped shirt and long black shorts—the Pugsly to her Wednesday.
“You look fucking ridiculous,” I say, shoving his shoulder playfully.
He only laughs, not giving a fuck because he’ll pretty much do anything for both of us. Kole is having a Halloween party at his house tonight, and Bree actually wanted to go. She’s trying to be more social these days.
They tried like hell to get me to dress up as Gomez, but there was no fucking way. I’m here, but I’m not in costume. Instead, I chose jeans and a t-shirt that made Bree roll her eyes and call me “original.”
I think she was being sarcastic.
When we walk inside, the house is full of my coworkers. Some have dates, but there are also a lot of people I don’t recognize. Kole moves to us, giving me a half hug with a beer in his hand, dressed as some kind of superhero. “Hey, you’re actually here.”
“Yeah.” I don’t sound happy, I know.
Bree moves to my side. “This was as good as it gets.” She gestures to me, and Kole only chuckles, not surprised at all.
“Well, at least you tried, Rhett.” I scowl, and he laughs again. “Make yourselves at home. There’s food all over and lots of alcohol—which none of you are old enough for, right?” We shake our heads, none of us here to get shitfaced anyway. “Well, there’s food.” He pats my back, and I thank him. He takes off to go talk to someone else, and then I spot someone in the corner—someone familiar.
“No. Way.”
Bree is grinning next to me as she shrugs innocently. “What’s up? You see someone you know?”
I turn to her. “Did you do this?”
She lifts her shoulder again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She’s smiling way too big not to know, but I don’t care. I just grin and walk over to the big-ass guy dressed ridiculously in a black dress and a wig with long black hair. “Really? Morticia?”
Grayson flashes his big, bright smile at me, and I notice he’s even wearing heavy black eyeliner that makes his blue eyes pop even more. He shrugs. “I can pull off a dress.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m so damn happy to see him, I can barely hide it. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in college.”
“So is Fletcher.” He nods in the direction of my friends, who, when I look over at them, look away from us quickly. Clearly taking in the show. I laugh and then smile back at him, shaking my head.
“Fletcher only lives an hour away from home.”
He shrugs, looking almost sheepish. “It wasn’t a long flight.”
I look back at my friends, who are still watching us, and then back to Grayson. “Bree? She put you up to this, right?” I can’t see Fletcher calling Grayson.
His large shoulder kicks up. “I missed you.”
I don’t give him shit about admitting that. I just grab his hand and pull him toward the door, passing Bree and Fletcher as we go. “You guys can get home okay, right?”
They both nod, smiling with over-the-top ridiculousness, and I just keep moving past them, dragging Morticia behind me until we get up the stairs and into my apartment. When the door shuts, I’m on him—my lips and my hands all over him.
“I missed you too,” I breathe against his mouth, and he nips my bottom lip before kissing me hard, his hands fumbling with my shirt to pull it off. I grab at the wig and tug it off easily, tossing it behind us and digging my fingers through his soft hair.
I don’t give us time to talk anymore. I can’t let myself think about how, more than likely, he has to leave early tomorrow. I just get lost in him. We kiss and tear the clothes off each other, making our way to the couch, where he nearly makes my brain short-circuit. He grabs a condom and lube from my drawer, lubing his fingers and tossing the condom at me before he climbs onto the bed, fully naked and on all fours.
“Fuck me. I’ve missed you.” He moans as he plays with his hole, getting himself stretched for me. It’s better this way. Him looking away from me, his gorgeous ass on display for me as he works in one finger and then two.
“Rhett.” He sounds needy and desperate, making me groan in my own desperation. I slide the condom on and join him on the bed, slicking my cock with my hand and then slipping one finger in to join his two. “Yes. I need you. I’m good.”
We both remove our fingers, and I enter him in one long stroke. I still, soaking in the feeling again. Of being inside Grayson. I pull back and then thrust forward, pounding into him over and over again. I want it to be hard. I want him to feel me for days.
I want to hold onto this feeling and never let it go, but I also want it to be over because my heart is about to burst from my chest with want for so much more.
Feeling him squeeze around me, the tight heat of his warm body, being connected like this—it’s too much. It only makes me miss him more.
“Don’t.” I must have stopped moving because he’s looking over his shoulder at me.