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’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 it appears 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 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 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’ll need to talk about what happened. 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 sounds 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. Enough time to gather himself while giving me a chance to think about what to say to him.

  I glance at my watch. Time’s up.

  Logan’s laying on his bed when I enter the room, staring up at the ceiling. I drop my duffel on the floor and say, “I’m going to take a shower. Do you need to use the bathroom beforehand?”

  He shakes his head, and I head to the bathroom.

  “I was jealous.”

  The words are like a douse of cold water. I freeze. At first, I think I misheard him. Jealous. My mind begins to run, and then to race, faster and faster. He was jealous of Travis.

  What I want more than anything is to ask him, “Of what?” Because there’s a chance he could be talking about something else. Historically, I have a bad habit of making assumptions.

  It’s hard, but I force myself to face him. Logan lies on his side, watching me with dark eyes, his expression more open than I was expecting. My face is blank and unfeeling. It’s the only way I can make sure my feelings don’t destroy me. I say nothing.

  Logan takes another breath and continues. “I was jealous that you were spending more time with that guy than with me. I was jealous that you were dancing with him and having a good time.” He hesitates. “I was jealous that he was touching you.”

  Holy—!

  My thoughts start to unravel, but he’s still talking, clueless as to the turmoil sloshing through me.

  Logan shakes his head. “For so long, I wondered what happened to my friend. I just got you back. I felt threatened by the possibility that you didn’t want to spend time with me the way you used to. That things had changed between us.”

  “Of course things have changed between us, Logan. It’s been four years since we’ve talked. I think you were feeling lonely and you drank too much. Let’s forget it ever happened. It’s fine.”

  “What if I don’t want to forget?”

  Heat flares in my pelvis. No. This is not what I need right now. Thinking of Logan’s tongue in my mouth, his deep growl, the press of his cock against mine. Briefly, my eyes close. It’s becoming difficult to look at him without wanting to slip into bed beside him.

  I go to my dresser to grab some sweats when he says, “Austin.”

  My hands still. Slowly, I turn around. Logan walks toward me, and my heart feels like it’s going to punch its way through my chest.

  He stops less than a foot away. As he takes me in, I don’t move. Can’t move. It’s like my body forgets how to function when Logan McGregor is around. “About last night—”

  My stomach drops and keeps dropping. “You don’t have to say anything.” I knew he’d end up regretting it. I try but can’t quite hide the hurt. It’s better this way. I don’t need another reason to fall deeper in love with the guy. Like I said before: I’m weak. “We’ll forget it ever happened.”

  His eyebrows disappear behind the hair falling across his forehead. “You want to forget it happened?”

  My gaze is wary. Isn’t that what he wants?

  A predatory gleam enters his eyes. My mouth goes dry.

  I step back, but there’s nowhere to go. The dresser hits my lower spine. Logan’s hand coasts up my arm, and I slip around him, backing up with my hands raised. If he keeps touching me, I won’t be able to control myself. “Let’s leave it for what it was. A mistake. A drunken make-out session between friends. It’s done. It’s time to move forward. We’re friends, Logan.” The next words physically hurt me. “That’s all we’ll ever be.”

  “That’s all we’ll ever be?” His voice is quiet. I swear he can see right through me.

  “You think I haven’t kissed men who are bi-curious? It’s a good time until the guy decides he’s straight after all.”

  “You sure do like making assumptions.”

  I don’t argue with him, because he’s right. And yet I don’t think I’m wrong.

  He approaches, and this time my mind freezes up. He grabs the front of my shirt in both hands and presses his mouth to mine—once, twice. I’m so surprised that I let him.

  He pulls back, looking me in the eye with a serious expression. “I don’t know what this is, Austin, but last night wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t the booze. It wasn’t Rome.” He pauses, his gaze intense. I think he expects me to agree with him. All I know is that I can’t go down that road, because it would end up destroying me if he suddenly saw me as a mistake.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I say, needing distance, needing him to stop touching me. “It’s best to move past this. We need to be focusing on our game this summer.” Before he can respond, I flee to the bathroom and shut the door. My legs tremble. Logan doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s giving me hope where there shouldn’t be any. I’ll give him a few days. He’ll come around.

  By the time I shed my clothes, I’m hard and aching. I flip on the shower, steam quickly filling the small space. I need to jerk.

  Standing beneath the hot water, my forearm rests against the cool tile as my other hand wanders down my stomach and lightly grazes my dick. I inhale. Exhale. Close my eyes.

  As my fingertips trail along my length, I imagine it’s Logan’s hand instead. His body heat envelopes me. He dips his mouth to the space between my shoulder and neck. There’s a sting as he nips with his teeth.

  His hands rest on my hips, move up my sides, inward. I groan, and I can’t tell if the sound is inside my mind or if it’s out loud. I’m imagining his touch everywhere. This is all I can ever have of him.

  Back at the bar, I let my control slip, and it’s doomed me to jerk off to thoughts of Logan for the rest of the summer. I’d wanted him for so long, and he practically threw himself at me. So I kissed him. I kissed him like I’d wanted to do for five years.

  My hand wraps around my cock tighter. I give myself a slow pull, my breath ribboning out of me.

  What if I don’t want to forget?

  But he will, eventually. A drunken kiss between friends? It meant nothing. I was horny, he was horny. After this summer, he’ll move on to LA, find a great girl, and one day settle down. And I’ll find myself an equally great guy.

  Another tug. A tingle starts in my balls. I start jerking myself a little faster.

  “It’s rude not to share, you know.”

  My eyes snap open, and through the steaming shower curtain, I see Logan’s blurred form in the doorway, watching me.

  I snap upright, my hand dropping to my side. “What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Watching you jerk off.” A flash of teeth. “Are you thinking of me?”

  There’s no point in lying, as we both know the answer to that question. The truth is all over my face. I could never hide from Logan.

  Silence is safest.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I didn’t even hear the door open.

  “Not long enough.” His eyes are shadowed. “It was just starting to get good, too.” He waves a hand. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”

  My cheeks heat from more than the steam. Jerking off as my friend watches? No way in hell.

  “No go?” he says. “Fine.” He strides forward and—shit. Takes off his shirt.

  “I know you don’t believe me,” he says, heat in his gaze, “but kissing you wasn’t a mistake.” The fabric drops onto the floor, leaving his chest on display. Tan skin and a dusting of hair across his pecs. My attention trails down his abs, the shadowy indentations, and the cut of his hip bones.

  A laugh catches in my throat as I swipe the wet hair from my eyes. He has no idea what he’s talking about. “If you’re still drunk from last night—”

  “I’m not drunk, Austin.” He comes up to the shower. Only the transparent curtain separates us. His focus lowers to my cock, and my eyes go to his crotch. The outline of an erection presses against the cotton.

  He’s aroused.

  “I’m confused,” he says, still looking at my crotch. “And curious. But mostly, I’m turned on. I keep thinking about how the best blow job I ever had was from my best friend, and I didn’t even know. I spent years thinking about that night. I still do.” He lifts his chin. “Can I come in?”

  My mouth goes dry. Logan wants to get in the shower with me. Either this is a dream or a nightmare. “Uh—”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Peeling off the rest of his clothes, Logan steps into the shower. I’m so shocked that I back up until my shoulders hit the cold, tiled wall. He’s naked. I’m naked. And, sure, I’ve seen him without clothes. There were communal showers in the high school locker rooms. But it’s different now. My eyes drop to his cock, which bobs between his powerful thighs. His taut abdomen. Even his feet are attractive to me. I’ve never fainted before, but I’ve had a concussion or two, and currently I feel close to passing out.

  “Did you take drugs or something before we got on the plane?” I joke. I’m still against the wall, and he’s looking at me through the sweep of his eyelashes.

  He snorts a laugh, and the sound manages to ease some of the tension winding through me, the uncertainty, the insecurity. I don’t know what I’m doing. For Logan, this is probably an experiment. No-strings-attached fun. But for me? It’s everything.

  “No, I didn’t take drugs. I just want to see—” He trails off, steps closer. Our chests brush. “If my attraction to you extends beyond last night.”

  One of his hands lifts to my chest, fingertips light as they skim back and forth, back and forth across my nipples. Leaning forward, he takes my mouth in a slow kiss. It’s all sweetness and leisure, a gradual warming beneath the skin. And I can’t do it. I can’t not touch him. It’s all I’ve thought about since discovering we were roommates. My hunger for him is too great to keep in check.

  I shove Logan against the wall, crushing my mouth to his. He offered, so I’m going to take. The kiss is brutal. A claiming. It’s five years of desire poured into his mouth, a simmering thread that delves into a roar of heat, shredding through all my good sense. I’m reduced to instinct and need. I take and take, and then, when he’s shaking and moaning into my mouth, I take even more. It’s not gentle, and I don’t apologize for it. Logan seems to have no issue with it though. His voice is low, his breathing having taken on a jagged edge, his fingertips digging into my sides, hard enough to bruise. I’m rubbing against him in simulated fuck, no better than a dog in heat. He made this choice. He stepped into the bathroom, took off his clothes. So I’m going to give him what we both want: him, me, a writhing mess on the floor.

  I start with his mouth. My palms press into the wall on either side of his head. The kiss deepens, spinning out. His mouth is soft yet firm. Water streams down our bodies, dripping onto the slick floor, and the steam gathers like a cloud around our heads. I tilt my chin down, slowing the kiss even more, reducing it to sensation. I want Logan dizzy from this kiss. I want him to feel.

  My hands move from the wall to his nape. I knead the muscles there, loving how they shift and bunch under the pads of my fingers.

  Jerking his head to the side, Logan gasps for air. “Fuck, Austin.”

  I use the opportunity to nip along his neck, loving the salt of his skin, the rough scrape of his facial hair against my cheek. His breath hitches.

  It’s painfully obvious that every guy I’ve been with has been a stand-in. What I feel—like my skin is too small for my body—makes every other guy pale in comparison. I’ll never get enough. Enough time. Enough skin. Enough of these desperate kisses.

 

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