Chapter 2

Panic consumes me.

I’m covered in our combined cum, my lips are kiss swollen, and while I should be resting in sated bliss, my brain is screaming at me.

Get out. Get out. Protect Bentley.

He knows it too—that I’m freaking out.

As soon as my muscles stiffen, his hand stops stroking lazy patterns over my back. Sensibly, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t call me out.

How the hell am I going to get out of his room and away?

I don’t think I’m going to be spotted by anyone, as the house is silent, and I suspect everyone is fast asleep. Though that’s not my real concern. I wish it was.

There’s only one thing to do, and even as I formulate my plan, my heart becomes leaden—so heavy that it’s a struggle to move and take action.

But I have to. For both our sakes.

“Holy shit, the room’s spinning.” I add an exaggerated slur for good measure. “I’m gonna throw up.”

I’m not completely lying. The thought of what I’ve allowed to happen means I’m close to spewing.

I push away and stumble once I’m standing, tugging up my jeans that are tucked under my ass. Mrs. Jacobs, my sixth-grade drama teacher, would be embarrassed for me. To be clear, for my shit acting skills rather than my exposed dick. I grab my T-shirt and yank it on, not giving a shit that it’ll soak up our cum.

“You okay?”

I wince at the concern in Bentley’s voice.

“You need help getting to the bathroom?”

I shake my head, refusing to look at him. I’m a coward, but he doesn’t know what could happen.

“Sammy.”

Fuck.

I turn to look at him. He’s done up his pants, which I’m grateful for. I have no right to see him so vulnerable. Questions fill his gaze, but it’s no good. I need to do this. For him.

He might not fully understand it, but he knows some of my family history. He knows my biological dad, Trevin, is still serving time for nearly beating a teenager to death. The court called it a hate crime. And it was, no question.

Bentley’s the only person at school who knows Trevin was sent away for beating a sixteen-year-old within an inch of their life because they’re gay. And from the look of worry in his gaze, I suspect he’s beginning to understand why I’m freaking.

“I’m good. Just drunk. I need to wash up and crash. See you in the morning, yeah?” I don’t glance away—he at least deserves eye contact.

A second later, he nods, and I exhale and finally smile. It’s not totally fake. I’m relieved as fuck that he’s letting me escape.

And escape I do.

I hightail it out of his room and head straight for the shower. In no time at all, I’m under the hot spray and desperately trying not to think about the weight of his cock in my palm. How good and right it felt.

When he’d touched me, taken me in his large hand, and pumped my dick in long, slow strokes, my eyes had rolled back in my head. Somehow, I’d held on for dear life, kissing him with all the pent-up need and desire I’ve been holding back since freshman year.

Yeah, that’s how long I’ve been fantasizing about and falling for my best friend.

I’ve been able to bottle it up too.

A humorless snort escapes me as I duck under the water. This is so fucked-up.

Bentley means everything to me. He’s hardworking and funny and quiet and gentle. The man’s never encountered a day of violence or had to call the cops on his dad.

He’s also strong and so fucking kind. And he gets me, as in really gets me.

It’s why he let me walk.

I pour shower gel into my palms and soap off the cum sticking to the hairs on my stomach and my pubes.

It was a few months back that I first noticed Bentley started to look at me differently. Having his attention is heady, and honestly, I’m amazed I’ve been able to restrain myself for so long.

But tonight… hell if tonight that all went flying out the window. How could it not when I felt his thickening cock under my head?

I should regret being with him, but I don’t. Not really. What I do regret is how I’m going to hurt him, as now that I’ve had a taste—a legit forbidden fruit dilemma—I don’t think I can stay away.

And I should.

A flash of a bloody face made unrecognizable from multiple blows tries to creep into my mind. I squeeze my eyes closed, not wanting the memory to invade. Not now.

I hadn’t known where to touch Jamaal as he’d lain unconscious on the blood-soaked ground. Every inch of his black skin had been stained red. His lips, which were wrapped around me when Trevin found us together, had been maimed.

I’d come off lucky.

I took a beating, but one thing to be said for my old man, he knew I was looking at a basketball scholarship. No way would he mess with a potential payday.

As soon as the court hearing was over—Trevin being sentenced to ten years—Jamaal had moved to another state with his parents. The last I heard, he was at college somewhere out east, but that was after a year of extensive physical therapy, and he definitely wouldn’t be playing basketball again.

“Fuck.” I clench my fists and consider pounding them into the tiled wall. Only thoughts of what Trevin did stop me.

I’ll never be like him. Not ever.

I have Mom and my stepdad to thank for that.

With a heavy exhale, I press my forehead against the shower tiles.

Life is so fucked-up at times. I hate that it is. Resent it. I want to grab onto happiness with Bentley, but what if it happens again? If not by Trevin when he’s released and finds out, then by some other homophobic asshole.

It’ll be my fault. Completely. Wholly.

“I’ve got to do this.” Maybe speaking aloud will make me believe it—that this is how it’s got to be.

Pushing away from the wall, I scrub my palm over my face. It was a onetime thing, and I can control my urges. I have to.

All I need to do is focus on school and continue being Bentley’s best friend.

I’ve got this.

I’m full of shit.

How quickly I forget and break my promises, but Bentley is so easy to fall for, to be with.

Another night out, but this time, it’s not a wild party, rather a team get-together, complete with some added friends. We’re all too busy studying to make the most of the unapproved extracurriculars this year.

But still, I’ve had a couple of beers, and I can’t take my eyes off him.

Do I need the drinks to take my fill? That’s a hard no, as every time he makes a move, I’m always viscerally aware of him. What the alcohol does is lower my inhibitions—dangerously so. It makes me question why I’m holding back.

That night last week was hands down the hottest experience I’ve ever had. The two of us came so hard that the memory is never far from my mind. The thing is, I know he liked it just as much as I did. I’ve also seen his covert looks when he thinks no one is watching, but since I always am, it’s not surprising that our gazes connect more than is wise.

Unable to stay away from where Bentley’s talking to Leon, I swipe another beer from the kitchen counter and, in a few strides, reach his side.

His smile is immediate, genuine. I relax in his presence, my heart not sure how to react. It wants to punch hard while I bask and settle in the comfort I feel being close to Bentley. My heart’s reaction seems an accurate summary of how I’m failing at figuring out what I can have, because I absolutely know what—or who—I want.

But actually exploring this thing between us fucking terrifies me.

Leon’s talking about the upcoming League draft. He gives me an up-nod and eyes my palms.

I chuckle and show him I have nothing but a beer as he continues talking. No shots tonight, as it’s not that kind of party.

The thought pulls me up short.

How the hell can I blame booze for falling into Bentley’s arms if I’ve only had a couple of beers? The short answer is, I can’t. There’s a long-ass answer and argument to that as well, but I’m ignoring it.

“Actually, my creative juices are flowing. I think I should concoct something a little special,” I say, interrupting Leon. “I’ll be back.”

I bounce my brows and turn away from Leon’s “Not for me” and Bentley’s “Fuck no.”

I flip them off as I go, though I’m more than okay with their decision, especially since I’m a lying liar who lies, as I have no intention of making anything.

Pathetic, I know, but at this point, with my pulse beating faster just thinking about Bentley, and since we’ve already established that I’m full of shit, I’m willing to do almost anything for a chance to press my lips to his.

Even if nothing else happens, that’s okay.

I hang out in the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The last thing I want is to get trapped, and when I see Holly heading my way, I know it’s time to leave and return to Bentley.

Our gazes connect instantly as soon as I leave the kitchen. Bentley’s smile is swift, and I wonder if he’s struggling not to sweep a look over my body, ’cause I certainly am finding it difficult.

“Where’s Leon?” I ask when I reach his side, adding a little wobble for good measure.

“He saw you coming and thought you may have a shot glass with you.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

“True that.”

A loud cheer erupts from the kitchen, catching our attention. Before I get the chance to peer back at Bentley, Holly’s there, her gaze set on me.

Fuck it all to hell. She’s a nice enough girl, but she’s been looking to hook up for a while now. For obvious reasons, I’m just not interested.

“You wanna head outside?” Bentley asks, coming to my rescue. I have little doubt he’s seen Holly too.

I bob my head and follow him, as he’s already making the move to leave.

As we step out into the backyard, we silently head over to the furniture. It’s battered but feels stable enough as I ease onto the seat.

“Holly’s still interested, huh?”

I cast Bentley a scrunched-face look and shrug. “Either way, I’m not interested, and she can do better.”

A frown appears on his face. “Better how, exactly?”

My frown matches his as I shrug again. “Not sure why I said that.”

But it doesn’t mean it’s not true.

I’m not looking for sympathy or reassurance from Bentley. If anything, he’s the last person who should be coming to my defense, considering how I left him with our combined cum drying on his belly last week.

His tone is firm, taking on a gruffness that sends a shiver down my spine as he says, “You know that’s bullshit, right?”

“I was kidding,” I lie, wanting to move away from my flippant comment. “I’m just buried with my exam schedule.” I knock my shoulder into his and change the subject. “Three weeks. Then we can finally breathe again.”

I really am a liar this evening. In three weeks, I’ll go the whole summer without seeing Bentley. That’ll mean the opposite of breathing for me. Sure, I won’t be stressed by finals, but he offers a calming, quiet presence like no one else.

While he nods, he eyes me in a way that lets me know he’s not buying whatever bull I’m selling. As always, because he’s a better guy than me, he doesn’t call me out.

“How’s your final design coming along?” I ask.

It’s dark outside. While there’s light spilling out of one of the windows, there are no outdoor lights on. We’re lucky to have the tiny yard to ourselves. It probably means Troy, who lives here, didn’t want the small party spilling out. It’s not like we’re raging out here. We’re not even fucking. Though the thought has merit, that’s one hell of a dangerous move I’m not bold enough to risk.

But it’s nice out here, just the two of us.

The darkness eases something in my chest. Probably because I can stare at him without anyone seeing me do it.

“Good,” he says with a nod, and I smile.

The landscape design he’s been working on is fucking awesome. The last time he showed me, I’d been impressed. Sure, I don’t know anything about outside spaces or trees or flowers or any of that stuff, but it doesn’t mean I can’t respect his talent.

And even though this project’s for make-believe clients, it doesn’t stop his joy.

“You know the winding path I incorporated with all the vibrant flowers?”

I nod, and he’s quick to continue, “Well, it now leads to cozy seating under a canopy of trees. I’ve researched natural materials for seating, but I wanted to include some sort of cushion that’s not going to get moldy.” He gestures excitedly with his hands, and his eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.

It’s hard not to lean in and kiss his smiling lips, but that’s not what this is about. Not now, right as he’s describing his final project.

“It’s the perfect space where the employees of the firm can escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life, you know? And specifically their manic workdays.”

My heart flutters as Bentley paints a vivid picture, and I honestly can’t wait to see the developments he’s introduced.

His passion for his project is infectious, and fuck if I don’t hang on to his every word.

“The sustainability of the garden has been the trickiest but most interesting part.”

“And you think that’s what you’d like to focus on still, when we’re out of here?” He’s mentioned it before, but a lot can change as new projects are assigned.

“For sure.” He bobs his head and smiles. “I don’t expect it’ll happen straightaway. Even though I’ll leave with a degree, it’s likely I’ll still take a job with someone like Grady. I know that’s the physical side of landscaping, but it’s still on-the-ground experience. I’m hoping Grady will be interested in giving me a chance to work with clients who want real design projects, but I won’t be knocking down a job.”

“You’ll get your chance,” I say with complete confidence. “And if someone won’t give it to you, you’ll make it happen yourself.”

It’ll take collateral to start his own business, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Hell, I could work every hour and save enough?—

I cut my thoughts off and swallow hard.

Planning a future when I’m not truly living in the present doesn’t scream good idea.

I shove the frustrating thoughts aside. Bentley’s still grinning, and I don’t want to be the reason his smile disappears.

“One day, maybe. I just need to figure out where I want to be to do that.”

Surprise has me frowning. “You don’t want to head back home?” That’s where Grady, the owner of the landscaping company he’s worked for the past two summers, is based. It’s not far from his parents’ house.

He shrugs, and while he meets my eyes, his expression shutters a little. “I’m not completely tied to San Antonio.”

I don’t know what to say. This is the first time he’s indicated his plan isn’t solidly formed. I settle on “Okay. There’s plenty of time to figure things out.”

His gaze flicks around my face before settling on my lips, but then he glances away into the darkness. “Yeah. A lot can happen in a year.”

The sound of smashing glass startles us both.

“You think we need to check that out?” Bentley seems reluctant to leave our bubble. I feel the same.

“Maybe it’s time we make our escape. Those shots hit me pretty hard.”

Fuck it all to hell, as that’s where I’m going to end up.

Sure, I sipped at something toxic in the kitchen to at least get the scent of potent booze on my breath, but still….

“Come on.” I stand, as does Bentley. “You wanna shoot the guys a text or go inside to?—”

His shaking head cuts me off. The movement shouldn’t be filled with anything other than an obvious response, but the air practically sparks between us. My breathing turns choppy, and we seriously do need to leave.

As we escape through the side gate, Bentley sends a message to our group text. I ignore the notification alert in my pocket and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

What I should do is lock myself in my room alone when we get back, but Bentley’s knuckles brush mine, and goose bumps dance across my skin.

I can’t make this thing between us real. I can’t acknowledge it. But maybe it’ll be okay. Bentley’s on board—or at least from the way he hovers at his bedroom door once we’re inside and silently urges me into his room, I think he’s more than okay with what’s happening.