Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hayes

T his time we’re going to Donovan’s house. I’m not sure if I feel more or less comfortable with that. In public it’s less personal, but we might be seen together.

I still don’t know if this is a good idea. I probably wouldn’t even be going if it wasn’t for Rylan. Telling him about Donovan contacting me was a huge mistake. I blame it on my defenses being down after spontaneously combusting about two seconds after we started jerking off together. What even was that?

Luckily, LA traffic is a bitch. The 405 is packed like always, which gives me time to obsess about Rylan and the Jilted Exes. Rylan is back in LA today, but we haven’t spoken. I’m not even sure why I think about that. We’re not boyfriends. It’s not like we’re going to talk every single day. I’m not even the type who wants to talk to someone every day.

I don’t think.

No. I’m not. Definitely not.

I’ve been all over the place lately, and I blame it on an annoying hockey player who calls me cutie.

Traffic begins to flow a little better, so I’m able to pick up the pace. I’d watched his whole stupid game last night. The Rebels had pulled out another win, and Rylan had played another great game. At least that’s what the commentators led me to believe.

“I think I’ve found myself some good pucking luck.” My body shivers at the memory of his absolutely ridiculous words at his post-game press conference. I’m so glad I know exactly what this is between us, that all either of us wants is to have sex, so I’m not tempted to fall for lines like that.

Or for the way he talked to me afterward. I’ll have to get used to us doing the whole conversation thing. Malcolm never asked me questions the way Rylan does. It feels…real, in this way that scares the crap out of me.

Donovan lives in a small, white house, without much street parking—that’s how most of these older neighborhoods in LA are—but I get lucky and find a place. I’m ten minutes late, and I’m never late unless I try to be late, which I did. Strangely, it’s more comfortable for me to arrive after Anthony is likely already there. I don’t always understand why things work the way they do in my head, but I’ve learned to stop questioning it.

It’s LA, so despite it being almost February, the weather is still nice. Donovan has his front door open, the screen door locked in place. I hear voices drift from inside and knock, a moment later Donovan comes over to let me in.

“Hey. I’m so glad you could come.”

“Um…thanks for having me.” I sound constipated. Why am I me?

“We’ll head out back if you don’t mind.” Donovan closes the front door this time. Anthony has a beer in his hand, and he smiles when I enter the room. “Do you want something to drink?” Donovan asks.

“Just water is good.”

Donovan hands me a bottle, and the three of us go out the sliding glass door into the backyard. There’s a covered concrete patio, a small grassy area, and a pool.

“I don’t know how he got my number, but Malcolm called me,” Donovan says just as I’m taking a drink of my water, so of course it goes down the wrong pipe and I start coughing and choking. He chuckles and pats my back a couple of times like I’m a kid. “Sorry. I guess I should have led into that a little better.”

“It’s fine. Just dying,” I tease, hoping to cover for the fact that I’m embarrassed and also curious about Malcolm calling him.

“He got mine and called me too. I told him to fuck off,” Anthony says, and stupidly, my chest clenches.

I don’t want to talk to Malcolm. I want nothing to do with that piece of shit, but a part of me I’m not proud of feels…unwanted? Not good enough? Like there’s something wrong with me? Over how he called them but not me. Emotions are confusing and don’t always make sense.

Donovan and Anthony look at me, and I shake my head. “I’m sure he hates me, considering I’m the one who ruined all his fun by proposing in a public place like that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m happy as hell you did,” Anthony replies. “Minus the public embarrassment for you. If not, none of us might have found out.”

“Oh my God. The public embarrassment,” I find myself saying.

“I was getting talk show and podcast hosts asking me for interviews. What the fuck even is that? Why would they think I’d want them to exploit my situation that way?” Donovan grumbles.

“No shit,” Anthony replies.

“Try being a meme. I couldn’t get online without seeing You Got Hayesed. ”

Donovan nods. “That’s harsh.”

I settle into my seat, my back feeling looser.

“Did anyone have guys seek them out on hookup apps?” Anthony asks. “The first time, I didn’t realize what was happening. I met up with this guy, and apparently, he’s got a kink about fucking us. I realized when he started asking me about Malcolm, if his dick was bigger, if I’d met you guys, and if so, if I thought you’d all be down with some kind of Jilted orgy. I got the hell out of there, but I had other weirdos wanting to show me what I was missing—their words, not mine.”

“I’ve avoided apps,” Donovan says. “That’s where I met Malcolm, and I don’t want anything to do with them again.” Apps Malcolm told me he didn’t use. The mood gets heavy for a moment, before Donovan continues, “But your orgy guy wouldn’t have had to try hard to be better than Malcolm in bed.”

I perk up at that, silently thankful I hadn’t been the reason that sex with Malcolm hadn’t been great. Considering my experience, I thought something was wrong with me, but now that I’ve been with Rylan…no. And why does everything keep going back to him?

Anthony takes a drink of his beer. “So fucking bad. I must admit, he had a great cock, but he didn’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s it exactly.” Donovan points to Anthony. “And I’m not sure about you guys, but according to Malcolm, it was always my fault.”

My head snaps in his direction. Malcolm had been the same with them as he’d been with me. He’d made me feel like anything that went wrong was on me, never him. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but a part of me that maybe still believes all those things Malcolm told me, that part needed to know I wasn’t alone. And while one conversation can’t change all the engrained thoughts, it does help. “Me too,” I finally make myself admit.

They both look at me with kind eyes. It’s clear I’m the one of the three of us who keeps my feelings close to my chest. I don’t know how to laugh and joke about our situation the way they do. I wish I were different about these things, but it’s just not how I’m built.

“We’re better than him,” Donovan says.

“I second that,” Anthony adds.

Donovan holds up his wineglass. “To the Jilted Exes’ Club.”

I lift my bottle of water, Anthony doing the same with his beer. The three of us clink them together, Anthony and I repeating Donovan’s cheers.

And the truth is, I’m glad I came. Maybe, just maybe, this won’t be so bad after all.

*

There’s a lightness to my step when I leave Donovan’s house a couple of hours later. It’s after eight, and I can’t believe I stayed so long. The plan had been to hang out for about an hour and then make my excuses and go home. I didn’t expect the three of us to have much to talk about outside of Malcolm, but we had. The conversation about our mutual ex had ended with that toast, and then we’d just…talked…and hung out.

Surprisingly, I hadn’t hated it, but now I’m feeling too jittery to go home or lose myself to work the way I usually do.

I should head home and get a good night’s rest. It’s not as if I’m mister social calendar and have a whole lot of options, but…I could always call Rylan. Can I call Rylan? I’m physically capable, but I also have this block in my brain that sometimes doesn’t let me do the things I want to do, which means, oh my God, I want to call Rylan.

Maybe I’m just bored. That’s what I’m going with.

I pull my cell out of my pocket, momentarily disappointed that he hasn’t called or texted. It would be a whole lot easier if I was the one returning his call rather than the one to initiate contact. It’s a mess in my head, and I feel sorry for anyone who has to deal with me.

Rylan shouldn’t have to deal with me.

Still, I find his annoying name and press it.

“Hey. How did it go with your…friends? I’m not sure what to call them. I’ve been thinking about it all evening. I wanted to message but didn’t want to bother you.”

My pulse does this weird thing where it suddenly picks up really fast. I tell myself it’s like a jump scare and nothing more. Look at me feeling all strange because a hot guy is nice to me, and that is a little frightening and confusing.

“Actually, wait. Don’t answer that. Come over, and we can talk about it here.”

Yes. Okay. Sure. Wanna remind me I’m not bad at sex? “I shouldn’t…”

“I think you should. Plus, Puck misses you.”

“Puck is a cat who probably hates everyone and doesn’t even know me.”

“He wouldn’t be fond of you if he heard you say that. We’ll pretend it didn’t happen. Come over.”

I search for another excuse. “It’s late.”

“You’ll be home by midnight, Cinderella. Especially considering it’s eight fifteen. Is it past your bedtime?”

My pulse is still running a marathon, and my dumb lips pull into a smile. Why does he have this effect on me? “You’re not funny.”

“Then stop smiling.”

My hand flies up and slaps my mouth as though I need to cover my grin because Rylan can see me. How does he know? “I wasn’t smiling.”

“Sure you weren’t, cutie.”

“Are you going to keep calling me that?”

“Unless you tell me to stop.”

I should, but I don’t. “Fine. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be here.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Are you going to hang up and drive now?” The smirk in his voice is clear through the line.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

No, I actually don’t, but all I say is, “See you soon.”

I end the call, then hurry and drive to Rylan’s, much more excited than I should be.