15. Noah

The entire time I"m in the shower, all I can do is replay everything that"s happened in the last hour.

What happened with Lane was...

Really fucking hot. I don"t understand it.

I mean, I understand parts of it, or I"m beginning to. I understand that the first time I kissed a guy, I got a hard on. The same thing happened the first time I really made out with a girl, not half an hour later. It was hot and heavy though, not just a simple kiss. I thought maybe my reaction to kissing Lane was just because it was so taboo and forbidden.

I"ve kissed a guy one other time in my life, when I was barely seventeen, at a party full of unfamiliar people that one of my rec teammates brought me to. I was dancing in the living room with everyone else, feeling high from the tight press of bodies, thumping music, and the heavy cloud of weed that permeated the entire room. I looked up, and there was a guy watching me. He was blonde and had big arms, like another guy I knew. He noticed me watching him back and tipped his head towards a dark hallway before walking away. Before he disappeared, he looked back at me again, confirming that he wanted me to follow him.

No one was paying attention to me. No one knew me. It was my chance to see if what happened with Lane was a fluke. It"d been a couple of years, but I still thought about it. It still burned in the back of my head anytime I made out with a girl. I"d lost my virginity, and it was amazing, but I still couldn"t get that one stupid kiss out of my head. That gasp that fell from his lips and made me so hard I couldn't think.

I walked down the hall, not sure where he'd disappeared to. It was dark, and there were a few doors, but they all seemed to be shut. I almost changed my mind and left, but an arm reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me into what looked like a little girl"s room. My first thought was that we were probably not supposed to be in there, and my second thought was that the guy, now illuminated by the soft pink of a nightlight, was older than I thought. Not too old, or anything, but probably closer to twenty than I was. I think it might have been a college party.

He didn"t waste any time, pushing me up against the wall pretty aggressively. His lips weren"t nearly as soft as Lane"s were, and the way he pushed them against mine was hard and insistent, not at all the way the kiss with Lane had gone. The guy—I"d never gotten his name—invaded my mouth with his tongue, and his thigh pressed between my legs. I could feel his boner against my hip.

Intrigued by the way he grinded it into me, I kissed him back, or at least I opened for him and let it happen. It wasn"t bad, but I wasn"t hard. I didn"t feel that burst of arousal I"d felt when Lane"s tongue touched mine and he gasped into my mouth, or when he whimpered as he stroked himself while I stood watching. The guy groaned, and I realized that I"d gotten hard. Because I was thinking about freaking Lane Blakely.

It felt good having him rub his erection against mine, but as soon as I realized I"d been thinking about my stepbrother, I started going soft again. Purely out of curiosity, I tried to imagine the guy was Lane again. But now that I was out of the moment, it wasn"t working. Lane wasn"t aggressive like this. His kiss had been soft and tentative. I was the aggressor, and I"d liked being the one to push him.

With that in mind, I flipped us, so he was the one against the door. The gasp of surprise he let out reminded me of the sexy sound that came out of Lane, and I fell into the fantasy. I pushed against him and licked deep into his mouth, rolling my pelvis into his with every thrust of my tongue. It was intense, and I was close to coming in my pants the way Lane did the first time we kissed. Just the reminder of that happening made my cock harden even more, and I pushed it into him—but the illusion shattered when the guy groaned out an expletive. Not Lane. No matter how hot he was, it wasn"t him. This guy, aside from being a warm body to rub myself on while I pretended he was someone else, just didn"t do it for me.

That was when I figured out I wasn"t into guys as a whole. Right there, in the middle of a sweaty make-out session, with my tongue down another guy"s throat and our boners rubbing against each other. The moment I remembered he wasn't Lane, I backed away and left him there.

I"ve spent the past couple of years pretending that I"m not hot for my broody, grouchy, closeted stepbrother. I"ve played with him, fucked with him, tormented him—but the fucked up part is that I was also tormenting myself. Pretending I wasn"t into it, that I was just fucking with him, or that I"m above it and just trying to help him.

But then today...

Goddamn it.

Losing my virginity didn"t feel as good as that. Every single interaction I"ve ever had that involved my dick has not felt as good as that.

He didn"t even touch me. He was just there, lying beneath me and watching me with those deep blue eyes, afraid and wanting it just as bad as I was. What would have happened if we"d touched each other?

I"ve been fucking kidding myself, pretending like I don"t want him. I don"t want to want him. He"s an asshole most of the time. When he"s not, he"s okay. But he"s also my stepbrother.

This is entirely fucked.

Actually…I bet that"s exactly it. I don"t really want him. I just think I do, because I can"t have him. People always want what they can"t have.

All I need to do is get it out of my system. And, okay, yeah, that sounds fucked up, too. But I can help him in the process.

Lane is gay, there"s no way around it. Maybe he"s bi or something, although I"ve never seen him show any interest in girls. I"ve only ever seen him show an interest in me, actually. Although he might be into Danny if he gave him a chance.

Hmm. Nope, I don't like that, so I put Danny out of my mind and pretend he doesn't exist.

I know he wants me, at least on some level, so his closeted little brain is somewhere on the train of letters that I can't keep up with. He"s fighting against admitting it, but we both know the truth.

An idea occurs to me that maybe I can help him overcome his fear of accepting who he is, and he can help me get over this little problem of mine. I"ll get him out of my system, and he"ll associate good feelings instead of religious bullshit with getting his dick played with.

It"s a win-win.

Bursting out of the bathroom, I drip water everywhere because I can"t be bothered to dry myself off. I need to talk to him now while my dick is hard and I"m feeling brave. I"ve barely closed the towel around my waist when I knock on his door.

"Lane?"

I beat on the door harder when he continues to ignore me.

"Look man, I"m sorry. I didn"t mean to snoop; I was just curious about the records. It won"t happen again. Please, just talk to me."

Nothing.

I keep knocking, trying to coax him out, but he"s giving me nothing. I peek under the door to see if he"s walking around, but the light is off.

Keeping my door open so I won"t miss if Lane comes out of his room, I tug on a pair of shorts and grab my phone. We seem to communicate better through text, anyway.

Noah: Hey.

Noah: I meant what I said. I"m sorry.

Noah: Can we talk?

Noah: I have an idea that could help us both. It might sound a little crazy, but it could work...

I decide to sit on the floor outside his bedroom door, so if he decides to escape, he"ll have to get through me. I"m an asshole like that.

Noah: You can"t ignore me forever, Lane.

From my place on the ground outside his door, I hear his phone chime.

Noah: Just talk to me, please.

Noah: Lane

Noah: Lane

Noah: Lane

Noah: I can do this all night...

After a half a dozen more texts like that, I"m feeling pretty pissed off. I thump on his door some more, and then stand up.

"I will break down this door, Lane!"

Will I actually break down the door? Probably not. But I wouldn"t put it past Lane to believe I would. I don"t have to, though. Because when I grab the handle, planning on jiggling it as a threat, the knob turns. When he doesn"t scream at me to get out again, I push the door open.

He"s not even here.

I"ve spent the last half hour beating on his door, yelling and begging, and he"s not even here. His phone is, though, so I've also been texting no one. It"s blinking on his nightstand, with twenty or more notifications from me being a jackass. I consider trying to delete the messages from his phone so he"ll never see the evidence of how pathetic I am, but I really don"t want to get caught snooping in his room again. Not only am I likely to get on his good side by doing so, but he can actually be a scary motherfucker when he"s angry. I thought he might Hulk out on me earlier. It was pretty hot, actually.

Where did he go?

I was so distracted by my own shit, I didn"t even consider that Lane is probably losing his.

It"s been almost forty-five minutes since I got in the shower. Staying in the doorway, I flip on the light and do a quick scan of the room. He left his towel on the ground and his bed is still mussed up.

Shit.That"s not a good sign.

After throwing a shirt on and slipping my feet into my slides, I pull the doorstop in to prevent the door from latching in case Lane comes back and doesn"t have his keys. I"m hoping he"s downstairs in the lobby, maybe reading or working out in the gym. I"m sure he"ll get a good laugh out of me coming to check on him like a mother hen, but I can play it off like I"m visiting the vending machines. I didn"t bring any money, but maybe he won"t notice.

There are only a few people in the gym, and the lobby is empty. The rain is coming down so hard outside, I can"t see past the lawn to the parking lot. Jesus, I hope he"s not out there. I think back to just a couple of weeks ago, when he was having a panic attack or something. What if he freaked out and went to burn it off, and is stuck out there?

I march towards the doors, ready to run out into the rain to find him.

"Fucking hurricane out there," someone says behind me. I twist around and see Jamie Peters, finishing a bite of something and licking his fingers. Part of me hopes him talking to me at all is a peace offering, forgiveness for almost mowing him over with my cleats earlier. The other part of me almost wishes he was still mad, so he wouldn"t be holding me up right now.

"Yeah, it"s nasty. I think Lane went for a run?—"

"Oh, he"s with Danny."

Fucking what?

"What did you say?"

Peters gives me an odd look and repeats himself. "He"s at our place with Danny. I just stepped out to give them some privacy."

He keeps talking, but I don"t hear anything else he says. All I can think about is that Lane is in Danny"s room. Alone. With Danny. Who in my opinion, is a little too friendly with Lane. Do all gay guys have gaydar? Will Lane open up to Danny? Danny obviously likes him. Will he like Danny? Will they kiss, or?—

"Dude, you alright? I was just kidding."

"Kidding about what?" I ask, realizing that my fists are clenched so hard my arms are shaking.

"Lane and Danny?" He says, looking wary of repeating whatever the full joke was about the two of them. I'll fucking punch him in the throat if he says something about the two of them together.

My jaw clenches. "Lane is straight."

"Okay. It"s not like I"d have a problem if he wasn"t. Danny"s one of my oldest friends. I chose to room with him." He pauses and narrows his eyes. "Do you have a problem with Danny?"

"What? No."

Yes.

Yes, I have a problem with Danny, but it has little to do with what his dick fancies. It has everything to do with my stepbrother. Who, while he can hold his own, is still pretty impressionable and obviously confused about his sexuality. I don"t need some slick, good-looking, smiley bastard to show my stepbrother what he"s missing.

That"s my job.

"Lane might though. He"s super religious," I say, to cover up my overly interested behavior.

"They have that in common, then."

"Really?"

"Yep, Danny was raised super Catholic. He doesn"t even cuss."

They"re fucking perfect for each other.

"You alright? You look a little tense."

"It"s been a shitty day," I say, forcing my jaw to unclench.

"Yeah, I gathered that. Looks like you got all the mud out of your teeth, though."

He does a shit job of holding in a laugh when he catches my glare.

"You"re way less intimidating than your brother."

"He"s not my brother."

"That"s what he said," Peters says, shaking his head like he doesn"t know what to think of the two of us. "Y"all don"t get along, or what?"

"It"s complicated."

"I get that," he says, but I doubt he would get this.

My body leans slightly to the side, looking past Peters to where I think their dorm is.

"You"re welcome to go in if you want to check on him, but he seemed alright. Him and Danny seemed to be getting along. I was just coming out to get a soda from the machine."

Of course he"s alright, why wouldn"t he be alright. He"s in there, alone, with fucking Danny Hastings, who might be his perfect man. Ugh.

"Nah, I"m good. He doesn"t want to see me anyway. I just wanted to make sure his grouchy ass made it inside before The Ark came and picked him up."

He laughs. "They"d probably appreciate that joke."

"You can tell it to them," I say, feeling grouchy as hell. I take the stairs up to our floor to pass some time, and partially because Lane always takes the stairs.

I pace for what feels like hours, stewing in anger that I know is irrational, but can"t help. I"m not jealous. I"m not. But what if Danny hurts him or exposes him before he"s ready? What if Danny pushes him?

I push him; I know I do. But I know him. I know he likes it. Needs it. He told me so himself.

What if Danny gives him what he needs without making him feel shitty about himself?

Damn it!

By the time Lane comes home, looking haggard but overall okay, I"m practically steaming from my ears.

"Where the fuck were you?!"