19. Caleb

NINETEEN

HOW THE HELL was I supposed to sleep? I'd been lying there for hours, sheets twisted from tossing and turning, unable to shut my brain off—so many thoughts, so many emotions, that I was having a hard time sifting through them all.

Hard. Now that's a laugh.

Watching Travis get himself off to me had been so hot I'd come in my fucking jeans. The guy, he had no filter. His actions, his words, they all dripped with sex, and hearing him talk about wanting to fuck my mouth…?

Damn. I couldn't deny the attraction at this point. It was obvious there was something about Travis that drew me in, that made me want to do more than just look at him or fight with him. Seeing him touch himself, knowing I was the one to make him explode like that, was an ego boost like no other. At least, that was what part of me said.

The other side, the rational part of my brain, told me I wasn't anything special. Travis could get an erection when the wind blew. I knew what kind of guy he was, that he enjoyed sex and had probably had more partners than I could fathom, so what was I? A challenge? The one person he could never get, and that made him want me even more?

So that was my appeal, then. I was the stepbrother he shouldn't touch.

Then what the hell was I doing thinking about him, reliving the kisses that never should've happened in the first place? Wondering what it would be like to feel his hands on me again? Nothing had ever felt that good, and admitting it to myself sent a wave of panic flooding through me.

This was why it'd been safer to steer clear of Travis all these years. It was easier to ignore him, forget him, hate him.

Fuck, why had I ever given in? If I hadn't kissed him back all those years ago, if I hadn't been curious about what it would be like, then we never would've gotten to this point.

Then again, I wasn't the one who'd ruined our friendship by acting like a jerk. For so long I'd run through the events of that night and the aftermath, trying to pinpoint what had happened to make Travis flip the way he had.

I wanted to ask him, to get it all out in the open, but doing that might make things worse. And I couldn't handle any more tension with Travis.

As I rolled onto my side, trying to find a comfortable position, which was proving impossible, I forced myself to dive back into the past one more time.

OH MY GOD. Oh my God. Oh my God. I scrambled to my feet, stuffing my cock back in my boxer briefs. The evidence was all over my hands, though—my cum, wrung from Travis's talented fingers.

What have I done? I stared down at Travis lying on the Persian rug, his boxer briefs down his thighs, his spent dick in his hand, and broke into a cold sweat.

"Caleb—" he started, rising to a sitting position, but I didn't want him coming any closer.

I stumbled back, suddenly unable to breathe, desperately needing some air. Everything had just happened so fast that I couldn't process it, and all I could think to do was put some distance between us.

I'd fully intended on going up to my room, but somehow I ended up in the guest bathroom, falling back against the door, slamming it shut.

Closing my eyes, I dropped my head back and took in a few massive gulps of air. The suffocating feeling finally eased, but it did nothing to calm my racing pulse.

It's fine, everything is fine. It's just Travis. Just your best friend. We were drinking and took things a little too far, that's all.

We'd look back on this and laugh about it later. Hey, remember that one time…

I rubbed the dull ache in my chest and focused on breathing and not hyperventilating over the fact that I'd just made out and gotten off with my new stepbrother. Our parents had only been married for a matter of hours, and this was how we'd chosen to celebrate? We were out of our goddamn minds. Years of being inseparable flipped on its head because we had a wild night.

I took in a deep breath then pushed off the door. The sight that greeted me in the mirror was a shock, and I flipped on the light.

My shirt unbuttoned up my chest but not completely open. Just enough that Travis had slipped his hands underneath, feeling his way around, exploring before trailing down to the waist of my boxer briefs. My cum—or his?—was smeared across my lower stomach and all over the front of the black material.

I stepped toward the sink, my first instinct to wash away all the proof of what we'd just done. But something stopped me.

I unbuttoned the rest of my shirt and tossed it aside. Then I touched my stomach, the same place Travis had touched minutes ago, before sliding my hand further down and brushing the sticky mess on my briefs.

Me or Travis?

It was difficult to tell. But one thing was clear—things had gotten messy.

Messy, complicated, and all kinds of…hot.

Even now, my dick was responding to remnants of what we'd left behind. What our subconscious had finally admitted to when left alone, with alcohol cheering us on.

I painted my lower abs with our confession and wondered how we would ever take this back. Could we take it back? I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure I wanted to.

I refocused on the guy staring back at me and had no idea who he was.

Funny, when thirty minutes ago I thought I knew everything.

Why did it feel like everything had changed? Would I even be able to look at Travis without thinking about how good it felt to have his lips on mine? Would I ever not hear the breathy sounds he made when he wrapped his hand around our cocks? Had he ever thought of me that way before tonight?

Yes, some faraway voice inside me confirmed. You know he has. You've seen the way he looks at you. Flirts with you. Chooses to spend time with you over anyone else.

Had I always known? Hell, maybe I liked it. Maybe I wanted his attention. When Travis focused on you, you felt like the only person in the room. Like you were special. He just had that effect on people.

On me.

But we couldn't do this. It was wrong. Imagine if our parents found out we had?—

No, I couldn't think about that. We'd had a moment, a seriously hot one that would be burned into my brain forever, but it didn't mean anything beyond that. I wasn't into guys. And I definitely wasn't into my stepbrother.Was I?

I turned on the faucet and grabbed a hand towel to wash myself off. There was no hope for my boxer briefs, but I threw my shirt back on to cover the majority of the mess we'd made.

When I looked more put together than I felt, I opened the door to go find Travis. I had no idea what he was thinking, especially with my running off like that. It wasn't like I'd meant to freak out, but going into shock meant I needed a minute.

"Trav?" I called out as I headed back to the family room. He didn't answer, and he wasn't still laid out on the rug. I rounded the corner into the family room, thinking he might've put on a movie, but he wasn't there either. "Travis?"

I stood still, listening for his response, but the whole house felt too quiet. Had he gone up to his room and passed out already?

I checked the rest of the first floor before heading upstairs, thankfully feeling a lot more sober than I had when we first got home.

"Travis, wake up," I said, stopping in front of his closed door and rapping it a couple times. When he still didn't answer, I opened the door.

The room was empty, bed still made, everything in perfect order.

Frowning, I closed the door and then checked my room.

No Travis.

Had he left? Surely not. For one thing, he'd had more to drink than me, and for another, he wouldn't just leave me after what we'd done. Not without talking about it or joking about it or whatever Travis-like thing he'd do to break the ice.

I went back downstairs to grab my phone out of my pants and hit his number, keeping an ear out in case it went off somewhere in the penthouse.

It rang…and rang…and rang before going to voicemail, and I hung up and called again.

Where was he? I was ready to throw my pants back on and head out to make sure he was alive when, on the fourth try, he finally picked up.

"Travis? Jesus, where are you?"

"Gone. Isn't that what you wanted?" There was no mistaking the hurt lacing his tone, but why? I'd just needed a minute to breathe.

"No, I?—"

The line went dead. Did he seriously just hang up on me? Or were we disconnected?

I tried calling him back, once, twice, and on the third attempt I cursed and decided a text would get my point across just as well.

Did you just hang up on me? I think we should talk. Text me.

I stared at the phone, willing him to text me, call me, do something. But it remained silent. The house so quiet and vast it felt like a tomb, which was appropriate, considering I wanted to die.

How had things gotten so messed up?

One minute we'd been having the time of our lives, best friends to brothers, imagining our futures and how much fun we'd have together in the years to come, and now he wouldn't even talk to me. Didn't want to talk to me.

Me. The one person he talked to about everything. Or so I'd thought.

That didn't bode well for our friendship or our future.

I walked back into the living room, my eyes shifting to the rug and the pants I'd lost in a moment of stupid foolishness, and realized that wasn't the only thing I'd lost.

I'd also lost the one person in the world I cared the most about, and I had no idea if I'd ever get him back.