13. Brayden

Chapter thirteen

Brayden

I t's 7:30 and I still haven't heard from Bexley. He's obviously running late, which is fine, but I'm getting annoyed by my constant fixation on the bar door.

"He'll be here, man. He's likely simply got caught up." Kal studies me with a tight-lipped smile as he takes a sip of his beer.

I understand what ‘caught up' means. It's likely his phone is constantly buzzing and he can't find a moment to come here. I take my phone out of my pocket and select Bexley's number. Placing the phone against my ear, I hear the continuous ringing until it abruptly stops. With a loud exhale, I make it clear to the bartender that I need another drink by signaling with my glass.

"That's your third one in half an hour, champ. Slow down," Tray says, still on his first drink. With an eye roll, I grab my third drink from the bartender and take a long gulp. As the doors open again, I turn my head and realize it's not him. I take out my phone from my pocket and repeatedly check the screen for any missed texts, but there's none.

Nine o'clock comes round quicker than I had wanted. Still no sign of Bexley, but I'm past caring right now. He can fuck himself.

"Fuck him," I quietly mutter to myself as I take my second shot. I lost count of how many beers I had, but they weren't enough. I needed more to take the edge off, so I began on the shots, and I can already tell two will not be near enough.

"Quake, you need to slow the fuck down, man. Remember, it's a Sunday," Tray goes on again. I sarcastically roll my eyes and give him the finger before getting up and going to the bar. I push past people, prompting a few "Hey, watch it!' comments.

I could do with a fight right now. Hopefully, someone starts.

"Three shots." I signal to the bartender.

"Don't serve those," Kal's joyless voice interrupts, receiving a curt nod from the bartender before attending to another customer.

"Kal, what the hell?" I say, frowning and tightening my fists. Why can't my friends relax a little? Fuck!

Kal sets a beer bottle down in front of me.

"I'm not telling you to stop drinking, but ease up on the shots. Tray's right. Tomorrow is Monday and we have practice. You're skating on thin ice with Coach."

"Sure thing, cap." A sharp sting shoots through me as Kal slaps me on the back of my head. With a laugh, I grab my beer and join him at the table. I can't stand how frequently my eyes dart toward the door. I want to text him, call him out, but what's the point? The drugs will always come first. I pull my phone out and bring up a text thread.

"Who you texting?" Kal speaks from beside me, shifting himself so he can lean sideways to peer at my phone. "Who's L?"

"Lanson." I reply.

"Lance," Kal and Tray say in unison.

"Bro, get off my back. Lanson, Landon, Lance. What does it matter?" I huff. "Do you both want to suck his dick or something?" I sarcastically respond before shifting my focus back to my phone.

"That guy won't drop to his knees for anyone except you, even if I wished he would." Trayton laughs.

"Because he knows he won't get better elsewhere." I glance at Trayton with a smirk before going back to my phone, ignoring his trash talk.

Me:

Where you?

L:

Hi, I'm in my dorm. What are you up to?

Me:

Come out for a drink. Meet me at Pythons

L:

You know I can't. I'm not old enough.

I roll my eyes, laughing. He's too innocent for me. Why he keeps coming back, I'll never know.

"Tray, you can get Lance in the Pythons, yeah?" I raise an eyebrow in question. He nods.

"Yeah, are we going there?"

"We are now. I want a few more drinks, and I need Lance awake and ready for me when I'm finished." With a smirk, I turn my attention back to our messages.

Me:

Don't worry about that. Tray will get you in. Meet me there in 20.

As I'm about to put my phone away, it pings, and it's L again.

L:

I can't do that. We have class tomorrow.

Me:

Do you not want to see me then? It's cool. I guess I'll see you around.

After taking a gulp of my beer, I couldn't help but smirk as I put my phone back in my pocket. Without a doubt, he'll make it to the bar in fifteen minutes, not twenty. This guy will do anything to see me.

Thirty minutes later, we're walking straight through Pythons and going to the bar. I didn't realize how much the beers I drank at Brewtap would affect me during the walk to this place. A part of me didn't want to leave Brews in hopes that Bex ends up turning up, but it's 10:30 now. It's not going to happen. He would have texted me. The thought alone makes me feel down and prompts me to order a beer as soon as I reach the bar. Engrossed in scanning the area, I take out my phone from my pocket and find three text messages. I open the text, expecting it to be Bexley with a valid reason for his absence, but it's not. It's L.

L:

I'm here. Are you inside?

Well, what do you know? He got here in fifteen.

L:

Brayden, are you here???

L:

You just walked right past me at the entrance. I can't get in.

Oops, my bad! I laugh and give Tray a friendly slap on the shoulder, then ask him to go get Lance. "He's outside."

Tray nods, walking back to the door. His older brother works security here. On weekends, we enjoy going to Brewtap because it has a better atmosphere, but we come to Pythons when we're with people who don't have ID, so Tray's brother can get them in. Lance approaches me, appearing terrified as his eyes nervously scan the busy crowd. I've never seen someone appear so out of their element. I'll loosen him up. As he approaches the bar, his timid brown eyes, framed by those black-rimmed glasses that are my ultimate weakness, meet mine. He opens his mouth, then closes it, finally giving me a shy smile.

"Hey." I lean down, kissing the shell of his ear. "You came," I utter quietly. As I lean back, our eyes briefly meet before he quickly averts his gaze, shyly peering down at the ground. I notice him wrapping his arms around himself, and a slight shiver running through his upper body.

"You cold?" I question. I can't imagine it; it's fucking hot in here.

Clearing his throat, he softly responds, "No."

OK then.

"You want a drink?" I signal the bartender and then glance back at Lance.

His gaze and mine collide once more.

He offers me a tight-lipped smile. "Water please?"

"Oh, come on, have a beer with me." Flashing his straight white teeth, he smiles and nods at me. I haven't gone out with Lance in a social setting, but I know he's a responsible guy who goes to bed early on school nights and finishes his coursework well in advance. I barely pay him any attention in the few classes we have together, but I need him tonight. Burying myself in him is my temporary escape from this shithole life I'm currently dragging myself through. I gather the beers from the bar and hand one to him. He accepts it and takes a drink. His attempt to mask his disgust is met with utter failure.

Leaning one elbow on the bar, I shoot Lance a grin. I love watching him squirm and seeing him out of his comfort zone; it makes him all that more appealing.

All that more fragile.

"So, what made you change your mind, then?" I'm aware that questioning him makes him uncomfortable, but I still do it. He shifts his weight back and forth, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. With clenched teeth and a tight grip on the bottle, I envision him dropping to his knees, taking me in his mouth, and gazing up at me through his framed glasses. I gulp down some of the beer and turn, gesturing to the bartender again to order.

"Shot of sambuca please." My focus shifts back to Lance. "Well?" I question, waiting for him to answer. His doe-like eyes dart back and forth as he sucks in his bottom lip.

"I wanted to see you." I was already aware of this, but I simply wanted to hear him say it. I acknowledge him, tracing my tongue over my lower lip while his big innocent brown orbs follow my every motion. He's gripping his arms tightly, with his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I take the sambuca shot and down it.

"Come here." I stare at Lance. His arms fall to his sides as he hesitates, but eventually he takes a step toward me and positions himself directly in front of me.

I lower my head, tracing my tongue along his lower lip. He inhales sharply, quickly licking his lips, as if trying to capture the taste of my tongue.

"You like the taste of that?" I ask, knowing he can no doubt taste the sambuca shot.

With eagerness, he nods while his eyes quickly dart from my lips to my eyes.

"Do you want some more?" His eyes widen and fixate on my lips. I lean in, smirking, and kiss him. Instantly, he opens his mouth, practically pleading for my tongue. I hungrily dive my tongue into his mouth, taking everything I want. One thing about Lance is he can fucking kiss. He might come across as a shy boy but when this boy kisses, it says everything but. Our passionate kisses are like a battle for dominance, but Lance knows I will always come out on top. I tower over his slim, 5 ft 10 frame, claiming what I desire with each swipe of my tongue. I let my tongue explore every part of his mouth. I lower my hands to his ass, firmly grasping and tugging him toward me while grinding against him. As he senses my semi-erect dick, he moans into my mouth. I steal a quick glance at him with closed eyes, but my attention is momentarily diverted by something over his shoulder. Mr. Stiles focuses on my hands resting on Lance's ass. There's a slight hint of color on his cheeks beneath the stubble, and when our eyes lock, it's as if everyone else ceases to exist. Even Lance. The fact that I can't take my eyes off my teacher fills me with panic. My annoying, meddling teacher. With unblinking eyes, he stares at me, never once looking away. Even though I'm still consumed by Lance, thoughts of Mr. Stiles take over.

As he gazes into my eyes, he leans in and kisses me deeply, his stubble brushing against my soft skin.

Fuck.

I pull Lance into me more and would you guess? I'm rock fucking hard. I'm amazed that I'm not feeling faint, given that I'm almost certain every ounce of blood in my body has rushed to my dick.

Have I ever been this hard?

After a few blinks, Mr. Stiles averts his gaze and walks away. My lungs burn as I retreat from Lance, struggling to breathe as if I haven't inhaled for two whole minutes. What the hell was that?

I subtly re-arrange myself and casually survey the people gawking at me. Lance's face turns a deep shade of red as he lowers his head, resting his chin on his chest. I observe him slyly wiping the edges of his lips using his thumb.

"Couldn't have waited until you got back to your dorm? You practically put on a free kiss porno." Kal moans.

"I think I got hard from that," Tray follows up.

Lance's head jolts up, his eyes widening as he locks a horrified stare on Tray. Tray simply flashes his signature smile and winks at him. Lance's surprise is visible as his cheeks blush deeper and he directs his focus downward, avoiding eye contact.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Lance utters, and I point to where they are. I get myself another beer and casually lean against the bar. That's when I see him again. The sight of him walking out the door makes my entire body heat up. Wait a damn minute. Are Ms. Banksy and Mr. Stiles leaving together?

Well, well, well.

My eyes immediately drop to his ass in the tight jeans he has on, and then I snap them back to his head.

Don't look there. You have no business staring there; I tell myself.

Fuck me. Of course, I could get a hard on for an annoying as fuck teacher.

Sexy as fuck. But also, annoying.

After this morning in the gym and now. I can say with certainty that my body is attracted to Mr. Stiles.

Of course it would be. The forbidden element is what makes it intriguing. The one person you can't have.

I wonder about that look he was giving me though, because that wasn't very ‘Mr. Stiles, marketing teacher at Hawksview U' of him.

Mr. Stiles pauses, hand on the door, halfway out. Instead of releasing the door to close it, he simply halts.

Turn around.

Turn around.

He suddenly moves his head and then boom. When our eyes meet, it's as if a burst of fireworks explode in my stomach. His well-kept stubble and perfectly fitted suit that shows the definition of the muscles I know he has under that shirt with slight movements. He always comes across composed and professional. His chestnut hair is neatly styled, and his eyes, usually intensely focused and serious, hold a depth that's hard to ignore. I'm not sure why, but his intense stare is having an effect on me, so I use my beer to gesture toward him.

I know you're watching me, and you shouldn't be Mr. Stiles.

I slide the beer across my lower lip, then curl my tongue around it and gulp down a large mouthful. With a sudden movement, he whips his head back to face forward and then exits.

Well, fuck me.