Page 5

Chapter Four

Cameron

My body is still as a statue, each muscle tight and tense. The one between my legs is especially hard and aching over what I’m hearing.

Blinking a few times, the numbers on my cell keep moving up as the timer tells me how long I’ve been on the phone. Barely five minutes.

When I saw Austen’s name pop up, I answered immediately, feeling bad for how we left things earlier. No matter how frustrated I get with him, I always let it go because he’s more important than some stupid fight. But when I answered the phone, I didn’t hear Austen. What was there sounded almost like a TV or a radio, but the heavy breathing and moans tell me it was probably his phone. And then the wet-skin sounds, the deeper moans… It took way too long for my brain to put two and two together.

Austen accidentally called me. He mustn’t have realized he did. He put on porn. He jerked off.

I just listened to my best friend get off, listened to him jerk his dick until he came.

So fucking close.

Fuck, those words are going to play on repeat in my brain for years to come. I’d never heard sexier words come out of his mouth. And it wasn’t just the words; it was how he said them.

All desperate and gravelly. Wound up and needy. Fucking hell.

I should have hung up the phone, I shouldn’t have listened to him do that. But I just… couldn’t. I’d wondered about this for years. About whether or not Austen jerks off regularly, and I know that’s a weird thing to think about, but whatever.

When it comes to sex, he is not your typical college football player. He’s had sex two times and had his dick sucked maybe a handful of times. He’s gotten Savannah off a lot more than that, mostly because she complains about how ridiculous it is that he doesn’t want to do it all the time. She’s grateful he doesn’t care about getting anything in return. He writes it off like being left hanging like that is normal—but that’s not normal. Well, I shouldn’t say it's not normal, because of course it’s normal for him . But I think he’s covering something up. Or refusing to believe something about himself. Like, maybe the fact that he isn’t into women…

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. It’s more he’s just not into Savannah because she’s a royal C-U-N-T. He’s also got a lot going on in his life between school, football, Savannah, his family… he’s probably stressed out and she doesn’t make matters better for him. She doesn’t know how to be a support for him.

But none of that has anything to do with this, with what just happened.

My phone hits seven minutes and I quickly hang up before he realizes what happened. I don’t want him to feel weird about this, because it’s the exact thing that would have him all up in his head. One more thing to stress him out that he doesn’t need. See, I’m thoughtful. Savannah isn’t. I have a long list of why I’m better than she is.

I put my phone on the edge of the bed and glance down at the tent in my pants.

And I just came at the club…

I guess that’s just what Austen Brewer does to me.

It’s pathetic. I know this. Because being in love with your straight best friend is the most cliche thing a gay man like myself could do. He’s the football player, and I’m the misunderstood artsy friend. He’s straight with the perfect life planned out. I’m a fucking mess who screws a different guy each week. Sometimes more than one.

Yeah, my life is pretty fucking pathetic.

I stare down at my dick like it’s an alien. My body is telling me to take care of it. To rub one out real quick. But there’s this voice inside my head that’s telling me not to do it because it’s wrong.

Sure, I’ve jerked off thinking of Austen before, but that was different. This feels like it’s crossing a line. I was listening to something I shouldn’t have been listening too, and if he knew I had, he’d be so uncomfortable. Best friends or not, I can’t do this. So instead, I hop into an ice cold shower until my mind is too preoccupied with surviving rather than coming.

“Here, I brought you your favorite.” I hold out the coffee to Austen, and he takes it gratefully.

“Thank you,” he says with a sigh of relief, flashing me that perfect smile of his before taking a small sip.

I sit on the wall with him. It’s not meant for sitting, and the campus sends out emails all the time, but if you looked around, you’d think none of us got them. It’s the perfect height for sitting, and the perfect width for holding books and drinks. If they didn’t want us sitting on their wall that’s supposed to be used as a boundary line, they shouldn’t have made it so comfortable.

“What are you working on?” I ask, glancing over his shoulder to see the book in his lap.

“Research paper for English.”

“Boring,” I say.

He groans, dropping his head back. “I should have listened to you.”

“Uh, which time?” I ask, bringing my hot cup of coffee to my mouth for a sip.

“Freshman year when you said I should get all my shitty classes out of the way, so senior year can be more fun.”

I bark out a laugh. “Kicking yourself in the ass over it now, huh?”

“Sure am.” He groans again, and this time it causes my stomach to heat. I quickly clear my throat and get to my feet because I need some space.

Am I going to think about him jerking off all the time now? I hope not. I’m not going to ruin our friendship over something so ridiculous. As much as I’d love for Austen to have some kind of gay awakening and realize he’s in love with me as much as I’m in love with him, it’s best I accept that it won’t happen. At least, not until pigs fly.

“We should go out tonight,” I offer. “Bowling?”

“Can’t. Got plans with Savannah.” He twists his lips, his eyebrows furrowed as he says, “Sorry.”

“Okay… how about tomorrow?”

“Dinner with my parents.” He sighs.

“Friday?”

“Game.”

“You suck,” I say.

He looks up at me, frowning.

“I can do lunch on Sunday?”

“Lunch on Sunday?” I repeat. “That sounds so fucking lame, Austen.”

“Lunch is not lame,” he says dejectedly.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. It’s my timer to let me know I’ve got ten minutes to get to class before I’m late—again.

“I’ll text you later,” I say, shoving my phone in my pocket and hiking my backpack higher on my shoulder.

He nods, his attention fully on the book he’s reading.

I love him to death, maybe a little too much, but sometimes… he really gets under my skin. Why the hell is it so difficult just to do something for himself once in a while?

I get to class with five minutes to spare and take my normal seat in the back.

I was smart and took most of my “boring” classes already, so my senior year would be laid back, but apparently I forgot one and now, among all my electives, is Art History—the most boring of all. I’m tired of hearing about cartouches and flying buttresses.

“Hey,” someone says, dropping into the seat beside me.

“Hi?” I look around, unsure if this guy is talking to me. There is no one else in this row, so I assume he is, but I don’t know him.

He offers out his hand, and says, “Carter.”

I stare at it but don’t take it.

“Can I help you with something?”

He pulls his hand back awkwardly. “Yes, actually. You’re the model in my drawing class.”

I stare at him, waiting for him to continue because I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help him with that. I’m also not shocked that he knows me and I don’t know him. It’s been happening ever since I started modeling for the drawing class last year.

“Well,” he continues. “I know you can only do that if you’ve already passed all your drawing classes, and I’m struggling a bit and was hoping you could help.”

“They have tutors for that.”

“Yeah, but those cost money, and I don’t have money.”

“So you expect me to tutor you for free?”

“Well, no… I was hoping we could trade?”

I shift in my seat, dropping my bag to the floor and digging out my notebook and pen before turning back to face him.

“What do you have that I’m interested in?”

“Uh, don’t think this is weird or anything, but I’ve seen your car.”

“My car?”

“Yeah… I caught you getting out of it the other day. It makes a weird sound, right? Sort of like a clunking?”

“You want me to tutor you in exchange for you insulting my car?”

“No,” he says loudly, causing a few students to look at us. The professor walks in, getting behind the podium. “Here.” He digs in his pocket and shoves a card at me. “I fix cars.”

He gets up and scurries away to sit in the front row. I knew posing naked in that class would cause some attention, but it’s getting old already. A few of the other models eat up the attention. I fucking hate it. So I shove the card into my bag and focus on class. I’ll worry about tutoring and fixing my car later.