Page 47 of Catcher's Lock

I’m going to do it. I’m going to kiss him. Maybe it’s a terrible idea, but the inevitability is a tidal pull, and I’m too far gone to resist.

“Remember when we sardine canned the box truck?”

What?

I jerk my head up as he giggles, the sound whickering through the dark. Unspent adrenaline sloshes uneasily in my stomach as I struggle to adjust to the abrupt change in tone.I remember your head against my shoulder and the way your hair tickled my cheek and the bare skin of your calves tangled with mine. I remember your fingers pressed against the pulse in my throat.

“Yousardine canned the box truck,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“And you told Shilo you could fix it.”

“I was dying to play with the welder.” I try to back away, but he has a death grip on my jeans. “I thought she was gonna kill us.”

“Me, maybe. You’ve always been her favorite son.” There’s no resentment in his drugged-out voice, only a wistfulness that makes my heart ache. I shake my head in denial and finally drag myself free of his grip. His hand hovers in the air between us for a moment before dropping to his side.

“We should play gay chicken.”

I stare at him. Trying to follow his train of thought is giving me whiplash.

“That’s for straight guys. You can’t play gay chicken with someone who’s already gay.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I’ll win?”

“All the more reason you should want to play. Don’t you want to know what the winner gets?”

“Youjuststopped mefrom—No.”

“I’m thinking it should be an orgasm. How is it so hot out here right now?” He shrugs out of his jacket and lets it drop to the ground.

“What?”

“I was selfish last time.” He tilts his head, eyes half lidded and hazy. “And you’re still a virgin.”

It’s been two years since that night in the airport hotel, but I haven’t forgotten a second of it. My dick hardens instantly at the memory.

“Why are you so obsessed with my sex life?”

“You don’t have a sex life, Rocket. I’m trying to help you change that.”

“By playing gay chicken?”

“And letting you win.”

“You’re high as fuck right now. That doesn’t even make sense.”

He lurches away from the tree, fisting his hands in my T-shirt and sliding his thigh between my legs. I grab his shoulders.

“Jesus. Quill…Gem. Stop.” Why is it always this razor’s edge with him? A tightrope strung taut between torment and rapture.

“I don’t want to stop,” he whispers into my chest. “I want to see if I can make you come in your pants.”

He’s about ten seconds away from getting his wish.

“Gem?” The beam of a headlamp sweeps over us.Cheyenne.

He staggers back, shoving at me hard enough to almost land his ass in the dirt.