Page 9 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

ADAM

PRESENT

G rease is showing at the drive-in tonight. Easton hates this movie. And yet, he still came. He’s still here. Waiting for me…?

Walking up to the passenger side of his blue Chevrolet Camaro, I pause. What if he’s not waiting for me? What if he’s on a date? He’s alone in there, but maybe his date has gone to the bathroom or the concession stand.

He doesn’t give me any indication as to what I should do here. He’s just looking at me, a blank expression on his face as he sucks on a lollipop, his favorite sweet, aka his favorite way to drive me insane.

God fucking help me.

Finding my balls, I open the door and get in the car. He says nothing as he wraps his red-stained lips around the lollipop.

I’ve been looking for him all day. His car wasn’t at his house, and he wasn’t at our parents’ house, though my mum told me I’d just missed him.

After I ate Sunday dinner with them, somehow managing to avoid any questions about Easton or Axel, I went up to my old room for the first time in years.

I could smell him in there, on my sheets, and I knew. I knew he’d be here.

Last night, he implied he didn’t want to see me again, but I don’t think he really meant it.

He’s protecting himself. I hurt him when I abandoned him, so he’s throwing up walls, steeling himself for me to leave him again.

Like if he tells himself it’s inevitable, maybe it won’t hurt as much this time.

But I don’t want to hurt him anymore. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I want?—

“I hate this movie,” Easton says, finally breaking the silence between us.

“I know.” Rolling my head on the seat toward him, I ask, “How did you know I’d look for you here?”

“I know everything there is to know about you, little brother.” He slides the lollipop over his tongue, and I lick my lips, my eyes dropping to his tempting mouth. He smiles to himself. “Though I thought you might be gone by now,” he adds.

“Did you?” I ask distractedly, my mouth watering.

“No. Maybe. When are you going back to London?”

“I don’t know if I want to go back. Axel puts on a brave face, but I know he’s not happy there. He likes it here. And so do I. Maybe?—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, E,” I say. “I want…I want to come home. I want to stay. But I won’t if you don’t want me to.” Eyes on him, I wait—waiting for him to tell me that I really am too late, that he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.

He doesn’t.

“You still draw,” he says instead, his eyes on the movie.

A startled breath leaves me. It’s not a question. He knows I do.

He got the drawings I sent him.

“What else have you been doing?” he asks.

Missing you.

“Not a lot,” I say.

He laughs, though it sounds bitter. “You can draw anywhere, you know. Why London?” He finally looks at me. “What, were you so desperate to get away from me that you needed to put the fucking Pacific Ocean between us?”

“I wasn’t desperate to get away from you. I wanted to stay with you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

My eyes burn when I tell him, “I thought I was doing the right thing, E.”

“By making yourself miserable?”

“How do you know I was miserable?”

“I already told you…” I know everything there is to know about you, little brother. “Why come back now? Did something happen?”

“No. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Stay away from you.” The words slip out before my brain can stop them—but I don’t take them back.

He stares at me, his eyes searching mine intently. “Promise me that’s the truth. Promise me no one hurt you and made you come running back here.”

I fight a smile, my heart galloping. “I promise.”

He narrows his eyes slightly, then nods. “Good.”

“Are you happy?” I change the subject, scooting as close as I can to him without climbing over the console. He leans in too. “You looked happy,” I add when he doesn’t say anything. “I watched all your games. You’re good.”

“I’m better than good.”

“You’re amazing.”

Still not answering my question, he rounds his lips, sucking on the lollipop the way he used to suck my dick.

He’d almost never let me come. He’d suck me for what felt like hours, teasing me, luring me right to the edge before pulling me back again.

He’d make me cry and beg for it. And only then would he fuck me and make me come all over myself.

Sometimes, he’d fuck my dick with his ass and make me come inside him.

I loved it. I loved everything he did to me.

Inches from my face, the tip of his tongue circles the lollipop, and I groan, my hips rolling on the seat as my dick jerks. He hasn’t even touched me, and I’m ready to explode just from the way he’s looking at me, teasing me with his eyes and his wicked mouth.

“Stop,” I plead.

“Stop what?”

Growling, I snatch the lollipop from his mouth and stick it into mine, tasting him.

He laughs under his breath. “Suck it,” he demands, and I obey. “Did you eat today?”

“Yes. I had Sunday dinner with our parents.”

“What was that like?” he asks, watching me.

“It was weird without you.”

He nods as if he gets it. I wonder how many times he’s had dinner with them over the last few years without me there. I wonder if the house felt as empty for him as it did for me today.

Making a point not to touch me, he lifts a hand and grabs the lollipop, guiding it in and out of my mouth. “Open.”

I part my lips and stick my tongue out, my legs spreading as much as they can on the seat, my ass clenching, my hands fisted with the urge to touch myself, to touch him. “Tell me you’re as hard as I am right now,” I mumble around the lollipop.

He looks at my eyes, my mouth, my lap… “Show me.”

My hands fumble with the button on my jeans.

Pushing them and my boxers down to the tops of my thighs, I allow my cock to spring free.

He doesn’t tell me to touch it, so I don’t.

My hips flex at the sight of the drop of precum leaking down the side.

Easton makes a low sound of approval in his throat.

Removing the lollipop from my mouth, he uses it to scoop up my precum and pops it back in, making me taste myself. I suck greedily.

“Yeah, I’m as hard as you are,” he says, his voice a little less controlled than it was a moment ago. “When was the last time you came?”

“Not since before I came back. Not since before I knew I was going to see you again.”

Back when we were together, he never stopped me from jerking off, but he liked to be there when I did it. He liked to watch me. He wanted me to save all my cum for him. It was an unspoken rule that I was more than happy to abide by.

But three and half years is a long time.

I might not have been with anyone but him—ever—but I couldn’t help getting myself off during our time apart.

I tried not to. At first, I was too heartbroken to even think about my dick, but as time went on, and I let myself remember the good times, I couldn’t help wrapping my hand around my cock and whispering his name into my pillow, face down, pretending he was on top of me, filling me.

“You didn’t get off after I left you hanging last night?”

I shake my head, my hips still rolling, still sucking on the lollipop he’s feeding me.

“Good boy,” he whispers. “Save it for me.”

“Take it now,” I beg.

He pulls the lollipop out and puts it back into his mouth, leaning back in his seat. “Get out. I’m going home.”

“You never answered my question,” I rasp, putting myself away and buttoning my jeans.

“Yeah,” he finally answers, cocky as ever. “I’m happy.”

I narrow my eyes.

As I get out of the car, I say, “That’s the second time you’ve ever lied to me.”

“Oh, yeah? When was the first?”

When you told me you didn’t love me anymore.

I don’t say it. It’s too much. But I can feel it.

I’m not too late.

He’s not telling me he doesn’t want me to come home.

He wants me to stay.

Rushing into the hotel room a half hour later, I’m shaking with anxiety and anticipation as I grab my duffel bag and drop it onto the chair.

Axel’s lying on his bed with his arm folded beneath his head, watching some dumb reality show on TV.

He’s surrounded by all of his favorite American snacks.

With his hand buried in the packet of Goldfish crackers on his stomach, he looks annoyed with me for disturbing his me time. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Going back to London.” Grabbing everything I brought with me, I pack in under two minutes.

Axel sighs, turning the TV off. “What happened?—”

“To sell my car and get the rest of my stuff,” I add, pausing to look up at him. “I want to come home, Axel.”

“London is our home.”

“No. It’s not,” I say, searching his eyes. “Are you coming?”

He hesitates, his wary eyes searching mine right back.

Finally, he nods once.

I toss his bag at him. “Hurry up. You can bring your snacks with you.”