Page 10 of Frat Around and Find Out (Peach State Fratbros #1)

Ty

T his is a mistake.

I shouldn’t have told Lance about my fantasy, but once we were alone together, I couldn’t keep this all in my head anymore. I had to tell someone. Anyone.

I definitely shouldn’t have encouraged us to meet at Sigma Alpha to mess around, and Lance shouldn’t have gone along with it. But before he left the meeting room, he said, “I have another class, and then I’ll meet you at Sigma Alpha.”

This has huge mistake written all over it. It could wind up being an epic fail that leaves both of us, or one of us, embarrassed as hell. Although, if there’s anyone I trust to experiment with, it’s the guy who kept secret what happened last spring.

I return to my frat house, telling myself I’ll get some work done on a group project I have in Ethics, Law, and Policy, but it turns into mindless scrolling on socials.

Nothing takes the edge off, though, so I start pacing my room like I would before a big exam. Biting my bottom lip, I check my phone for what must be the hundredth time. Lance’s class must’ve ended thirty minutes ago, but he hasn’t texted me to let me know he’s on his way.

Maybe now that he’s had time to think about what a stupid idea this is, he’s changed his mind.

Can’t say I’d blame him, but my heart sinks at the thought of not exploring this, of being left wondering what the hell is going on.

Just as bad would be having a guy I’ve considered a worthy adversary suddenly looking at me differently whenever we see each other at TaskFrat challenges or around school.

No, he wouldn’t do that to me.

I start texting him, then stop.

Fuck, if he’s looking at his phone, sees the ellipsis come up, he’ll know I stopped, so I go ahead and send the question that’s burning on my mind.

Still coming over?

I stare at the text feed, waiting for a response, when the ellipsis appears, indicating Lance is replying, giving me some relief that at least he’s still talking to me.

Then it stops.

Then starts back up.

Then stops again.

When it doesn’t pick back up again, it’s soul-crushing. This has been my fear all along—that he wouldn’t come. And he won’t. I can feel it in my bones.

Once he had time away from me, he must’ve gotten his head on straight—as if anything is straight about any of this—and decided he couldn’t follow through with messing around with a guy.

I wish he would just say that, not leave me wondering what he’s thinking.

I know it’s a shit idea—if he needs space, I should give it to him—but I’m not letting him get away without telling me to my face, so I grab my keys and wallet and start for the door.

When I open it, I freeze in place. Lance is standing outside, wide-eyed, his phone in his hand.

As seems to be a familiar pattern for us the past few days, I’m thrown. “I thought you weren’t coming over,” I blurt.

His lips twist into a frown. “I considered it. Got to the door when you texted and figured this was my last chance to bail.” He smirks awkwardly, and all the frustration I’d worked up dissolves. Having him here brings me visceral relief.

I step aside so he can come in, then close the door.

“You want something to drink? I have some beer, White Claw…”

“I could have a White Claw.”

“I only have peach-flavored. That work?”

“This is Peach State. Why would we have any others?” He smiles, disarming me in that way he has.

I fetch two White Claws from my mini fridge. We pop them open and take sips. When Lance finally pulls the can away from his mouth, his tongue slides across his bottom lip, making my mouth water.

Yup. No question. This guy definitely does something to me.

“You got anything stronger?” he asks.

“You kidding me? What you want? Tequila? Gin?”

“Vodka?”

I crouch down and grab a small bottle of Absolut from the mini fridge.

Lance takes a much bigger gulp from his White Claw, and when I hand over the vodka, he screws off the top, pours a shot’s worth in the can, swirls it all together, and takes another drink.

Guy’s got the right idea, so I do the same with my drink before setting the bottle of vodka on top of the mini fridge.

When I finish mixing the vodka, I take another healthy, much-needed drink, enjoying the way the vodka stings lightly against my tongue.

“This would have been better to have in the library.” He takes another sip.

“Tell me about it. ”

“So…I know we said we’d meet here and figure this out, but we weren’t exactly clear about the specifics.”

“That’s because I don’t know what we should be doing.

” It was one thing to agree to meet up and do something to make sense of what’s happening between us.

Another entirely to actually do it, so now we’re just standing around, uncomfortable as hell.

“I don’t imagine we could be much more flaccid right now,” I joke.

“So maybe we figured it out.” His gaze meets mine, his cheeks that familiar shade of pink I’ve seen more the past few days. It stirs something in me that makes me aware we definitely haven’t figured it out.

“Maybe we get into my bed.” I try to sound chill—emphasis on try . “See what happens.”

His brows tug closer together. “This how slick you are with girls?”

“I’m actually disappointed because if I turn out to be bi, I’d hate to think this is how bad I’ll be at seducing guys.”

He laughs, breaking that tension once again before his expression turns serious and he glances at me, like he’s wondering whether he should have taken that as a joke. I can’t really help him there because I’m not all that sure myself.

He sets his can down on my nightstand, then sits on the edge of my bed. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Sit down next to me.”

I place my drink beside his and join him, keeping about half a foot between us. Some part of me is clearly still afraid of running this test, which makes me think that’s the very reason I need to do it.

Meanwhile, Lance is doing that thing where he’s not making eye contact. He’s not comfortable.

“Relax,” I say, “I’m not gonna lunge at you and start making out. ”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like the way to do it.” He cringes, as though he’s disgusted by the idea, which is more than a little insulting.

“If you’re not into that, then maybe this is a bad idea.”

“We agreed this is the only way to know if this is something we’re into, right? Are you butthurt because I don’t want to jump right into making out with you?”

“No, but it doesn’t help that you made that face when I suggested it.”

“I don’t know what face I made, but you saw my dick earlier when we were talking in the conference room, so I wouldn’t take it as an insult.”

He’s right. I’m overly defensive, which somehow has nothing to do with him and everything to do with him at the same time.

“Maybe we just, like, touch each other a little. Like before,” I suggest, but I can read the apprehension all over his face at the mention of touching him, and it’s a real buzzkill.

“This was a shit idea. If you’re uncomfortable, just go, and I can find someone else.

I’m sure plenty of guys would be willing to help me understand what the hell is—”

I barely noticed him move, but now he’s got his hand on my thigh. My body’s stiff as he glances at me uneasily.

“You said we start with touching? Is this okay?” He pats around my thigh, keeping his touch as unerotic as possible. “There. I’m doing it. I’m doing the thing,” he says, like he’s trying to make a joke out of it.

His face is bright red, and he won’t look me in the eyes, but even being silly about touching me is clearly working as my dick lengthens in my athletic shorts.

Lance doesn’t look, though. “That doing anything?” he asks .

“Um…”

His gaze finally shifts to look, and his jaw drops. “Oh…”

“Yeah…”

His hand settles on my thigh, which only makes me stiffen more, and he doesn’t take his eyes off it for a few moments. When he does, his gaze meets mine and he gulps.

Though there was little doubt before we began our little experiment, there’s no question in my mind as his touch lingers. His thumb caresses against the fabric of my shorts, so I have to shift slightly to let my cock finish swelling.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, since it’s hard to gauge based on his expression—frozen in place, hasn’t changed since we locked eyes.

He breaks eye contact and leans back, so I can see the bulge in his pants. He slides his hand closer to my crotch, then over my cock, before stroking back and forth. His gaze has returned to my cock, and he licks his lips. “This okay?” he asks.

“Does it look okay?”

He chuckles nervously before his expression turns stone-cold again. “Lie back. If you want, that is… I want to try something, but not if you’d rather not.”

I trust Lance. This is just as strange to him as it is to me, and if my lying back helps us untangle this, I’m willing to give it a whirl. I relax back, and he slides his hand from my cock up to my waist.

“This still okay?” he asks.

“That you took your hand off my dick? Not really.”

He huffs out a breath. “I meant, can I feel it under your shorts?”

“Oh. Uh, yes, if that’s something you want to—”

“I. Do.” He slides his hand under the waistband of my shorts, moving toward my cock until I can feel his warm fingers against my flesh.

My body vibrates—partly from his touch, partly from anticipation—as I’m wondering what he’ll do next.

He gets a handle on me, and unlike when he put his hand on my thigh at first, I can tell there’s nothing playful or silly about this touch.

He wears a determined expression as he strokes me some more.

Fuck, it’s sexy.

I roll my head against my bed, enjoying the way he’s pumping me.

“That’s good?” he asks.

“What does it feel like?”

He snickers, his grip firming as he strokes more confidently. “Can I pull your shorts down?”

“Don’t you dare move that hand.” I intended for that to come out playfully, but there’s so much truth to it that it sounds more like a threat. I tuck my thumbs in either side of my shorts and push them down, revealing my hard-on, and he keeps his hand in place as he sees my cock in the flesh.

“No underwear,” he notes.

“In case something happened.”

His lips curl into that sexy, familiar smirk. “Looks bigger than I remember.”

“Last time you saw me naked, I’d already come, so…”

And there’s that beautiful pink shade again, something I can only appreciate for a moment before he pumps me again.

I can’t stifle my moan. The way the sensation pulses through me makes my body quiver, and I relax back as he keeps on working me up faster. My hips jerk with his movements as a series of sensations burst in waves through me, rushing up my body, radiating out of my chest.

“Fuck, you’re good at that, Lance,” I say, and my encouragement makes him speed up.

“You get harder when I jerk closer to the head,” he says, and that he even notices that thrills me. I love how he’s paying attention to my body and movements, and it’s no surprise how close he’s getting me.

“It’s kinda dry,” he says.

“I have some lube…”

“You mind if I just give it a little spit? Sometimes that’s what I do when I’m jerking off.”

“That sounds hot as fuck.”

He leans down and spits onto the head of my cock, running his hand through it, the moisture slicking across my flesh, coating me so he’s able to pick up his movements even more.

It’s definitely over for me.

“Lance, I’m about to—”

“Do it,” he says as we lock eyes once again.

With his free hand, he hikes up my shirt, keeping his movements steady.

I don’t see any of the doubt or uncertainty he came into this room with, only this primal part of himself committed to taking me to the end.

It’s as though he’s intuited exactly what I need before I—

“Fuck, fuck…” My body erupts in a series of fits as I bash my fists against the sides of the bed, rolling my head back as the climax is so intense before I feel the warmth rush across my abs and chest. I figure that has to be the last of it, but the sensation lingers as a second burst lines my waist.

As my climax relaxes, Lance is still going, but my cock feels too sensitive, so I seize his wrist. “Ooh, ooh, no no, that’s good,” I tell him as the sensation eases up.

I catch my breath, recovering from the intensity of what he just did, accepting that there’s no fucking way any of this is simply about a fantasy. This is clearly something my body wants, and now that I’ve experienced it, maybe needs .

As I come back down from the high, I notice I still haven’t released Lance’s wrist. And he glances at my cum-soaked torso, licking his lips again before saying, “I guess we sorted that out. Maybe I should go now.”

He pulls away, pushes to his feet, and starts for the door.

What the hell?