Page 7

Chapter Six

Alex

I lean back in my seat on the bus, closing my eyes for just a moment.

I’m not nearly drunk enough to handle the guys and their overexcitement, or their mad rush to drink everything under the sun.

If they don’t slow down, they’re going to end up shitfaced and puking their guts out before we hit the second club tonight.

But I guess that’s the college kid thing, right?

Hurry up and throw up so you can do it all over again.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I let out a sigh, knowing it can only be one of two people.

My mother, who’s main goal in life is to “find me a suitable wife,” whatever the fuck that means, or Britt.

The woman I thought was suitable, but my parents could not stand because she has purple hair, six tattoos, and a nose ring.

Then we broke up and all of a sudden Brittany was someone I “didn’t deserve anyway.

” Fucking hypocrites. Not that there’s any hope of getting back together with her, even if I wanted to. Because like always, I’m too much.

My needs are too much. My very specific needs.

I twist my fingers in the o-ring of my choker, rubbing them along the metal to soothe my nerves.

Before I know it, this trip will be over and I’ll be right back in Ashbourne, working my boring ass custodian job at the ice rink just out of town and fielding all the “potential” dates my mother sets me up on.

None of those women she insists are “good for me” are actually good for me. Most of them are like her—uptight and bitchy. But they come from money, they’re pretty, and they would make perfect wives.

That shit may have worked on Austen, but it won’t work on me. If my mother knew what was really good for me, she’d have a heart attack.

I slide my phone out of my pocket, and I glance down at my screen to see a text from Britt.

Having fun yet?

I scoff. I’ve had six shots and two Buzzballz since boarding this fucking bus, and I’m not even feeling it yet.

Austen laughs loudly, and I look up to see Cameron and him sitting next to one another with huge smiles on their faces. Not sure when that happened, since Cameron was sulking in the shadows ten minutes ago, like he usually does.

At least one of us is having a good time, I guess.

I think about everything I’ve done since I got here. I’d come with the intention of having fun, and I guess I’ve done some things I enjoyed, but I haven’t gotten laid or anything. Not that I have to, but this is Vegas. Walking away without a top tier sex story is basically a crime.

I’ve flirted with enough people, mostly women, because we’ve been favoring the strip clubs rather than dance clubs, and there was that cute girl at the pool this morning, but nothing’s panned out.

Usually I’m pretty good at telling when someone wants to fuck me.

Man or woman, but all my interactions have been heavy flirting.

See, this is why I hate being fucking single.

Looking down at the screen, I twist my lips, trying not to think about my perpetual singleness or the reason I no longer have a girlfriend to begin with.

I pull on my ring just enough to give the smallest choke, and it makes me feel a little better. I let go and text Britt back.

Don’t know. Not drunk enough to tell.

Trey and Hudson holler with excitement as Andre and Paul raise their glasses. The neon lights on the bus flicker as the sounds of Tove Lo’s “Talking Body” carry through the air.

Are you okay?

I’m not sure how to answer her. Because I’m not. I hate pretending I am. Just once I wish I could be honest with someone about how I really feel .

I love Britt. Not in an “I’ll burn the world for you” kind of way, or even an “I do” sort of way, but in the way that she knows me better than anyone else.

She has seen the mess and she is still here.

I don’t get it. She doesn’t want me because I’m too much , but she still calls and checks on me.

Like I’m a toy she isn’t ready to throw away.

It’s… frustrating, but it’s also kind of relieving. Most of all it’s confusing.

Tonight, I’m feeling mopey. It’s been a weird day, and I just need to get shitfaced and fuck something. Then I’ll be right.

The seat dips as a body drops next to me, making me shift my weight. One look and I purse my lips. Mack settles into the seat, spreading his legs wide and stretching his arm across the back of the seat.

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” he scoffs, bringing his glass to his lips for a drink of champagne.

My gaze fixates on his amber eyes, on the sharpness of his jaw. He’s drunker than me, that’s for sure, but someone has to make sure we make it to our location .

Before I can force my guard back up, he shifts his drink to his other hand and grabs my phone right out of my grip.

“Ah. Your girlfriend,” he says, his tone bitter.

I twist my fingers in my chain, fighting the need to say something, anything , to change the subject. But he’s drunk and likely won’t remember anything I say, just like he doesn’t remember last night.

If he had, he wouldn’t have called me annoying and acted like I have the plague when we played volleyball earlier—and he certainly wouldn’t have gone out of his way to change in the bathroom, considering he had no problem doing it in front of me before he passed out.

But maybe anonymity is what I need right now. Maybe a secret confession to a drunk man can be my form of therapy, even if it’s just this once.

Well, technically, my form of therapy involves a bit more pain of the physical variety, but I guess when in Vegas…

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I admit, shaking my head as I grab my phone from him. “We broke up two months ago.”

“Shit. That sucks,” Mack says, looking concerned .

Yeah, he really must be drunk.

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not like we were going to get married and have a fuck-ton of kids or anything. ”

Even though that’s what I want more than anything. Not with Britt, but with someone. Some day.

You need to find a person who can tolerate you first.

My gaze goes to the floor, trying not to go down that road.

Thinking about the things I’ll never have isn’t good. Especially when I drink. That’s how I end up a crying fucking mess. I do not want these guys to see that. Ever.

Mack shakes his head, grabbing my phone again.

“Hey,” I say, reaching for it.

He leans into my space, holding the phone away from me.

“Fuck her,” he says, turning his face to mine. I smell the alcohol on his breath and it isn’t unpleasant. It stirs something deep inside me, and my gaze flashes to his parted lips.

His face is so close I could kiss him.

Those perfect, pouty lips beckon to be bitten, sucked, and kissed, but I know I can’t.

For starters, Mack is straight. He is straighter than a fucking ruler, and he is my brother’s best friend. He’s two years younger than me. He thinks I’m annoying. He’s only talking to me because of Austen and this wedding, and—

“Smile for the camera, Alex,” he says, his voice dark and thick .

He touches my chin with one finger while still holding his glass as he turns me to face the camera he’s holding up and away from us.

“I said say cheese, motherfucker,” he drawls, and then the flash blinds me. I blink away the spots, noticing he is texting.

The chime of the text goes through as he tosses the phone in my lap, just as someone shouts, “We’re here!”

I shove my phone in my pocket, not worried about what he said. He’s nicer when he’s drunk. We follow the guys off the bus, and I smile wide when I see the Vegas sign.

There’s a ton of people and several photographers taking photos. I make my way over to one while Austen and the guys all hang out in the unofficial line for the Vegas sign with their drinks.

“Alright, boys, line up!” I say once it’s our turn, my mask perfectly back in place.

I had a moment of weakness. That’s all. It won’t happen again.

Austen throws his arm around Mack, glancing down at Cameron who’s at the other end.

I wonder if he even realizes how much he’s into him.

Probably not. My brother might have graduated at the top of his class and is pursuing a job in tech, but when it comes to relationships, flirting, and sex, he’s hopeless.

I am still not entirely sure how he hooked Savannah in the first place, but he must have some game; otherwise, he wouldn’t be getting married, right?

Still, my gaydar never lies, but my brother’s sex life is not my business. Just like mine isn’t his.

I don’t talk about my sexuality with the guys, but I haven’t hidden it either. My brother’s pretty oblivious to shit unless it’s right in front of his face, hitting him between the eyes, so it’s possible he has no idea I’m into guys.

Andre grabs Paul, who stumbles into his grasp, with Hudson and Trey on the other end.

Mack motions for me to take my spot in the middle between him and Andre.

I settle next to them, and Mack throws his arm around my shoulders. He flashes me a heated gaze, muttering, “Don’t get any fucking ideas, Ally Cat.”

I’m shocked at him calling me by my high school hockey nickname. I’d gotten it because Coach bitched at me for “being everywhere but where I was supposed to be.”

The name was an insult, but I owned it, nonetheless, because that’s what I do. I take the hits, and I channel them into motivation, and then I process the rest of the degradation with a little forced obedience.

Still, it warms me to hear him call me something other than asshole or annoying.

I smirk, a chuckle escaping my throat. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mack Attack.” I slide my hand around his tree trunk of a waist. My palm rests on his hip, and I squeeze it involuntarily as the photographer calls our attention.

Click !

We take a couple group shots, then some individual ones. Austen takes my photo, but when I look at it, it’s lopsided and blurry.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Oh well, guess that’s as good as it’s gonna get with you fucking idiots.”

Austen laughs.

I’m glad he’s having a good time for once, but he’s going to feel it in the morning.

My brother can drink, but he is a bitch with a hangover.

“Let me try,” Mack says, throwing his hand out, palm up. I look at it, watching as the guys make a beeline for the bus, the attendant calling that it’s time to go.

“We have to go,” I say, but Mack grunts, taking my phone.

“They can wait.”

His steady voice makes me stand up straight and scratches the part of my brain that makes me want to obey. People tell me all the time that I’m a loose cannon. A wild card. They say I’m not going anywhere but to Hell. I’ve heard it all my life .

He doesn’t pay attention. He’s not a good listener. He’s too hyperactive and disruptive. He has no focus. No follow through.

Until a few years ago, I didn’t know I could be obedient. Not until I hooked up with a guy who had a kink for domination.

Things just clicked in my brain. The tone of his voice, the tap of a finger. The order.

Just because I argue and fight, doesn’t mean I don’t want to listen.

I want the same things everyone else does, and I want to be like everyone else.

I don’t want to be like this. Confused and alone.

More than anything, I just want someone to tell me what to do, how to do it, and I want to be told I did a good fucking job when it’s done.

But more than anything, I just want to be worth it to someone.

I want to be a good boy, I just need someone who understands how to hack my brain and work with me instead of against me.

Could Mack be that guy?

I sigh, wishing that were the case, but I know it’s not. That’s never going to happen.

In my fucking dreams.

“Now, Alex,” Mack orders, and I realize I have totally spaced out. I fidget with my chain, nodding as I get underneath the sign. I take one look at the bottom pole and get an idea.

I wrap my leg around it, as well as one hand, and laugh because how perfect is it? I lean back, glancing back at the camera.

“Cheese, motherfucker,” I say, sticking my tongue out as the lights flash. When I’m done, Mack tosses me my phone, muttering something under his breath.

“What’s that?” I ask as he lets me walk ahead of him on the bus.

“You’re an idiot,” Mack says as he climbs the steps to get back on the bus. It takes off, knocking us both onto our asses on the seat, upending me right into Mack’s lap.

“So I’ve been told,” I say as he grunts, shifting his weight as I get a face first view of—

Fuck. That is…

I swallow harshly as I notice the prominent bulge in front of my face that’s certainly not from his phone or wallet.

He’s hard right now. What the fuck?

I look up at him, clearly needing a drink, as I push myself into a right position.

Not that I wouldn’t suck his dick right here on this bus if he asked, but I’d rather not go down on a guy in front of my brother. I do have some morals.

Clearing my throat, I head for the champagne Paul is currently uncorking .

I grab it from him, downing half the bottle in one gulp.

It’s going to be a long fucking night.