Page 20 of Jacked (Gymbos #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SLATER

Bisexual.

Bisexual.

Bisexual.

The word has been bouncing around in my head since Alvin said it hours ago.

Is that what I am? And if it is, what does that even mean?

Aside from the obvious. Do I want to actually date guys?

I glance over at AJ on the couch next to me, all fucking huge and muscled and hairy, slouching comfortably with his thighs splayed wide and one arm tucked behind his head.

His party tit is covered for a change, and all I can think about it reaching over and nudging his tank top out of the way so I can see his chocolatey nipple.

My throat tightens and my cock starts to swell.

AJ looks over at me, quirking one eyebrow curiously. Shit, I didn’t say any of that out loud, did I? I don’t know where he’s at with everything, but convincing him I meant “chocolatey nipple” in a platonic way might be a little tricky.

“What’s up with you?”

“Up?” I laugh, but it sounds all wrong, too forced and rusty.

“Yeah, you’ve barely said two words since we got home. Usually you’ve got more commentary about the game than the announcers do.”

I pull my hat off and start fidgeting, reshaping the brim while I take a look at the TV.

I’ve been vaguely aware of the baseball game but too lost in my thoughts to pay much attention to it.

Considering it’s actually a Dodgers game, that’s saying something.

I’m not sure what to say to AJ though. Yeah, sorry, I’m just thinking really fucking hard about the fact that I think I want to kiss you.

That thought is like an electric zap to my nuts. Holy shit, I want to kiss AJ.

I mean, fucking duh , right? I’ve been thinking about it nonstop for days now, but this is the first time I’m full-on admitting it to myself. I want to kiss AJ.

I shove my hat back onto my head and rub my hand over my mouth, like that might convince my lips and my brain to have a little fucking chill.

“You think Butch’s birthday will be weird?” he asks casually, his attention back on the game now, his knee bumping against mine.

The tiny bit of contact makes me jumpy, twitchy, hot all over.

But his question is like a pin stuck in a balloon.

I’m sitting here having some kind of bisexual awakening and AJ is basically a million miles away.

He’s worried going to the gay club on Friday night will be awkward.

Maybe he’s freaked out by the idea that someone might hit on him or that everyone there will assume he’s gay?

Is any of this as confusing for him as it is for me? Or is he really and truly just a straight dude happy to casually jerk off together in a totally platonic way?

“I’m sure he’ll understand if you decide not to go.” I shrug, but the motion feels jerky as I bounce my knee and try not to fidget.

He tears his attention away from the game to look over at me again. A crease forms between his eyebrows and he frowns.

“You want to go?” he asks.

It feels like the kind of question that’s secretly a different question. Like he’s asking me to reassure him that we’re both still just straight dudes goofing around because we’re bored. Like he’s wondering if I want to dance and flirt and hook up with guys at a club.

Do I?

“I don’t know.” I shrug again.

He grunts and then drops his arm from behind his head.

His hand lands in his lap, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as he casually cups himself through his shorts, spreading his legs a little wider.

Molten heat floods my veins and my cock starts to swell without hesitation.

We haven’t actually talked about it or tried to justify it since the second time it happened.

Now it’s always exactly like this. He starts rubbing his dick or I start rubbing mine, we act like we’re not watching each other even if our eyes meet, and we jerk off like we’re just discovering our cocks for the first time.

AJ drags his thumb over the growing swell of his cock and I track the motion with my eyes.

My hands are fisted at my sides, my heart pounding, everything inside of me aching for the simplicity of just doing what we’ve been doing—chasing a quick, easy, hot-as-fuck release with my bro here on the couch.

I flick my gaze to his mouth, his parted lips just the slightest bit damp from the swipe of his tongue.

I want to make them even wetter with my tongue. I want to lick into his mouth and feel the vibrations of his muffled moans. My cock throbs and something else inside of me aches in a totally different way. In a needy, desperate way. In a maybe, probably, almost definitely a little gay way.

Bisexual , I correct. And, fuck , it doesn’t feel wrong at all this time.

His hand stills on his cock when he realizes I’m not touching mine.

Is it wrong to do this with him if I think I want it to be more?

Is wanting to kiss him this time so different from wanting to kiss him last time?

The confusion in my thoughts has my dick flagging even though my balls are still heavy and full.

“I’m actually kind of tired tonight. My trainer might have pushed me too hard at the gym.” I try for a joke, but it feels flat and forced. “I think I’m just going to hop in the shower and then go to bed.” I stand up, ignoring the chubbed swell in my shorts that’s at AJ’s eye level as soon as I do.

Surprise and confusion flicker across his face for half a second before he buries them under a blank mask. Is he upset? Is he hurt?

Jesus, it’s confusing enough trying to sort out all my feelings, I can’t even begin to try and work out his.

“Night,” he murmurs.

I want to turn around and go right back to the couch.

I want to sit closer to him and tell him how much I like his stupid laugh.

Fuck my life, I think I might have a crush on him.

I bite back a groan, mumble my own “Night” and then practically sprint towards the bathroom where I can be alone with my thoughts.

Realizing I’m probably bisexual? Cool, no problem.

Realizing I have a big, sloppy, gay crush on my maybe, possibly, allegedly straight roommate? That feels valid to have a little panic about. Just a little crisis, as a treat.

Have I said “fuck my life” yet?

AJ

My eyes feel like sandpaper and the twisted, heavy feeling in my gut is just as solid as it was eight hours ago when Slater jumped off the couch unexpectedly and ran away like his ass was on fire.

I swallow hard and kick at the sheets tangled around my legs.

It has to be something I did to upset him.

He was quiet all night, and then that . But even after spending the entire night tossing and turning, running through every interaction we’ve had over the last two days, I’ve got fuck all.

Unless…

Memories of the other night in the tent rush right to the front of my mind. The two of us pressed way too close, our hands bumping with every stroke, our cum…

My cock throbs at the thought of getting off, but the anxious, embarrassed, heavy feeling in my gut only intensifies.

That was the last time we, you know, did that .

I slept in my own tent the next night and by the time we got home the following night, we were both wiped and just ready for bed.

Was that over the line somehow? Did it freak him out?

It’s hard to imagine anything freaking him out. He always seems so laid-back and unflappable. But maybe? Shit, shit, shit. If that’s it, how do I fix this? How do I put things back exactly the way they were?

The sound of the door opening and closing makes my pulse kick up.

I didn’t even hear Slater get up. Is he sneaking out of the apartment to avoid me?

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but a strange panic rises in my chest. I throw my sheets off and jump out of bed.

I feel like I need to catch him before he’s gone.

I pause with my hand on my doorknob.

If I catch him, what the fuck am I going to say? I blow out a breath. It’s fine. He lives here, he’ll be back tonight. I don’t know what I’m getting so worked up about. I’ve never even chased a girlfriend around to patch shit up, so why am I suddenly panicking about Slater?

It’ll be fine.

I repeat that to myself several times before I slowly turn the doorknob and swing my door open. I jump back with a startled yelp.

Slater is standing right on the other side with his hand raised to knock.

“Jesus, dude, I thought you left.” I huff out a laugh. “I heard the door.”

He chuckles. It still sounds a little off, but not nearly as tense as last night. He’s not wearing his hat for a change, leaving strands of his blond hair to fall across his forehead.

“I was just coming back from getting breakfast. Egg white omelet loaded with veggies, right?” He gives me a sheepish smile and holds up a paper bag with the logo of my favorite breakfast place on it.

My mouth falls open and I blink in surprise.

He remembered my order? We’ve only been there together once.

There are three other breakfast places between our apartment and Reggie’s Café.

He could have stopped at any of them, but he went all the way there.

It’s just breakfast, but the fact that he went out of his way like that has me choked up.

That sleepless night really did a number on me.

I clear my throat and give him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs and uses his free hand to brush the hair off of his forehead. Without his hat to hold it, it just flops right back into place though. His eyes sweep over me and then dart away quickly.

“So… um… yeah. Breakfast!” He rattles the bag awkwardly.

“Cool. Let me go take a piss and I’ll be right there.”