Page 12

CHAPTER 12

MALCOLM

I didn’t do better. I did worse. I started a trend.

It went something like this: a text message, a set time to meet at Jett’s apartment, and…sex—a fellatio exchange or feverish hand jobs while sucking on each other’s tongues. The first orgasm usually took place in his foyer in a desperation-fueled sex haze; the second was usually on the sofa.

Yesterday, we’d finally made it to his bedroom, bouncing off walls as we undressed with our lips locked. It was a hump-and-grind session for the ages with sloppy kisses and fervent groping. What we lacked in finesse we made up for in enthusiasm. We rutted like wild animals, clinging and clawing at each other in our quest for pleasure.

We came at the same time, Jett crushing me under his weight as he bucked his hips, spurting his seed onto my abdomen, his face buried in the crook of my neck. It was…amazing.

And I felt…

Wow . That was how I felt. Wow .

Fact: I loved sex.

Problem: I hadn’t been with anyone in ages, and never anyone like Jett.

He had what I think some would refer to as “moves.” He was good with his hands—rough one moment, tender the next. And he always seemed to know what I might like. A firm grip on my cock, a finger teasing my entrance. It was all so good, yet I always wanted more.

But this had to stop. Or at least be addressed.

I had every intention of doing so…as soon as he got home from his game in Utica. Trust me, I didn’t want to initiate this conversation, but it occurred to me that I’d become a jock’s “booty call”— I believe that’s the correct terminology —and that was not okay.

I had self-respect, darn it. I had a brain and?—

“Earth to Mal.” Layla waved a hand in front of my face and set a cup of tea on the table. “You’re zoning out in the middle of our Jane Austen tea party, dearest. Stay with me.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven, love,” she replied in a terrible English accent. “Lapsang Souchong…in my most delicate floral china with English biscuits. You’re welcome.”

“It looks delicious.” I gingerly picked up the cup and took a sip. Oh…ew .

Layla chortled merrily. “Strong, huh?”

I coughed. “A little.”

“This is what they drank in the early nineteenth century. A bold brew with hints of pine.”

“It does taste a bit like tree bark.”

Layla snorted. “Eat a cookie. They aren’t so bad. And while you’re drinking my tea, you can spill yours.”

“Very clever.”

“You know it. So…what’s up?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “Everything’s fine.”

She leveled me with a no-nonsense stare. “Bullshit. You’re still mooning over the hockey hottie, aren’t you?”

“No.” I huffed indignantly while counting the scalloped edges of the chalky biscuit in my hand.

“Ri-ght. I totally believe you,” she scoffed. “What’s the deal? I thought you had all the data you needed.”

Oh…that.

Well, this was my chance to confess my sins and share a confidence with a trusted friend. Layla wouldn’t judge me—well, okay, she would, but in a constructive way that I probably needed to hear. She’d help me snap out of my carnal spiral and remind me to keep perspective.

But no…

“I’ve expanded my research,” I blurted.

“Mal…”

“It’s nothing to get excited about. I’ll wrap it up soon,” I assured her in a somewhat manic tone. “In the meantime, I’m pleased with the progress…for science.”

Layla narrowed her blue tinted eyelids. “Science.”

My smile fell flat, but I wasn’t sure how to defend my bad choices. So I slurped tea instead, clandestinely checking for an incoming text and hoping I didn’t get struck by lightning for joining the ranks of larcenous liars with sex addictions.

Lord help me.