Page 3

Marcos

I have no idea what to make of Nate.

I stare at him, unable to think of a single reason beyond inebriation that someone would proposition me so blatantly.

Me , of all people. I don’t have Max’s unique coloring or gentle personality; don’t even have the devil-may-care attitude and playful smirk of my teammate Luke.

I’m just Marcos—plain, unexciting features, and a resting bitch face that keeps the majority of people away.

I’m easy to look past, and most do. It doesn’t bother me.

What does bother me is being the recipient of the sudden and unexpected attention of a man so pretty it should be criminal. If the Greek gods did exist, one of them would have scooped up Nate the moment he angled his summer-green eyes in their direction. He’s beautiful.

So beautiful, in fact, that he’s honestly a little hard to look at.

His eyes are an impossible shade of green, made more vivid by the rich brown of his hair.

The light layer of five o’clock shadow on his jaw catches the light from the house, and I notice a small scar on his otherwise perfect cheekbones.

He makes me a little uncomfortable. That lovely face does nothing to make me feel better about my own.

And here he is, offering to blow me in the backyard of my teammate’s house; telling me I’m pretty, and that he’s never been interested in another guy before. Maybe he’s not inebriated, but blind.

“You look like you’re having a bad night,” he says softly, which is the understatement of the fucking year. Every night is a bad night for me these days.

“I hate coming to parties like this,” I admit, looking toward the house and watching the shadows of people move through the window.

“Why are you here, then?”

“Because… I guess because my friends invited me, and if I didn’t come with them, I’d just sit at home and worry that one of them was going to get hurt.”

I clamp my mouth shut, teeth grinding together audibly. That was far more truth than I had been meaning to part with. I don’t even know this guy.

Nate squints at me, a cute little pull between his brows as he thinks about what I said. I’m still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that one, people that look like him exist off a movie screen, and two, that he apparently wants to suck my dick.

“Going above and beyond on the designated driver duties, huh?”

I shrug, because I can’t explain this to him.

I can’t explain the unbearable pull between taking care of Max at home, and taking care of my friends here.

I can’t explain how sick I feel when I think about what might happen to Vince, my friend and the pitcher on our team, if I’m not here to make sure he gets home okay.

Of course, I can hardly take care of them standing out here, either, but I just can’t walk away from the incredible appeal of Nate.

Not yet. He’s got a gravitational pull that could rival a black hole.

Besides, my life right now is so full of misery and shit. Maybe this one moment, tonight, I can have just a little something for myself.

“Is your friend going to be fine on his own for a bit longer?” I ask quietly.

“Micky? Yeah, he found an anime buddy to nerd out with. Plus, we still have”—Nate pulls out his phone and checks the screen, where I can see a timer counting down—“seventeen minutes before I promised we’d leave.”

“Seventeen minutes,” I repeat, unable to help glancing over at the shed. When I look back at him, Nate’s come a step closer. I almost move away, worried that he’s going to reach out and touch me, but his arms stay at his sides, so I keep my feet where they are.

“Just enough time,” he says, and then waits for me to make a decision.

“Listen, I don’t really…” … do this , I finish silently. I very rarely hook up or date.

I don’t like it when people touch me without warning, or sometimes at all, which isn’t exactly a quality people enjoy in a partner.

These days, too much skin-to-skin contact makes me feel sick—I break out in a cold sweat, my stomach heaves, and I get dizzy.

It’s not all the time and not with every person, but it’s still something I have to explain to any would-be partners.

Which is why I haven’t had all that many.

No guy or girl is going to want to date someone long-term that they can’t even touch .

Someone that might cringe away from them when they try to hold their hand.

“We don’t have to,” Nate says easily, “but I want to, if you do.”

It hardly seems possible that it would be that easy.

Putting it off for another second, I check my phone.

Max’s location is still pinging at our apartment.

My chest loosens at the sight, and I breathe a little easier.

Maybe I can do this, after all. Max is safe at home, and maybe tonight it won’t bother me to have someone’s hands on me.

Maybe tonight I can have seventeen minutes with Nate.

“Okay,” I tell him, before I can change my mind. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, stepping closer still.

“Wait,” I say sharply, the skin on my arms tingling as though he’s already touched me. “I…could you not put your hands all over me, please? Maybe just…”

I trail off, realizing the futility of trying to ask someone to blow me but to do it without actually touching me. This isn’t going to work. I open my mouth to tell him I changed my mind and need to leave, but he speaks up before I have the chance.

“How about you put my hands where you want them,” he offers without missing a beat. He’s close enough now that I can smell him.

“Okay. Thanks.” Relieved, and now embarrassed, I glance once more at the shed.

Awkwardly, I take a step toward the corner of the yard. I so rarely do this, the steps are eluding me. Do I just walk back into the shadows and take my pants off? This right here is why hooking up isn’t worth it—I feel like a fucking idiot.

Nate, who exudes capability and easy confidence, holds his hand out as though he’s going to touch my back.

He doesn’t, though; instead, hovering it there, centimeters from making contact.

I feel the touch anyway, burning through my shirt like a brand.

Silently, we walk over to the shed and around the corner.

Feeling ridiculous and annoyed at myself, I reach for him and pull him in by his hips as my back thumps softly against the hard wall of the shed.

It’s dark and private, and so much easier to be brave back here.

Willing my stomach to stay settled, I brush tentative fingers across his cheek and down his neck.

Nate, equally as hesitant, touches the side of my hip, above my clothes.

“Can I?” he asks. I nod, before realizing he probably can’t see me in the dark.

“Yes.”

Still moving carefully, perhaps not feeling quite as confident as he was in the well-lit yard, he unhooks my belt.

When he opens the button on my jeans, his knuckles brush against my stomach and I wait for the inevitable disgust and recoil that seems to happen every time someone touches me these days. It never comes.

Nate, who’s little more than a shadowy form, tucks his hands into the pockets of my jeans and waits. He hasn’t tried to kiss me, and I wonder about that for only a second before giving myself a firm mental shake. We’re just hooking up. No need to make this more than it is.

“Can I?” he asks again.

“If you’re sure. You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.

In answer, he tugs my pants to my ankles, following them down until he’s on his knees in front of me.

When he reaches up to do the same with my boxers, I feel a moment of unreality wash over me.

We’re in a backyard, for fuck’s sake, where anyone could walk outside and see us.

A straight man is about to give me a blowjob. This is insane.

Nate’s breath is warm on my thigh as my boxers join my pants around my ankles.

When I look down, I can just make out the slope of his shoulders and the pale glow of his skin.

It’s dark and secluded back here, which I suppose I should be grateful for since we’re currently breaking public indecency laws.

Mostly, though, I’m just sad I can no longer see his face.

“Marcos,” he says softly, my name seeming to float bodiless out of the night. The way he says it, voice low and breath warm against my stomach, thrums through me like a jolt of electricity. “Where can I…”

Christ. He’s waiting for me to tell him where he can put his damn hands. Luckily—given the fact that I touched his face without any adverse reactions—I think I’m having a good night. I touch my fingers to the tops of his shoulders.

“Give me your hands,” I request, and then bring them to my hips after he complies. He inhales a single sharp breath and spreads his fingers out.

“Okay,” he says, and shuffles a little bit closer.

I stand quietly, waiting for Nate to get his bearings or decide that maybe this isn’t for him after all.

I’m surprised he’s gone this far, honestly.

Even more surprised when he leans forward and presses his mouth to my shaft, coasting his lips across my skin.

I jerk at the contact, not having been able to see him coming.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to do that.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “ That is what we are here for.”

Apparently feeling more confident, he does it again, trailing his lips over me before gently placing his mouth around the head of my dick and giving an experimental lick of his tongue.

I close my eyes. It’s been a long, long time since someone has done this to me, and nobody has done it quite this way—soft, tentative, and gentle.

He’s not trying to impress me, or rush to the finish.

He’s taking his time, learning his limits, and slowly taking me apart.

When the tip of his tongue grazes a particularly sensitive area, I moan before I have the presence of mind to bite my lip. Someone could walk out into the backyard at any time, and I don’t need to give anyone reasons to investigate this particular corner.

Nate’s hands remain planted firmly on my hips, fingers spread wide and palms pressing me back against the wood of the shed.

Using only his mouth, he angles his head and begins experimenting on just how deep he can go.

I can feel the wet slide of saliva as he carefully hollows his cheeks, and the tip of my cock bumps against the roof of his mouth.

I’m going to bite through my lip, with how hard I’m trying to hold myself back from making noise.

Needing something to hold on to, I touch my fingers to the top of his head. I keep it light on purpose, not wanting to scare him into thinking I’m going to hold his head down. He makes a soft noise of approval. Threading my fingers in, I just rest my hand there as he lowers his head once more.

This time he gags when I hit the back of his throat and he immediately jolts backward, letting me slide from his mouth so he can catch his breath. When I feel his forehead resting on my thigh, I nearly come from the intimacy of the gesture.

“This is hard ,” he mutters. I knead his scalp a little bit, letting the soft strands of his hair trail between my fingers.

“You’re doing good, but you can stop if you want,” I whisper back .

“I don’t want to stop,” he says, lifting his head.

He starts the same way he did before, running his tongue along the underside of my dick, before curling his lips around the tip.

My entire abdomen feels like it’s on fire, and my legs are actively shaking at this point.

Intimacy has always been difficult for me, and this feels particularly so.

Nate’s palms, pushed firmly against my pelvis, are the only thing keeping me standing.

Instead of attempting to deep throat again, he licks and kisses his way down my cock, taking a slight detour to the crease of my groin, before tonguing my balls. This time, not even biting my lip can hold back my groan.

“Mierda,” I mutter helplessly, as he does it again.

I can feel his lips curve up in a smile from where they’re pressed against me. Nobody touching my skin has ever felt this good. Nate kisses his way back up to the head, and sucks me back into the warmth of his mouth. Fuck .

“I’m going to come,” I warn him. Really, I’m surprised it’s taken me this long. This is both the most inexpert and sexiest blowjob I’ve ever received. My entire body feels like it’s been electrocuted. “Nate, pull off, I’m going to come.”

He doesn’t listen, and instead makes a low humming noise that has me exploding into his mouth almost violently. Again, his hands are the only thing keeping me standing as he swallows me down, choking slightly as he tries to manage.

Nate pulls away, letting me slide from his mouth, and slowly tugs my boxers back up my legs.

It’s a painfully sweet gesture, and makes my face flush with heat.

When he does the same with my pants and then rises to standing, I’m suddenly grateful for the dark.

I can’t see his face, but the small intake of breath lets me know he’s about to speak .

A timer goes off, the jingle blaringly loud in the peaceful silence of our corner of the yard.

“Fuck,” Nate mutters, pulling his cellphone out and silencing the alarm. “Micky.”

Seventeen minutes , I remember him saying—seventeen minutes until he had to leave. His phone screen is still lit up, which lends a little visibility where there hadn’t been any before. He’s looking at me, and I’m looking back at him; I know both of us are thinking the same thing.

What the fuck do we do now?

“I’d better go?” He breaks the silence, but it’s clear he’s not sure if he’s telling me or asking.

“Yeah,” I agree. “You don’t want to keep your friend waiting.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, but maintains eye contact until the screen of his phone goes dark.

Silently, he leaves the yard. It’s not until he’s gone back inside that I check my own phone, pulling up Max’s tracker and watching it move steadily down a street several blocks away from our apartment.

I thump my head back against the wall of the shed.

My seventeen minutes are up and it’s back to the real world.