Page 9

I fidget at that, remembering the eager, hungry expression on Nate’s face when I walked out of the locker room. I didn’t know how to find you , he’d said, as though he’d been looking all week.

“Yeah. We talked a little bit,” I reply carefully.

“You’re terrible at making friends,” Max says around a laugh, smiling at me when I scowl at him. “Come on, you know it’s true. You have one friend, Marcos, and that’s me.”

“I only need one friend,” I grumble.

“Well, I like Nate,” he says, making the words sound more meaningful than they are. Like he’s trying to tell me something important.

“Okay.” My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I think of several things I want to say before discarding them all and settling on, “I’ll probably never run into him again.”

Max doesn’t say anything to that, and I let him have his silence as it’s more comfortable for me as well.

I want to talk to him about Luke, but the timing feels wrong—like I’d be distracting him from my strange love life to talk about his.

As always, it’s easier to say nothing at all, so that’s what I do.

At midnight, I hear a soft cry and jolt awake.

Sitting up, I throw off the covers and leave my room.

Barefoot, I step softly through the dark apartment until I reach Max’s closed door.

I stand there for a few minutes, ears straining as I listen for any sounds.

When I hear soft gasping noises, I tap my fingers gently on the door.

“Max? You okay? ”

I can hear him walking toward the door, so I take a step backward, not wanting him to know I was standing there with my ear pressed to the wood. Light spills under the door seconds before he opens it, rubbing sleepily at his eyes and hair standing on end.

“Sorry,” he mumbles immediately, as though it bothers me that he’s woken me up.

“That’s all right. You okay?”

He sighs. I don’t know why I’m even asking—he never answers truthfully, and I know he’s not okay.

“Yeah, just a bad dream,” he says, which is honestly more than I get from him most times this happens. I decide to push my luck.

“Want to put a game on? I can make some…tea, or something.” I try to think if we even have tea in the cupboard.

If not, I can always run to Wal-Mart and get some.

Max thinks about this offer for a second, leaning a shoulder wearily against the doorframe.

God, he looks so tired —pale and haggard, like something is sucking away his life force.

“No, I think I’m going to go back to bed. Thanks, though.”

I nod and take another step back, hoping he can actually fall back asleep. I’ve already decided I won’t wake him for class tomorrow morning if he sleeps past the time we usually get up. He needs a day off.

“All right. Sleep good.”

When I get back to my room, I sit on the edge of my bed in the dark, bare feet scuffing along the wood floor.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep now, or at least not for a bit.

Not when I’d be lying here, ears cocked for the smallest sound from Max’s room.

I never feel well-rested anymore. I never really sleep .

It’s as though my toes are just skimming the surface, but I never fully jump in.

Always on a hair trigger, in case Max needs me.

Sliding back under the covers, I reach over to grab my phone. There’s a text waiting for me from Nate, directly underneath the one he’d sent earlier, when we’d exchanged numbers.

Nate

Hi, this is Nate :)

Are you awake?

I check the time, noting that the second message was only sent half an hour ago.

Biting my lip, I rest my phone down on my stomach and look up at the dark ceiling.

I should ignore it. There’s only one reason someone might text at midnight, and I don’t know whether I should indulge in that or not.

Tapping my fingers idly, I think about dinner tonight, and the way Nate listened as I talked.

The way he got Max to smile, and the way he pressed his leg against mine beneath the table.

Mostly, I think about those impossible, grass-green eyes.

Picking up my phone, I text back before I can talk myself out of it.

Marcos

Yeah, I’m up.

Nate

Can I call you?

This makes me pause again. Max’s room is far enough away that he probably wouldn’t be able to hear me talking, and I could make sure to keep my voice down. But do I want to talk to Nate?

Yes, I realize with surprise. The answer to that is unequivocally yes.

Marcos

Sure.

My phone rings barely thirty seconds later, the screen lighting up my dark room. Rolling over onto my side so my back is toward the door, I answer it.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Thanks for answering,” he replies, which makes me feel a little bad. Max was right when he said I wasn’t good at making friends. Apparently, Nate’s already picked up on that.

“I have to be quiet,” I mutter. “I don’t want to disturb Max.”

“Same. Atlas is home tonight and his room shares a wall with mine. A thin wall.”

“Did you need something?” I ask, because I’m not even sure why he wanted to have this call in the first place.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says immediately, as though the answer was obvious.

I breathe in and out a few times, trying to think of a response that doesn’t start with are you fucking with me . With Nate’s own soft breathing coming through the phone, closing my eyes makes it feel like he’s lying in the bed next to me.

“Okay. What did you want to talk about?”

He laughs softly. “I don’t know. I just like the way you talk. Tell me something in Spanish.”

“Creo que tu interés en mí es demasiado bueno para ser verdad y estoy esperando que te des cuenta de que no soy lo suficientemente bueno,” I whisper, and Nate groans .

“That is so sexy,” he says. “What did you say?”

“Nothing important.”

“If I ask you to go out on a date with me, are you going to say no?”

It’s my turn to laugh, turning my face into the pillow to muffle the noise. “Probably. Why do you even want to? Don’t you have, like, a dozen better options?”

He scoffs. “Maybe you’re my better option.”

I’m nobody’s better option, but it feels maudlin to say so out loud.

“Maybe,” I respond noncommittally. I don’t have the bandwidth to date someone in earnest right now. Not with things the way they are with Max, and the baseball season in full swing. Nate deserves someone who can give him more than a third of their attention.

“What are you doing? Are you in bed?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah.”

“Same.” A short pause before he speaks again, in a different tone than before. “Thinking about you.”

My eyebrows rise, and I roll over onto my back, resting one hand on my abdomen.

I’m only wearing boxer shorts, so my skin pebbles with the cool temperature of the room.

I have the very distinct feeling that I’m about to have phone sex for the first time, and have to fight the urge to clear my throat.

How the hell does someone go about this without sounding like a dumbass?

“What are you thinking about?” I ask softly, feeling embarrassed and already a little bit horny. Nate makes a low humming noise that makes my toes curl.

“I’m thinking that you worked so hard tonight, and you’re probably tired after the game.” Nate’s voice drops another octave, and takes on a slow, syrupy quality like he’s trying to lull me to sleep. “I think you might need some help with that.”

I swallow, hand idly trailing downward toward the waistband of my boxers. “How would you help?”

“You tell me, Marcos.” I slam my eyes shut at the way my name just sounded in that smooth, sinful voice. “Can I touch you, tonight?”

“No,” I whisper, wondering if that’s going to be the end of this game. But Nate merely hums again, deep in his throat like he finds that answer arousing.

“You’ll have to take off your own clothes, but I don’t mind. I like to watch.”

Jesus . Roughly, I shove my boxers down far enough that I can wiggle them off and flick them across the room with my foot. I haven’t touched myself, and I’m already painfully hard. Cupping the base of my dick, I try to level my voice before responding.

“I’m naked.”

“I’m not, yet, but there’s no rush. I’d like to look at you—just look. You’re lovely, aren’t you?” His voice is hypnotic, never changing tone or volume. He could convince me to do anything in the world, as long as he asked for it like this. “Look at you, spread out and beautiful.”

Obediently, I spread my legs across the bed, unable to stop myself from reaching down and cupping my balls. I don’t want to touch myself before he tells me, because I have a feeling I’m going to come the moment I do.

“I want to see you, too,” I whisper, throat dry and scratchy like it hasn’t seen water in days. I feel like I already can see him, his face crystal clear in my mind.

“All right,” he purrs. “I’m naked, standing at the foot of the bed. Just watching. I get to see you tonight. All of you. I’m stroking myself slowly, the same way you are.”

A very low moan catches in my throat as I give myself one deliberate stroke.

Eyes closed, I picture him standing there by my bed, looming over me, naked.

I didn’t get to see or touch any part of him last week, but my imagination has no trouble filling in those blanks.

Nate’s body is as beautiful as his face.

“Not so fast, now,” he says on a breath, and I relax my movements. “You’re sensitive on the head, aren’t you, Marcos? Use your thumb—a little bit firmer than that—there you go. Slide your hand down, nice and slow. Good boy.”

Biting my lip at the erotic way those two words sounded when breathed directly in my ear, I repeat the movement, pressing my thumb into the slit on the upstroke and gathering the precum.

Nate’s breathing has picked up enough for me to know I’m not the only participant here, and the realization is almost enough to have me coming right then.

“Not too fast, Marcos,” he soothes, when my breathing picks up in time with my hand.

I slow down—all autonomy gone in the wake of that voice and how good I feel right now.

“I’ve thought about you this week. About the way you sound when you’re trying to make no noise at all; the way you felt in my mouth.

I’ve thought about doing that again, but in the light. ”

“Fuck,” I mumble, back arching off the bed as I dig my heels into the mattress. It doesn’t matter how hard or fast I’m jerking myself right now—I’m going to come soon, coaxed along by every word he says.

“I thought about how hard you tried to hold yourself back. The way your thighs shook; the way you tasted when you finally let go. I thought about doing it again and again and again. ”

Without Nate to tell me to slow down, I’ve picked up speed until I’m working myself at an almost punishing rate.

He’s panting in my ear, and my fingers are aching where I’m holding the phone tighter than necessary.

I think about the way his hands had felt on the bare skin of my thighs as I come, biting my lip so hard I can taste blood.

His breathing becomes choppy and sporadic, and I wish I could say anything half as erotic as the words he whispered to me.

Instead, I give myself a final few strokes as I listen to the muffled sounds of him coming.

Any embarrassment I felt at the beginning is long gone, leaving only comfort and a deep relaxation in its wake.

Sitting up, I walk to the bathroom to wash my hands, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder so I don’t miss anything from Nate.

I take a moment to listen for Max, thankful when I’m met with nothing but silence.

Nate is quiet, his continued presence on the other end of the phone evident only by the soft, panting breaths as he comes down from his orgasm.

I drop the phone only long enough to slide into bed and roll back into the fetal position.

I’m pleasantly tired all of a sudden, and feeling more than a little fond of Nate.

Also, a little ashamed of my phone-sex game.

“Nate?”

He breathes in at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”

“Sorry I’m bad at phone sex.” He laughs, the sound explosive and far louder than anything else we’ve done tonight. I almost smile to hear it.

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re great at phone sex. I just painted my ceiling with cum.”

“Okay, that’s disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose as he laughs again. “Seriously, though, you’re really good at that. ”

“I was just talking. It wasn’t hard. Pretty much just told you all the things I’ve been fantasizing about all week.”

“Mm,” I hum, tendrils of awkwardness creeping over me once more. I’m way out of my depth here.

“Tired, now,” he mumbles, shifting around in his sheets. The thought of him curled up in bed has heat of a different kind coiling warm in my stomach.

“Me too,” I agree, and I really am. I feel relaxed enough to sleep until morning, a phenomenon so rare these days it makes my throat feel tight.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promises.

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks for…calling.” Great, now I’m thanking him for the phone-sex performance. I bite my lip to keep any other stupid shit from coming out.

I hang up, and on a whim, climb out of bed and creep back down the hall to Max’s door. I sit there for a few minutes, listening, relieved when I can hear the soft pattern of his breathing. He’s asleep.

When I get back into bed, I check my phone again before plugging it in and placing it on the nightstand.

Tomorrow, I need to talk to Max about Luke again.

Maybe talk to Luke, too, if I can manage it.

Nate, definitely. He hardly knows me, and it’s not fair for me to be leading him on.

I’m not the kind of person who gets to be with someone like him.

I’m antisocial, uncommunicative, and I don’t like being touched.

I let someone hurt the one person in the world I truly love.

No. Nate deserves far better than what he’ll find with me, and I need to make sure he knows it.