Page 24 of Summer Skin

“WOULD YOU STILLdate me if I didn”t have any hands?”

Tyler says this with a completely straight face as he stares deeply into Justin’s eyes.

“Of course,” Justin immediately replies.

“I couldn’t jerk you off, but I”d use my mouth or ass to make you come.”

“Or your feet maybe?”

Oh goodie. They’re playing the ‘but would you love me’ game to prove to each other exactly how much they’re meant to be.

The lovebirds are seated on the sofa, no more than an inch apart, all over each other like there”s not a dozen other people taking up space in the living room around them. Justin”s hand seems to be almost absentmindedly creeping up Tyler”s shirt, and Tyler”s fingers are clasped around Justin”s bicep like it”s a prize he”s just won at the county fair.

That”s a new relationship for you. Can”t see the world around you through horny-colored glasses.

“Hey, dudes,” Aven says, making a point to squeeze his way in between the two of them. Mostly because it”s fun to give Tyler and Justin shit, but also because he actually wants to catch up, not just watch a live sex show.

The fact that watching the two of them get naked and sweaty with each other is an actual thing people can do on Justin’s live cam channel is still something Aven tries to pretend he doesn’t know. Mostly because there’s a tiny part of him that’s dying to tune in. What can he say? They’re both hot as hell.

For a moment, it looks like Tyler might actually cross over Aven’s lap to resume contact with Justin. But his gaze snaps to Aven instead, and a genuine smile grows on his face. “Hi.”

“How was the tour?” Justin asks. “Are you 100% more rock star?”

Justin carries an absurd amount of faith in Aven making a career out of music, but if anything, the tour made him feel like even more of a failure. What with coming back home to a distinct lack of booking any new shows.

“Uh. Not exactly? Maybe gained, like, two percent on the rock star scale, but I figure I probably went negative on those points somewhere between the airport and pulling on these sweatpants.” He hadn’t bothered getting dressed to come downstairs.

“I bet you got laid a lot?” Justin offers.

He did. But that’s never been a problem.

“Perks of the job,” Aven tells them.

“Meet anyone in particular?”

Sometimes it’s like squeezing water from a rock to get Tyler to wrap his head around the fact that Aven doesn’t want the same monogamous thing he’s got. Sex, relationships, and love, or the lack of any of them, come in avariety of shapes and sizes, each one as valid as the next. Aven’s not looking for commitment, he”s looking for no strings attached sex. Period.

“Maybe you and Chase will—”

“Oh my god, Tyler, no. Stop.”

A spark of hurt flashes in Tyler’s eyes, and Aven leans over, giving him a soft nudge. “Sorry, man. But I’m not looking for that sort of thing. You get that, right? Not everyone wants romance.”

“Shit,” Tyler says, running a hand through his hair. “I do. Sorry. I’m so happy with Justin, I just …”

“What?”

“Want that for you too?”

Tyler’s so earnestly adorable that it’s hard to be annoyed at him for mother-henning over Aven’s love life. “I’m all good,” Aven assures him. And it’s kinda true. Besides being pretty sure he peaked in high school, currently feeling hopeless about any foreseeable career in music, aaaand the whole being forced into living with the ex who smashed his heart into pieces thing.

Speaking of the ghost from his past, Chase and his guitar are nowhere to be seen. Looks like he put on an early living room show and retired to his bedroom for the night.

Maybe not alone, a taunting voice whispers in Aven’s head.

Shut up,he tells himself. Who cares if Chase is fucking someone else?

You do.

Nope.

Yes. You do. And you always will.

***

After twenty minutes or so of catching up with Tyler and Justin—most of which was devoted to a not entirely fascinating tale of a seahorse rescue Justin brought into his home aquarium—Aven pulls himself off the couch, making his way to the fridge for another beer.

Twisting off the bottle cap, he pauses at the door to the kitchen, knowing it’s time to find Ben and Veena and make an effort to be thankful for this party they pulled together. But he needs a second. A moment alone to gather himself before putting on a smile for his friends.

With a soft click of the front door behind him, Aven steps out onto the covered deck. It’s a familiar space, one he’s often visited to clear his head, reclining in the porch swing, enjoying the gentle sway created by the push of his feet.

But tonight, there’s already someone in Aven’s spot. Someone whose features he knows well enough, even in the soft cover of night, to recognize at once.

“You still smoke?” Aven doesn’t mean to ask. Doesn’t mean to say anything at all. Andi’s advice plays in his head and he knows he should turn around and walk right back inside.

But.

As ever, there’s an invisible string drawing him towards this man that he’s powerless to resist.

Looking up, Chase exhales slowly, blowing the smoke away from Aven, out the opposite side of his mouth. He was always that way, thoughtful of other’s feelings.

Until he wasn’t.

“No,” Chase answers after a pause. “Not really. Only when I’m stressed.”

He watches Aven for a moment, gaze traveling over him like he’s reading the years since they last met. A few beats later he spins the pack of cigarettes sitting on the seat of the swing in Aven’s direction. “You want?”

He’s smoking Camel Lights, just like in high school, and when Aven gets a strong whiff of tobacco smoke, he’s snapped right back in time. From his first cigarette—disgusting as fuck—to meeting Chase and Brooklyn each morning to light up before class.

Aven knows beyond a shadow of any sort of doubt that he should decline. If for no other reason than he only quit smoking a little over a month ago, after a late-night intervention by his roommates that involved some fairly graphic photos of lung disease and a threat from Ben to never prepare his beloved queso dip for the house ever again.

But it’s Chase Matthews offering, which is something Aven never thought he’d have again.

At least not in this lifetime.

With a resigned sigh, Aven pulls a smoke from the pack, and, ignoring the seat next to Chase, he leans against the porch rail, lighting up.

The first inhale creates a perfect buzz of pleasure, and Aven relaxes a bit, meeting Chase’s watchful gaze. There’s a look on his face like he’s waiting for Aven to decide what comes next.

Good.

Chase should feel nervous. There’s a lot to answer for.

Then Chase slowly melts back into his seat, his expression closing off as he takes another long drag from his cigarette, looking somewhere across the street. There’s a dash of mystery about him—god knows what he’s seen these last few years and where he’s been—an air of unmistakable coolness that Aven could never pull off. There’s too much fire roaring through his veins. That’s one thing about Chase, he was the only one besides Andi who’d ever been able to cool him off.

There’s a sudden part of Aven that wants to demand Chase acknowledge his past crimes. A desperate need for a real answer of where they went wrong.

But it doesn’t really matter, does it? There’s no way to crawl back in time and change what happened, no way to repair their relationship and get back everything they lost.

Besides, Chase is no longer the tender, soulful boy Aven fell in love with. There’s a collected look in his eyes he never wore as a teen. Their breakup obviously hasn’t held the same weight for him as it has for Aven.

He knows what Andi said, but he has to …

“What are you doing here, Chase?” he asks, flicking ashes into his half-full bottle of beer.

“Just having a smoke,” Chase says, with a sideways smile, like the question was nothing more than a joke.

Squaring his shoulders, Aven tries not to get drawn in to that familiar grin on Chase’s mouth. “I’m serious. What are you doing in my home?”

Chase lets a long exhale of smoke up into the abnormally warm spring night sky. “I left Paranormal Romance,” he tells Aven after a beat.

All these years later, hearing the band’s name still sends a clench of white-hot anger through Aven’s gut. As far as he’s concerned, Paranormal Romance can take a dive off a cliff. “Haven’t really followed the band,” he says, attempting to keep his tone even.

“Didn’t really expect you to keep up with the career of,” his eyes flick to Aven’s and away, “some guy you went to high school with.”

Ouch. Despite the fact that’s nearly exactly how Aven described their relationship a few hours ago to his roommates, those words feel like a stinging slap coming from the only person he’s ever loved.

Jabbing the rest of the cigarette into his beer, Aven stands up straight, locking his arms across his chest. Chase is examining the bottle he holds in his own hands as though it contains the secrets to life after death, picking at the edge of the label with the edge of a fingernail. And, seriously, what in the actual fuck is he doing here? After all these years without so much as a single word.

“You must have known I live here,” he presses. “My roommates would have told you when they interviewed you for the room.”

“They never mentioned your name until after I moved in.” He won’t meet Aven’s eyes. “Just said there was a third roommate who was on tour and would be into having someone else in the house who plays guitar.”

“And you were fine with it once you found out it was me?”

“Aven …” He raises his chin to meet Aven’s gaze, and there’s a pained look in his eyes. A look that says he doesn’t know how to answer that.

A beat goes by, then another, and Aven can feel the drum of his heart picking up speed. And dammit. He wants a real answer.

“I know you have enough rock star money piled up at this point to live somewhere other than a creaky old house with three roommates,” Aven challenges.

A heavy sigh leaves Chase’s chest, and he pushes up from the seat of the swing, putting mere inches between the two of them. It’s the closest they’ve been since the last night they spent together, tangled in each other’s arms like they had all the time and promise in the world, and Aven’s heart leaps at the picture of memory.

If he reached out … if he reached out, he could pull Chase in, lock their lips together and kiss him senseless. Lick the taste of smoke from his mouth until all that’s left is pure, addictive Chase.

Goddamn.

“You don’t know everything, Sinclair,” Chase tells him, taking a step back, putting distance between them. Pouring water over the wildfire burning inside Aven’s mind.

And ain’t that the truth. Aven doesn’t know much of anything as far as Chase Matthews is concerned. Not anymore. But he knows enough to not let himself get sucked back under this man’s spell.

Nothing good could ever come of that.

“Yeah, alright,” he decides. Chase wants to play it mysterious and cool, fine. “Welcome to The Riot Grrrls Next Door,” he tells Chase, clapping him on the shoulder, as if he means it. As though they could ever be friends. With one last look at Chase, he forces the corner of his mouth to lift, then he turns, strolling lazily back inside.

If there’s one game Aven knows he can win between them, it’s being the last to blink.