Page 42 of The Frathole

“You think too much.”

He’s not wrong.

“Have you decided to go back to being a fucking asshole?” I ask.

He sits up, getting right in my face, so close I’m waiting for him to plant another one on me, when he says, “Dude, whatever it is, it’s not a big deal. Would it be so terrible if you were into guys and girls?”

“Not really, I guess.”

“And I might be too, but we don’t have to put a label on it in one night.”

He’s right for a change, but that’s not really my thing, and without his lips pressed against mine, I’m already starting to spiral, reflecting on my other experiences with guys, searching for clues that might have indicated interest that I haven’t perceived that way.

“In case you haven’t met me, I don’t love uncertainty,” I say.

“Then I’ll have to help you get some clarity around this later. Besides, I’m starting to question my initial conclusion. You could use some work on your form.” The playfulness in his expression suggests he doesn’t think that’s even a little bit true. Here’s the Ryan I’m more familiar with.

“Oh, really?” I say. “At what point did you determine that?”

“Probably when you were pinning my wrists and nibbling away at my lips like your life depended on it.”

“Is that why you were moaning into my mouth?”

“I was trying to make you feel better.”

Liar.

“I’ll bet,” I say, inching toward him, getting my lips close enough to earn a look that assures me he doesn’t have any issue with however I was working my mouth. “If I’m so bad, then you need a break from these sloppy kisses.”

His jaw stiffens. Even though we’re teasing, I can tell he’s being serious when he says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He offers another peck but lingers before slipping his tongue out and sliding it along my bottom lip.

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, I told you earlier it’s all about practice.”

I chuckle into his mouth before he kisses me again. I kiss him right back, appreciating that once again it helps diffuse all the questions that would otherwise feel overwhelming.

What the fuck are we doing? I fucking hate this guy, but tonight he’s actually been cool with me. Very generous with helpingme work this out. And his skin against mine…Jesus, nothing beats it.

Ryan finally pries himself away, grunting in a way that makes my cock twitch. That’s definitely not a straight reaction. But this guy could probably have chemistry with a house plant. He’s sex on legs.

He groans. “I do think we need to get to bed. Feel like I’ve done a proper assessment and this will help me with your Angie situation. But don’t forget you still owe me tango lessons.”

Angie? Tango? That’s how we wound up in this confusing mess to begin with.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say.

“Night, Mart,” he says, licking up my lips before rolling off the bed.

He plops down on his air mattress, and I collapse back in bed, resting my hand on my chest as I stare at the ceiling.

How the hell am I gonna get any sleep after all that?

Although, I figure the answer is: I probably won’t.

*

“Marty, where didyou head off to last night?” Lance asks as I step into the kitchen. In only pajama bottoms, he strokes Frat Cat with one hand and eats cereal with the other.