Getting Him Back (3 page)

Here being Coborn College, seventy miles from anything resembling a city—and that was if you have a car. Without a car, it was a bouncing series of bus transfers to every tiny town along the way. But who would want to leave Coborn College, populated by the stars of their three-years-undefeated soccer team, the rest of the jocks getting their physical education degrees, the stuck-up fine arts students and the miniscule fraction of nerds in the college’s super competitive computer science program? Apparently just me. Who fit into those groups exactly nowhere.

I hit Repeat on my playlist and rolled over on my too-short dorm bed. I hadn’t stared at the ceiling in at least twenty minutes. Maybe something had changed.

Someone banged on my door. Probably looking for my roommate, Connor, who, despite being a supersmart computer nerd, actually had a social life.

“Not here,” I yelled.

“Ethan, that’s just stupid. I can hear you.”

I rolled off the bed and dragged the door open to find Makayla.

“What’s up?” I asked her.

“I can’t take another round of your whiny-ass, love-is-dead playlist.”

“Sorry. I’ll put my headphones on.”

“No, you won’t.”

Things had slipped my mind a bit these past few weeks, but I’d still made it to most of my classes and work-study at Res Life and I’d even turned in the first round of bullshit journal entries on the crap we were reading for educational sociology. I could totally manage remembering to put my headphones on in the time it took to cross the room.

“I got it. Really.”

I started to close the door but she jumped inside.

“I mean no because we’re going out.”

I blinked at her. I’d already had to explain that I wasn’t the kind of gay man who could help her pick out clothes or decorate her dorm room. I didn’t paint nails or do hair. I could teach her how to suck cock maybe, but since I’d only known her a few weeks I hadn’t offered that. Yet. If she kept bugging me, I was going to buy a giant dildo and leave it on my desk.

“It’s Saturday night,” she added, as if that made a big difference.

Now that she mentioned it, the halls had been a bit rowdy and from the usual blast of fireworks, I was guessing the soccer team won. Again.

“Out where?” I narrowed my eyes.

She sighed and sat on my bed, leaving me to fold my arms and hunch awkwardly at my desk. Makayla hadn’t seemed to grasp that I was enduring life. Not looking to be a part of it.

“I get that you had a major breakup, but the only way to get over it is to get out and get back on the—”

“Cock?” I suggested. I was irritated enough to be rude.

She laughed. “That could work. I bet he would hate seeing you with someone else.”

One day Makayla had found me in the lounge venting my frustrations on some calculus problems I was supposed to be turning in. Calculus, because I’d need to teach that to first-graders. Half-afraid she’d call mobile crisis—I was silently screaming while I shredded papers—I confided the whole mess to her, not mentioning Blake by name or his connection with the beloved soccer team. After offering to have him killed, because she was from Philly and knew people, she’d hugged me and almost made me cry.

But knowing the situation didn’t give her a pass to jump in and try to fix it.

The only thing that would fix it is for Blake to get over whatever was up his ass and come crawling back. I’d make him beg for a bit. But then we’d get on with things the way they were supposed to be.

There was no way he woke up one day and fell out of love with me. And everything had been fine before he left to come back here.

Though she did have a good idea. I’d have died if I had to watch Blake with someone else.

“What kind of
out
are we talking?” I asked.

“Off-campus party.”

Which meant alcohol.

“Who?” Because we were talking about limited social possibilities in this student pool. I’d seen plenty of gay guys on campus, but they were all part of the fine arts crew. They wore only black and didn’t speak to anyone boring enough to be getting an education degree.

“Mixed.”

I stared at her, injecting a faux horror into my voice. “I thought it was strictly against Campus Code of Conduct for any of the factions to intermingle.”

She rolled her eyes. “You really need to leave the room more often. Besides. It’s off campus. Anything can happen.”

I wasn’t a big drinker. Not because of rules or stuff like that. I’d never liked the taste enough to get drunk. But in the kitchen of the house where Makayla and her roommate, Whitney, took me, there was a battered, barrel-shaped cooler on the counter. It had one of those plastic taps sticking out near the base, where you pushed a button and got water or lemonade. But in this case, it dispensed something just purple enough to not be black. Something that tasted sweet like Kool-Aid, but the burn in my throat told me it had alcohol in it too. Probably a good thing considering how much bacteria could be inside of that old thing.

Anyway, I’d definitely found my drink. After two cups, I relaxed enough to stop thinking about how sticky the floor was, how smoky it was, how likely we were to all get arrested because there were way too many people drinking and being loud in this house. I even spotted my roommate, Connor, who looked surprised to see me before he went back to talking to some girl.

As I pretended to give a shit about life while standing with Makayla, I felt eyes on me. The type of gaze that makes you brace your hips and shoulders to show off. I didn’t look right away.

“Someone is totally checking you out.” Makayla said.

“I know.” Two—no, three cups of the purple stuff made me confident and almost happy.

“Well, if you hook up, don’t worry about us. Whitney said there’s no way she’s walking back in her heels so we’re getting a cab.”

Lucky me, there was a window that gave me a good look at the guy’s reflection. Blond, buzzed-off sides and gelled curls on top. Like the way I wore mine but way blonder. Baby face. Cute mole by his mouth. Body...hard to tell because his clothes were loose. I knew he caught me looking at him because his reflection smiled and wow.

I was already warm, now I was hot. If I was going to try something with the guy with the smile and the mole, I was going to need another drink.

Then the soccer team walked in.

I made for my cooler full of purple stuff.

After a few gulps of my new favorite beverage, I knew I could do this. I could be smooth—or what passed for it with my klutzy self—smile at the blond guy and act like I didn’t give a shit what Blake did.

I finished off what was left in my cup and refilled it. The hallway back to the living room seemed longer than I remembered, but I managed it. Didn’t trip once.

Blond guy was gone. Blake was gone too, though I knew he’d come in with the rest of the soccer guys. I knew him. His hair, his shoulders, everything about the way he stood. My body knew him, tingling, wanting to touch him.

Some people were dancing between the couch and the front window. I saw Makayla in that group, bouncing along, smiling, despite having expressed her dislike of the “
unimaginative repetitive nature of this song
” more than once.

After another lap of the front rooms, I knew I’d missed my chance with that blond guy with the sweet mouth. At least I still had my cup of purple stuff. Damn, it was hot in here. I went out onto the porch and sucked in some air.

Someone pressed up against me from behind, tall enough to whisper in my ear, but I didn’t need the voice to know it was Blake. My skin—my dick—knew him.

He slung an arm around my shoulders. “I miss you.”

God, I missed him too.

But the thick weight against my hip was probably motivating him more than anything else.

I turned. “You mean your dick misses me.”

He shrugged and then grinned. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

It was dark, but I didn’t need much light to read his face. The way his smile and eyes pleaded and promised.

I wanted to drop to my knees and blow him right there. Instead, I tipped the cup to my mouth.

Blake’s hand covered mine, and he pulled the cup toward his lips. “What are you drinking?” He drank, his throat moving in a way that made me lick my lips.

His eyes went wide, and he released the cup. “Jesus. That’s some serious shit.”

“I like it.” I showed him by finishing off what was left.

“Didn’t think drinking was your thing.”

“And I didn’t expect you to dump me after I followed you here.”

He looked away. Good. He actually looked embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

There was so fucking much he shouldn’t have said I needed some clarification. “Said what?”

“That I missed you.” He put a hand on my face, thumb resting on my mouth. “But I do.”

I could blame the liquor, but it was the need in his voice that got me. I licked his thumb. Lapped up all the salt taste then drew it into my mouth, swirling my tongue over it. My hand held his wrist to keep him there, and he used that to pull me closer, easing his thumb out of my mouth before replacing it with his lips and tongue.

My dick was slower to respond than usual. But it was getting there. I followed his tongue back into his mouth, and I swore I could taste how he made me feel. Special. Sexy. Wanted.

So when he held my hand and pulled me off the porch, I followed him then too.

Chapter 3

Blake’s wasn’t the first dick I’d ever had in my mouth, but I’d thought it would be the last. Except for a mutually approved threesome that was probably more likely in fantasy than reality.

So when we got back to his dorm room, I was determined to show him exactly what he’d been missing about this particular skill of mine. It was easy to see which side of the room was his. Blake had always been a slob. I glanced at the neatly made bed on the other side.

“Probably at the library,” Blake said. “Or the lab. Making meth. He is from West Virginia.” He found that funny and was still smirking when I pushed him onto his bed, on top of a pile of clothes.

I dropped to my knees between his legs.

He leaned up on his elbows. “You’re a pushy drunk.”

“Lucky you.” My words weren’t fuzzy, but I was definitely feeling warm. My perception was off some, like things looking close and far away at the same time. And I was extra confident—though I’d always been pretty confident of my ability to suck dick.

I didn’t have any trouble getting his jeans open. He was cooperative, letting me pull them down. To my surprise, I found clinging briefs underneath instead of his usual boxers.

“What’s with the tighty-whities?” I resisted the urge to snap the leg band for about a second, then did it anyway, laughing when he ouched.

“I decided I didn’t like flopping around.”

Chalk another one up for people changing. He’d always said he wished he could freeball all the time because he hated any pressure, though he wore a cup on the field.

He pushed my hands away and wriggled out of the briefs.

He hadn’t turned on any lights but the one overhead near the door, but I saw it anyway. The blue cougar head on his hip, the outline still red and sore-looking.

“Holy fuck, you got a tattoo? Your mom is going to freak.”

“Don’t tell her.”

“Yeah, because that’s the conversation I always want to have with your mom. ‘Mrs. St. Pierre, when I was blowing your son, I noticed he got a tattoo of the school mascot on his hip.’”

“Hurt like fuck.”

I leaned in and kissed it, then traced my tongue over it, turning my head to watch his skin shiver. Then I laughed. “Like fucking?”

Because that was where we’d gotten stuck. Last summer and this one. He had trouble staying hard in me, and I’d never managed to get all the way in him because he clenched down and told me it hurt, though he loved getting fingered.

“Worse.” Blake stroked my cheek. “At least you stopped when it hurt.”

I looked up at him, lying in that pile of laundry. His eyes were dark, their expression open, as vulnerable as the half-hard cock against his thigh. Maybe I should have left him like that, let him know what it was like to put everything on the line and get your nuts kicked for it. But I couldn’t.

“I always would.” I cupped his balls, feathered my fingers beneath them, then kissed his sac.

“I know.” Blake’s breath came through heavy and thick in his words. Just from my lips and fingers brushing him.

See?
See what you’re giving up?

I lifted his dick into my mouth, an easy fit for a bit longer. The thick vein throbbed against my tongue as his cock filled and pushed my jaw wider. I drew back, a wet stroke with firm lips covering my teeth.

“Jesus, Ethe.”

Yeah, I was good. I went to the root again, not so easy now, but I’d learned to get him into my throat, my hand kept working his balls, a little more lifting and rolling now.

I swallowed then pulled back. His fingers stroked through my hair, urging, petting.

It was hard to smile with my lips stretched around his cock but I managed it anyway. I felt too good not to.

I did him all the ways I knew he loved, rubbing the head against the roof of my mouth, flicking my tongue hard and fast on the little groove under the rim. I bobbed fast and deep, then held him in my throat while I hummed.

He clutched my hair, then my too-big ears as he groaned my name and pleaded. I knew what he wanted. What would send him over the edge. You could fire up the computer lab for a week on the power coursing through me when he said, “God, Ethe, do it.”

He was going to have to wait a little bit longer. I had to do myself first. Having Blake falling apart from my mouth had my dick like iron in my jeans. I swirled my tongue around the head of Blake’s dick while I got my fly undone and pulled my cock out. Switching hands so I had some spit to work with, I stroked myself. I poured the sounds from my throat onto Blake’s dick as I ramped up to the edge of coming. I was so turned-on from sucking him it didn’t take much.

It had been tough to manage at first, trying to balance the sensations driving me with the focus I needed to get Blake off, but I’d gotten good at it. I turned my grip on his shaft so that I could get my index finger good and wet with spit.