“No. Not unless you are. Are you?” The conversation was so clumsy and ridiculous that all I wanted to do was shut it down. I set my beer on the table and quickly stood. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“You can use mine if you like.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I can use the one in the house.”
“No, you can’t,” he told me. “Madeline’s in there.”
Only then did I realize Madeline had vanished, leaving Andy to dance all by himself, which he happily did in his own uncoordinated way.
I shrugged. “I can wait till Madeline’s done.”
“Just use mine,” he insisted. “You like using my bathroom, don’t you? I swear it’s clean.”
My voice got pitchy as I started stacking excuses on top of my nervousness. “It’s not as though Iliketo use your bathroom. It’s just, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Right?”
He laughed. “Then go. Now. Use my bathroom, it’s all yours.”
I wishedhewas all mine.
I gave in and nodded, just so I didn’t have to listen to myself ramble on like an idiot any longer. Without another word I dashed out to Dean’s bedroom studio in the backyard.
* * *
Dean’s backpack was on the floor.
His old guitar was on the bed, lying there like a lover.
I closed the door behind me. It had been a year since I’d set foot inside his creative zone, but I got the same old buzz I used to. The room had thatboysmell about it, the same one that made me want to drop onto the bed and inhale his scent. I dreamed of breathing him in, of one day smelling his hair on the pillow, sniffing where his body had lain between the sheets.
I swallowed hard and my throat clacked.
I bunched up my fist, as though it helped me fight the urge to fling myself onto his bed.
I made a beeline for the bathroom and closed the door.
I lifted the toilet seat and unzipped my jeans. Now that I was there, I kinda did have to go. As I began to pee, my eyes wandered over the bathroom counter beside me. Next to the sink sat Dean’s open toiletry bag, a few things lying out on the counter: electric toothbrush standing upright on its charger, a tube of toothpaste, a bottle of men’s cologne, a bottle of—
“Lube?”
Yep. Right there on the counter was a bottle of “peach-flavored, extra silky smooth, silicone-based lube specifically enhanced for male pleasure,” according to the label.
Instantly I felt my cock stiffen.
I quickly shook myself off, zipped my jeans up, flushed the toilet, and washed my hands.
I picked up the bottle of lube. It felt half -empty. My cock strained in my jeans at the thought of Dean squeezing out a palm-load of lube and jerking himself off. It took all my strength not to unzip my jeans and do the same right then and there.
“Chill, Harry. This is not the time or place!” I told myself, before adding, “But a little whiff of that peach flavor can’t hurt.”
I popped the lid and pressed the pump-action trigger.
It seemed jammed.
I figured I needed to twist the top to unlock it.
I turned it left, then right, then pushed down hard.
A jet of lube shot out of the nozzle with so much force it missed my palms and splodged all over my T-shirt.
