I got up and wiped my hands on a towel I had in my laundry hamper. Darting across the hall, I washed them in the bathroom before quickly making my way back to my bedroom.
Flopping back on my bed, I stared up at the ever rotating fan.
I’d gotten turned on by gay porn. I hadn’t seen the money shot, but Micah and his scene partner were really hot together.The kissing alone had gotten me just as hard as I’d been on the basketball court.
I waited for a moment to let that thought sink in, waiting for any kind of panic or discomfort at the thought. But, nothing came up.
I thought back on my time in locker rooms and all of the male friends I’d had. Was it possible I’d been oblivious to the way I’d looked at them? I tried picturing my best friends in college. Yeah, they’d been good looking guys. But, did straight guys notice how their buddy’s legs popped in fitted pants? I didn’t think I’d been romantically interested in any of my friends, but I was re-evaluating the pull I’d had toward some of them. Had that actually been attraction?
I sighed heavily. Either way, I felt confident that I could say I was into men after this eye-opening experience.
And apparently, I was very into my roommate.
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. Admitting I was attracted to men wasn’t nearly as hard to process as it was to admit I was into Colton. I couldn’t see any scenarios where my interest in him didn’t lead us back to things being awkward as hell. Slowly dragging my hands down, I tried to untangle the mess in my head.
I was a grown ass adult. I could still be friends with someone, even if I was attracted to them. This was what boundaries were for and I just needed to keep myself in check. I couldn’t predict what Colton would think of my new revelation, but it didn’t have to change anything. He was important to me, and so was the friendship we’d built over the last few weeks.
I could be a big boy and put aside whatever this was for the sake of keeping Colton in my life.
CHAPTER 9
Derek
It had beena few days since Colton and I’s last basketball game. Things felt like they were back to normal again. But a new problem had come up.Literally.
We’d always been more physically affectionate with each other, but now I was hyperaware of the places Colton touched me. When he hung on my shoulder to watch me cook in the evenings, it felt like my skin was on fire, even through my clothes. The casual shoves, shoulder bumps, and bro-hugs suddenly felt far more loaded. Even if it was just Colton being Colton. It was a constant battle to not pop a boner around him.
Shit, there were things I hadn’t even realized could be turn-ons, but were clearly doing it for me. Like how his eyes softened when he’d find me sitting in the living room after his late-night shifts. Or the sleepy smile he’d wear when telling me to have a good day at work.
Fuck, even the scent of him. It was this woodsy, warm, citrus smell I imagined was a combination of his shampoo and body wash. It’d sometimes waft off him like temptation on the air.
That intoxicating scent had plagued me all morning, andnow here I was, daydreaming about his sleep-rumbled hair and his soft smiles at the office instead of doing casework.
Bzz-Bzz-Bzz
I pulled my eyes away from the file I was decidedlynotreviewing and groaned.
“How can I help you, Cecilia?” I tried to keep my voice neutral as I answered the phone but it bordered on annoyed.
There was a pause on the other line before, “Really, Derek. That is no way to answer when your mother calls. And for the last time, do not call me by my first name.”
Her voice rang through, shrill and full of indignation. I sighed, trying to scrape together my composure.
“And I will tell you again, mother is a title you have to earn. You are not my mother. Toni is. Now, how can I help you?”
Cecilia’s molars grinding together was almost audible as I waited her out. We had this same discussion every time she tried to command my respect by dropping the ‘mother’ card. I could be cordial with her when I needed to but I made it very clear where my loyalty lay.
“While I want to remind you that I gave birth to you, which by default makes meyour mother, I don’t have the time. George and I have a function in an hour and I need to get ready.” I could just picture her straight nose turning up as she said that, like she wouldn’t be doing me a favor by ending this conversation.
“This Thanksgiving, George will be hosting some very important clients. I expect you to be here.” She commanded.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. While I was an adult who was more than capable of ending this once-a-year tradition, I didn’t have it in me. There was still a small part of me that wanted the woman who birthed me to acknowledge I was more to her than the kid she had too young. More than the one she saw once a year, and now used to schmooze her new husband’s wealthy finance clients. I was still nothing more than a dollarsign to her. But, every year I kept going back while hoping she wanted to be called mom because she loved me—cared for me. Not because she felt entitled to it.
“You’ll need to fly in on Tuesday so that George can take you out to golf with some of them beforehand. We’ll have someone pick you up at the airport. Make sure your flight gets in before noon.”
I listened to her drone on more about her expectations, all the fight in me slowly withering away.
“I can’t come on Tuesday. I’ll come Wednesday.” I stated flatly.
