I bump into Austin’s pads. “Hey,” I whisper.
His eyes seethe with discomfort, cold and frozen on Coach. “Not now, Charlie…”
“Then when? You’ve been avoiding me like the bloody plague. Won’t pick up when I ring or text. Scamper off like a puppy every time you see me.”
“Maybe it’s a sign. Take a fucking hint,” Austin hisses out, his words bearing an uncanny resemblance to Drew’s venom. They kind of sting, but I know it’s only from my twin’s taint, spoiling my man of his warmness.
“Don’t be a drama queen. I’m not going to give up on us—me and you, Austin. Not over whatever poison he’s been shoving down your throat.”
“Listen,” he spits out. “Well, we are done. Consider it official. I’ll send you a postmarked letter if that’s what it takes to infiltrate through your dense skull.”
His lips are under the whip of a demon, I know he doesn’t mean them. My mouth leans closer to his ear. “I’m not giving up on you. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when he shatters you.”
“Okay…” he sighs with a look of disgust.
Fuck, he’s been warped into Drew’s orbit, sucked into his toxic sludge, a virus infecting his brain. It makes my teeth clench, makes me want to strangle my brother’s throat until his lips turn cyanotic.
Every part of me wants to argue with Austin. Wrap him up in a warm blanket and detox him from the toxins contaminating his brain. Quarantine him from the contagion. But this isn’t the right place or time.
It kills me that he’s going to have be hurt by Drew, before he believes me. All I can do is warn him—a siren wailing to deaf ears. It’s infuriating and humiliating, makes me want to hurl the contents of my stomach.
But I can’t force him to listen or kidnap him. It’ll just strengthen Drew’s suction. Instead I have to standby, watch like a fly on the wall, hoping Austin doesn’t succumb to sepsis.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I whisper in his ear, before putting distance between us.
Coach’s voice thunders. “Let’s grate these Cheeseheads to a pulp!”
The second half floats by in a haze, we stifle their offense, grinding them down to the baseboard. A couple more touchdowns and the game ticks away to a Minnesota victory 31 – 17.
It sickens me to see Drew’s arm curl around Austin’s shoulders after the game. Embarrassing to see the rest of the guys giving me awkward looks, but no one dares to say a word. But their eyes scream the questions they are begging to ask.
Why is your twin brother fucking your boyfriend?
I shower as quickly as I can before heading back to my apartment. The urge to celebrate with the boys is completely swamped with the fact that Austin and Drew might be there, maybe kissing lips after a few drinks. The thought of it shreds me, nearly sending me to pathetic tears.
What if Austin doesn’t leave Drew?What if they get their ‘happily ever after’ that was supposed to be ours? Would Austin take him to his father’s wedding in my place? He might as well plunge a screwdriver into my eye socket if he brings that twat.
I stumble into my apartment, fury and resignation battling for dominance in my chest.
Maybe I could use some sweet relief. Maybe it’s time to move on from Austin. Release some of my pent-up cream.
I open my phone and download the dreaded orange mask. The last refuge of desperation.
Oh well. Let’s see who’s online.
A ton of faceless torsos pop up, one after another. I slide over the profiles near me.
Looking for now.
Looking for DOM TOP.
Anyone into pup play?
Down to ParTy?
Jesus Christ, I knew this was a mistake, this app is a haven for the desperate. But I suppose I’m not much better…
Against my better judgement, I continue to scroll, applying a few filters. Set my age range to twenty through twenty-six years old. That feels like a safe call. I’m not the kind of prick to take advantage of an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old.
