Lover Boy

The Boys of Apartment 13 Book 2

Brianna Flores
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 Copyright © 2024 Brianna Vega

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Brianna Vega

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To the readers who wished Liam had picked Cade. Those two are kindred spirits and not at
all right for each other. Here's 70k words to prove it.

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 Contents

Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Content Warning
Author's Note
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Eplilogue
Afterword
Books In This Series

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 Content Warning

This book does contain topics that may be triggering to some readers. This
list may contain spoilers and I do recommend skipping it if you'd like to
avoid those. However, if you do have triggers and/or just want to know
what sorts of naughty fun you can look forward to, please read below.

A consensual sexual relationship between stepbrothers

(pseudoincest)
Two pigheaded boys who like to fight as much as they like to fuck
Sadomasochism
Consensual Non-Consent (CNC)
Degradation in the form of derogatory language
Depictions of self-harm and scarring (off-page)
Depictions of chronic pain
Depictions of depression and anxiety
Negative thoughts and feelings involving insecurities
One scene depicting primal play
Safeword usage
Minimal use of proper anal sex preparation
 Detailed sex involving two men
Feelings of hate between the MCs
Death of a parent (by suicide, off page)

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 Author's Note
Howdy pals!

If you were one of the amazing people who put up with my shitty health
and pushing of this release date, thank you! Seriously, thank you so much. I
would have fully understood if you'd lost all interest, but you being here
means so much!

The themes in this book are heavier than those in Pretty Boy, and because
of that I do want to add a warning outside of the content warning: My boys
either like feeling pain or causing pain and I know not everyone likes to
read those things. It's a pretty prevalent feature in this story, so keep that in
mind.

I really wanted to emphasize just how wrong for Cade his best friend is, so
while there are a lot of similarities between Lover Boy and Pretty Boy, this
book is it's own creation.

Lover Boy is moderately angsty and I so hope you enjoy it!

Happy reading!

-Brianna Flores
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 Prologue
Nic
Five years ago…

“M
om?”
Instead of an answer, all I get is a sickening feeling in the pit
of my stomach.
“Mom, I have to go,” I try again, this time taking a step into the
darkened room. I make sure to tell her that I have to go––that I emphasize
how it’s not my choice to leave her.
For what feels like the hundredth time just today, I think of my dad and
feel disgusted by him.
“Mom…” I swallow back the plea, the words I know she won’t really
hear.
When my throat starts to burn, I straighten my spine and step back. She
doesn’t need the burden of my emotions. She’s dealing with enough of her
own. So, I settle on just finishing the goodbye.
“I love you. I’ll see you in a few days, okay? I’ll call you. Try to answer
it…” I look at her bedside table to make sure her phone is plugged in. I
don’t want it to die. “There’s food in the freezer.” No answer, no
reassurance that she’ll bother to actually get up and eat anything. Paulina,
our next-door neighbor, has said that she’ll come over once a day, and while
asking for help makes me sick, it is a relief.
She’ll make sure she eats something. And a demented part of me thinks
that she’ll be here if my mom…
I shouldn’t even be leaving. She needs me here. My dad doesn’t
understand. He makes me leave her because he doesn’t know how bad
things have gotten, what kinds of damage he’s done. Probably doesn’t even
care.
I still don’t know if I’m doing the right thing by keeping quiet. But then
I think of telling him, the only other person I really know who’s supposed to
help me, and I just know it wouldn’t be good. They’d take me away—I’m
only sixteen. I just have to suck it up, wait a couple more years.
But god. I’m so tired.
“Okay, Mom.” I sigh. “I’ll be home soon.”
She doesn’t move. She stays there, a lifeless lump under her covers in
her dark room, and just doesn’t move.
I can hear him honking as I enter the living room, and it dissolves any
sorrow I was feeling. Something ugly and visceral takes its place,
something hard and sharp. Something easier. I fucking hate him. And I hate
them just as much. My stepmother and her son.
I know that it’s my dad’s fault, and I shouldn’t blame them, the family
he tries so hard to force on me. He was the one who had an obligation to my
mom. But she knew he was married. It takes a shitty person to break up a
family like that, to just take someone’s husband and someone’s father away.
And Cade… he just pisses me off.
I don’t even want my dad anymore, but it still bothers me that Cade gets
him every single day. That he gets to see the parts of him that aren’t
absolute shit. That he gets to see my dad make his mom happy.
I used to get that. Now, I’m forced to see what’s left—the after. After
he’s broken her.
He honks the horn again—holds it for an obnoxiously long time, and
my hand stalls on the door handle. I don’t feel all that well, but I don’t
know if it’s a cold or the feeling of dread leaving typically causes. But I’m
both cold and hot, so tired as I stand here in misery—the front door is all
that’s keeping me from seeing them. My dad’s new, better family.
I drag in a heavy breath, sucking it up as I wipe a bead of sweat off my
forehead before finally pulling the door open. My dad is smiling, but I’m
not sure why.
Maybe because he’s won. I’m old enough that I should be able to
decide which parent I want to spend time with, but he’s threatened more
than once to take my mom to court if I don’t go with him, and I know she
couldn’t handle that. She probably wouldn’t even show.
 And so here I am, walking towards him and feeling my blood thicken
into something solid, something weighing me down more and more with
every step I take. It’s hard to breathe. It’s always hard to breathe, like my
lungs are operating on manual and if I don’t make the conscious choice to
do it, I just won’t.
I have to look away from his face, not wanting to let him see just how
repulsed I am by this whole situation. It’s been three years of this, and it
hasn’t gotten any easier. Not for me and definitely not for my mom.
“Mijo, help him with his bags.”
It confuses me for a split second before I realize he’s talking to Cade.
My hands tighten on the straps of my bags as he rushes to listen, to be the
dutiful son my dad has always wanted.
“I got it, little brother,” I say with a bite, using the words my father used
when he introduced us to each other.
He scoffs, his stupid smile that seems to always be there in the presence
of my dad disappearing, but I ignore him. It’s just two bags and I’m more
than capable of throwing them in the trunk myself.
“Your hair…” It’s Tracey who speaks when I get in the car. “The white
patch is growing. Isn’t it, Anton? Doesn’t it look bigger?” She turns around
in her seat to look at me, and I do my best not to look daggers at her. I’ll
snap soon, but avoiding a fight for as long as I can is for the best.
A lot of people get fixated on my skin and what the vitiligo does to my
hair, and she’s no exception. She brings it up every time I see her. Every.
Time. I have two patches of white hair on my head, one just at my hairline
for everyone to see the split second they look at me, and the other on the
back of my head—and nobody lets me forget it.
Her hand reaches out like she’s going to touch me, and I recoil. I can’t
help it, but what the hell? What about my demeanor made her think I’d just
let her, of all people, touch me like that?
“Sorry!” She holds her palm out like she just approached a skittish dog
or something and it just bothers me that much more.
“Nic,” my dad’s voice warns. “Don’t start.”
My mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t
care, doesn’t want to hear it.
“Wipe that look off your face,” he tells me, but since I can’t do that just
yet, I turn my head and face the window.
 “It was my fault.” Tracey’s voice is small, gnaws at me in a way that
itches. She’s so fucking fake. They all are.
“She didn’t even do anything,” Cade defends his mom, and I don’t
bother keeping the dirty look off of my face as I look at him. He’s expressed
more than once that he doesn’t like how I treat his mom, but I don’t care.
He doesn’t even know the half of it.
He just smiles all the damn time as he lives his happy life with his
happy mom and my dad. So fuck him.
My dad tries to change the subject. He lightens his voice as he asks the
car if they want to stop somewhere to get food. Cade is apparently excited
about that, has all sorts of opinions.
“Nic?”
“I don’t care.” He hates when I say that, and before all of this, it’s not
something I would have said to him—at least not in that tone. It’s
disrespectful. But my dad isn’t who I once believed him to be, and he
doesn’t deserve my respect.
“Let’s go to Gino’s!”
I scoff, once again looking at Cade like he’s a literal piece of shit.
Because he is. “That place is gross.”
“You just said that you don’t care where we go,” he huffs.
I grit my teeth. I did just say that. “Doesn’t mean I want food
poisoning.”
“You don’t––I’ve never gotten food poisoning from there. Liam and I
eat there all the time. Literally every time we come down here.”
I roll my eyes. He’s so far up his best friend’s ass it’s ridiculous. “Yeah,
well, your boyfriend isn’t here. So I say we eat somewhere else.”
“He’s not––” he clamps his mouth shut, face getting red. It makes me
smile, which only makes his blush worse. “Not everyone is gay, Nicolas.”
“That’s true,” I shrug, ignoring the dig at my sexuality and his use of
my full name. “But you are. For Liam.” I turn my head back towards the
road before he can respond.
Honestly, I mean that. He likes his best friend a little too much. He talks
about him obsessively and looks at him with total heart eyes. Defends him
with his whole chest when I so much as mention the guy.
“Shut the fuck up,” he shoves at me, the impact blunt and jarring.
“What the hell? Keep your hands to yourself,” I sneer, rubbing at my
shoulder like I can actually remove that touch. Guess he inherited that trait
from his mom.
“Boys!” my dad snaps, and Cade stills. “Nic, don’t make me turn this
car back around. I’ll leave you at your––”
“Fine! Do it. That’s what I want.” But he knows that.
“It’s what everyone wants,” Cade adds, and I don’t even feel the need to
respond.
It is what everyone wants. I don’t know why my dad insists on dragging
me to his house, but all it does is shove his new family down my throat.
Force them to put up with me. Forces me to watch them be the kind of
family mine used to be.
It hurts. It’s suffocating. I can feel my heart rate quickening, the
familiar feel of ants crawling all over my face. I don’t want to leave my
mom behind like he did. Cold and alone and drowning because that’s what
she’s doing right now.
“I don’t want to go, Anton.” My voice is shaky. I don’t want that. I
don’t want these people to hear that. So I dig my fingers in my thigh, letting
the sharp burn ground me. It clears my head almost instantly, a crutch I
shouldn’t be so relieved to have. “I want to stay home.” I close my eyes and
can’t help but resume worrying about my mom, who’s been alone for mere
minutes.
It hasn’t been long at all, but it’s hard to deal with because I left her
alone.
“If he wants to stay at his mom’s, I don’t see why––”
“Don’t talk about her.” My voice is low as I speak to just Cade, and I
don’t feel nearly as tough as I sound. But I keep my fingers pressed hard
into my leg––a bead of sweat on my forehead and a coldness blanketing my
skin emphasizing just how much it hurts. How much pain I’m in. I think
about how much I wish I felt that pain like I used to as my breaths come
faster, shallower.
Tracey turns the radio up, like that’ll somehow stop my dad from
ranting. But he’s pissed, no longer willing to turn around. Because, of
course, now that he knows that’s what I actually want, he’s against the idea.
“Nic,” Cade whispers, but I ignore him. I stare ahead at the back of his
mom’s seat, trying hard to ignore all of them––him, his mom, my dad and
his berating. “Nic,” his hand grips mine, and I jerk it out of his hold.
“Stop. Touching me.” What even is that?
 “You’re bleeding.” He’s still whispering, and maybe that’s why it takes
me a second to understand him, but when I do, my eyes fall to my lap.
Oh. I should have bandaged it, but it’s been a few days. There shouldn’t
be that much. A lot of times, they don’t bleed at all. This is… it’s a lot.
“Nic, maybe you should––”
“Maybe you should mind your own business.” I expect him to look
annoyed. Maybe mad.
But he just keeps staring at me in a way nobody has looked at me in a
long time. Like he’s worried. It makes me uncomfortable. I kind of want to
hit him, but I don’t want to draw any attention back here.
“It’s fine,” I rush to say, but he doesn’t seem convinced. “Don’t make
this a thing.”
He takes a beat, his thoughts loud as he considers the situation—so loud
that they smother the sound of mine. I don’t understand. Why does he even
care?
His head nods after a bit, moving slowly and again, I’m confused. I’m
relieved but also… something close to unsettled. Maybe disappointed.
Nobody ever worries about me.
He looks at my leg again, where I have a palm lying flat over the blood
that’s still seeping through the fabric, and this time, his head shakes.
“Nic is bleeding,” he says loudly, voice steady as he looks away from
me. “A lot—his leg.”
I want to be pissed, but I’m just… tired. I’m so tired.
And when my dad turns his head to look at me, I take the easiest deep
breath I’ve taken in a few years.

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 One
Cade

“C
adence, please stop looking so sad. Your busted-up face and pout
are making me… you’re bumming me out. Stop it!”
“Baby, fuck off.”
“I can’t!” he whines, walking into my room and sitting crosslegged on
Liam’s bed—or what was Liam’s bed.
It’s not his bed anymore. He’s just gone. Left because I fucked up and
kissed him like an idiot, and now he hates me. Probably.
God, that was stupid. I’m kind of glad his boyfriend punched me. I
deserve the busted face. So, so stupid.
“I can’t leave you alone when you’re being so pathetic.”
I glare.
“Do you want to go to the movies with me?”
I roll my eyes, huffing a laugh. “Baby, it’s not your job to make me
less…” I don’t finish. I’m not even sure how to finish. Less sad?
Embarrassed? Fucking stupid?
“But… they’re doing a special showing of The Outsiders.”
“Oh, okay.” I force a smile––my instincts trying to keep me from doing
it even though my lip is fully healed now––as I sit up and toss my legs over
the edge of my bed. “You want to go watch one of your shitty old movies
and have no friends lame enough to go with you.”
“Please?” He gives me his best version of puppy dog eyes. “It’s not
even a musical.”
I’ll never tell him that I actually enjoyed Little Shop of Horrors, and
The Outsiders doesn’t sound so bad right now. I happen to like that movie
anyway. So, as long as it’s not an attempt to cheer me up… “Yeah, okay.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite roommate.” He beams.
 “Oh, does Liam leaving mean I’ve been promoted?”
“Your face looks a lot better,” he says, a clear deflection, but whatever.
“Gee, thanks.”
It still looks a little fucked, but yeah, it is getting better. The bruises
under my eyes are fading, now an ugly greenish-yellow instead of dark
purple. It’s been a week since the incident, so there’s pretty much no
swelling, but it’s not attractive. The stitch on the inside of my lip is gone,
dissolved already, and it doesn’t hurt to talk anymore.
It really was a case of it-looks-worse-than-it-is, but still. People stare at
me, and it’s humiliating. Even with most people not knowing why I got my
face pummeled.
“Have you… talked to Liam’s boyfriend at all?”
I shake my head. “I’ve barely even talked to Liam.”
“That’s… he’s kind of dumb. Literally everyone––except him and
Logan––knew you had a… thing for him.”
I tilt my head back, looking away from him because I just don’t know
what to say to that.
“But you didn’t deserve a broken nose. Sebastian hasn’t even
apologized?”
“No. I––” I cringe. “I don’t need an apology. I deserved it.” Really, it
feels like I need to apologize. Again. Why the fuck did I do that?
“Yeah, but he shouldn’t have hit you.”
“I kissed his boyfriend.” My stomach flips, but I barrel through the
immediate misery those words trigger. “Tell me you wouldn’t try to fuck
someone up if you caught them all over your boyfriend.”
“My fists aren’t really made for conflict, y’know?”
I appreciate him not echoing any mentions of the kiss. I keep waiting
for other people to bring it up, but it’s like we’re all just avoiding the
specifics. Or they are. Sometimes, it feels like I just can’t help but bring it
up.
I feel guilty. And it doesn’t feel like anything was actually resolved, so
the feeling just won’t go away. I know why I did it. Years of pent-up what-
ifs ran through my head all at once, and I just… kissed him.
I know that to everyone else, it seems like something I did out of the
blue, but it’s been on my mind for years. Liam. My best friend. Something I
always deemed off-limits until suddenly I saw a maybe. He likes guys now,
and I just had to try. And he was pushing me away. It was hard to talk to
him because he was hiding, dealing with his seemingly new sexuality, and
neither of us knew how to navigate around that.
It felt like I was losing him. So, I had to try.
My timing was a little off, and I embarrassed the fuck out of myself, but
at least I know. At least I’m not left hoping for something that’s clearly
never going to happen anymore.
But I might be losing him anyway.
God. I really wish I was still lying down.
“They’re dainty.” Baby holds his hands out like he’s modeling jewelry.
Maybe his hands aren’t built for bashing faces in, but I can’t imagine him––
or anyone––just being okay with the situation I put Liam’s bulky boyfriend
in.
“You wouldn’t try to bite them?”
“No, I told you. That’s my love language.” He gives me a toothy grin,
flashing his weapon of choice at me as he pushes his hair off his forehead.
“Well, shit. You must really love me,” I say, thinking of all the many,
many times he’s bitten me. Sure as fuck doesn’t feel like love when he does
it, though.
He rolls his blue eyes at me, choosing not to confirm or deny it. “Come
on,” he slaps the bare mattress before getting up. “Let’s go watch Matt
Dillon in his prime up on the big screen.”
“You should drive my car.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I don’t want to drive,” I tell him, finally getting out of bed.
“But I also don’t want to sit in your tiny ass Fiat.”
He scoffs. “Rude. I don’t want you in the pimp mobile anyway.” He
snags the keys I hold out for him, and all I have to do is shove my feet in a
pair of sneakers so we can leave.

∞∞∞

“H
ey, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetie. Real quick, I wanted to talk about Christmas.”
 “Okay.” I smile, knowing she’s going to lay it on heavy, beg me to
come stay for the break. I told her I wanted to skip on Thanksgiving and
stay here because it was only a four-day weekend anyway, but she and
Anton drove down here the day after. To make up for it. But when she asks
if I want to spend Christmas with her, I can’t even imagine not saying yes.
“Okay. Okay, great,” she chimes and I can hear the smile in her voice
through the phone. I swear I can hear it grow as she goes on and on about
plans. She wants to go on a small vacation, but at the moment, I don’t really
care. I just let her talk, barely giving any input until she changes the topic
altogether. “How’re you doing?”
I pause, trying to decide how much I should tell her. “Not that great.”
My mom and I are close, but not the kind of close that requires us to
talk every single day. She has her own life, and I have mine. So, I definitely
have some shit to clue her in on.
She’s known that I’m bi almost as long as I’ve known—cried with me
when I begged her to keep my secret and tried to convince me that it wasn’t
a big deal. But she knew about my pathetic crush on Liam way before I did.
She knew my reasons for keeping quiet. It’s not… I haven’t always wanted
him like that. He used to just be someone I thought of as a brother, so for
me to just one day decide I wanted more…
It had royally fucked with my head. Honestly, he’s kind of clueless. I’d
agonize over how obvious I was being at times but he never once seemed
aware. How he didn’t know is beyond me.
But my mom knew, so telling her all the sordid deets isn’t a hardship
right now. It might even feel kind of nice to get it off my chest—cathartic,
in a way.
“I’m so sorry, Cade.” She means it. I can hear it in her mom-voice and
can’t help but let it comfort me.
“It’s okay. Really.” I sigh, mostly believing it. I’m in this weird in-
between where I feel relieved but also antsy. There’s just too much up in the
air. He’s my best friend, and I hardly see him. Talk to him.
“It will be.” She says it with so much sincerity that it’s hard not to
believe her. Then she starts talking about moving on and finding someone
else, a nice guy or gal, and I roll my eyes more than once throughout the
whole thing. But it makes me feel better just to listen to her and know that
she’s listening to me too.
 I do not tell her that Sebastian––the big, sexy, tatted motherfucker who
has pretty much stolen my best friend––punched me in the face for kissing
Liam. Like most sons, I’ve learned what sorts of things I need to keep from
my mom. Saves us both a lot of unnecessary stress.
“He moved out?” This seems more surprising to her than the fact that
Liam, the guy she’s known as straight for almost fifteen years, is actually
into dudes. “How long has he been dating this boy?”
Mothers, I roll my eyes––again. “It doesn’t really matter,” I tell her––
because we’re talking about me here, Mom. “He’s gone, and now I either
have to pay more in rent or find a roommate.” And neither option has me all
that pumped to be alive right now.
Liam tried to discreetly set it up with Baby to where he would still pay
a share, but that’s stupid. I don’t want that.
She gasps, the sound dramatic enough that it makes me jump a little.
“What?”
“I have the best idea. It’s perfect!” She starts babbling, her voice getting
quieter as she starts talking to who I assume is my stepdad, Anton. Getting
all giddy and shit about something I’m not clued in on just yet.
“Mom,” I try to cut through her excitement. “Mom!”
“Oh, sorry. I was just telling Anton that––well, I have a roommate for
you!”
“Wait, what?”
“Okay, so promise to hear me out first.”
“Mother.” What the hell?
“Nicolas needs––”
“No.” I don’t need to hear her out. The answer is no. I’d way rather pay
more money and have to work more or even just go find some stranger to
share a room with than let Nic move in. He’d be here. In my room. Not
even ten feet away. “Mom, no,” I say again, just so there’s no confusion.
“Cade, don’t be like that. He needs a place to stay. He wants to go back
to school, and I don’t see why––”
“Mom! He hates my guts.” I’m not exactly his biggest fan, either. He
doesn’t just hate me. He cannot stand my mom, and I find it hard to tolerate
someone who so blatantly disrespects the woman who single-handedly
raised me until I was thirteen. I understood his disdain at first, but as the
years went on and he just got nastier and nastier, I grew tired of his shit. I
can’t even believe she thought it was a good idea to ask this of me.
 And I do not want to hear his sob story. She’s always felt sorry for him,
maybe guilty for having played a part in his parents’ failed marriage, but I
don’t share the same sympathies. There’s no point in having sympathy for
someone who doesn’t want it. Pretty sure me feeling sorry for him is part of
why he hates me so much anyway.
“He doesn’t hate you,” she lies. “That was years ago.” She doesn’t even
believe that. I can hear it in her voice, how much she knows that it’s not
true. If there’s one thing Nicolas Aldana can do, it’s hold a fucking grudge.
“Come on. Anton was planning to help him pay his dorm fee, but it’s
cheaper if he just moves in with you. Please?”
Oh, gross. I hate when she says that word.
“We were thinking of renewing our vows and finally having a wedding,
and I was so excited—you know how badly I’ve wanted a wedding! But
just… well, with Nic here, I haven’t been able to do any planning. It
wouldn’t be right.”
I can hear the phantom begging, can feel it smothering me. She has
woefully complained about their lack of a real wedding since they got
married. So, she’s correct in saying that I know how badly she wants one.
And I feel for her––maybe––but fuck. Nic is hard to deal with. He’s just a
moody little shit who does nothing but listen to bad music and brood all
over the place. But I don’t want to hear another please from my mom.
And really, I do need a roommate. I don’t pay for school, but I do pay
rent, and honestly, not even that much. So, it’s been nice being able to set
most of the money I make working aside. I just want to be set for when I
graduate. I have plans and shit.
“I guess,” I concede, my head shaking. I can hardly even believe this is
my life right now. Liam was supposed to be here. We had planned on being
roommates years before we even applied to college. “I’ll have to ask Baby,
though.”
But I know he’s going to say yes, can feel that word dragging me
deeper into this sour mood I’ve been stuck in lately. He was just asking
what I wanted to do about the room and rent situation a few hours ago.
“He said yes!” She practically giggles as she talks to her husband about
it. It’s kind of hard to be happy for her when I feel so miserable.
I make sure to move the phone before I let out a heavy sigh. The last
time I saw Nic, he was still very much pissed at me for being the reason he
was moved out of his mom’s house––which is bullshit. Things had to of
been fucked up to begin with, and I had nothing to do with that. I don’t
know the full story and I don’t want to know the full story, but basically,
I’m the bane of his existence. And all because I had the audacity to give the
tiniest fuck about his well-being.
So much for shit being okay.
I don’t mean to be dramatic, but basically, my life sucks ass.

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 Two
Cade

“Y
ou want to go on a diet?” This would be news to me. For as long
as I can remember, Liam has hated dieting. He hates having to
regulate his food intake, having to say no to foods he actually
wants to eat, and choke down shit he’d never look at again if it were up to
him. So, us being at the gym to talk to the dietician-slash-nutritionist is…
well, it’s a mystery.
“No,” he says gruffly, glaring at the glass door that the dude we’re
supposed to be meeting can definitely see us through. “Bash thinks it’s a
good idea.”
“What the fuck? Your boyfriend wants you to go on a diet, and no part
of you thought––”
“No! Not at all. Bash is––he thinks I have an unhealthy relationship
with food.” His cheeks flame, something I’ve seen a lot over the years but
definitely more often now that he can’t help but talk about his precious
Bash every chance he gets.
A forced grin tugs at my lips as he palms the back of his neck, another
nervous tick that I’m very familiar with. The things he’s saying aren’t
exactly big shockers. He definitely does have issues related to food, but
nothing I’ve ever seen has warranted him meeting with an expert. But I also
didn’t think I’d ever seen anything that hinted at him liking dick, so what do
I know?
“He suggested I see this… person.” He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable
with the whole thing. “Bash is not an asshole. He’s actually really sweet.”
The little smile on his reddened face makes me want to roll my eyes,
but I don’t do that. But sure. I’m sure the guy who broke my nose is a real
sweet guy.
 “Okay. Well, are we going in?”
“I—–no. No.” He shakes his head, but I’m pretty sure that’s the whole
reason I’m even here. “Sorry. It’s just me going in.”
“Liam, then why did I even come?” I swear to god, if he couldn’t come
up with a better excuse to see me than this, I’ll––
“I’m just nervous, okay?” He turns toward me and the look on his face
has me shutting my mental mouth. “Can you just hang out? I won’t be
long.”
I want to be shitty and ask him why his super sweet boyfriend couldn’t
come with him––especially since he’s the one who set this thing up––but he
does look nervous. And really, even if he is throwing me a bone, don’t I
want to take it? The alternative is just blowing him off, and that means
shoving a bigger wedge between us.
And maybe there are things I don’t know. Maybe he really needs this.
“I’ll just go for a jog, I guess.” I nod towards the rest of the gym.
“Thank you.” He says it so seriously that I kind of feel like an asshole
for having an attitude about it. Liam pulls this feeling from me quite a bit,
actually. Guilt.
He doesn’t even do it on purpose. He’s just so… gentle. He’s this six-
foot-one used-to-be baseball player who makes people want to protect him
and shit. There are other reasons—more taxing and misery-inducing reasons
—that I feel guilty even just looking at him sometimes, but I’m not going to
let myself dwell on all of that right now.
“Sure. I’ll be here when you’re done.” I almost want to ask if Sebastian
is working––meaning is he here, and am I going to have to look at him or
possibly inadvertently piss him off just by existing in his proximity––but I
keep it in.
As soon as he walks through the glass door in front of us, I walk around
the corner and beeline to the treadmills. I want to run—sprint and work off
some of the itchiness plaguing my very being—but I’m not really dressed
for that. And I don’t feel like doing any warmups or stretches, so I just
walk.
I can’t stop myself from looking for Liam’s boyfriend, and my eyes find
him pretty much instantly. Sebastian is hard to miss—tall with a million
tattoos. He looks like he’s always mad at someone. He’s in the room he’s
almost always in, doing his trainer thing and looking annoyingly hot while
doing it.
 I thought about going for it at one point, asking him out. Got brave
enough to ask him what his name was and then walked away when he told
me with a glare. But really, I chickened out because of Liam. I’m not really
in the closet. Well, I’m definitely not now that Liam knows, but before this
whole mess I was kind of somewhere in the middle. I went to clubs, usually
Class, and had quick hookups with guys whose names I don’t remember—
rarely even learned—every so often, but when it came to my best friend, I
made sure he didn’t know.
I was careful. Sneaky even. I was scared, honestly. I really thought there
was a big chance that he’d be disgusted with me if he knew. Liam has just
always had that kinda-sorta homophobic feel about him. And even if he
hadn’t been grossed out by me, I thought it’d clue him in on all the more-
than-platonic feelings I had for him, and I could not handle that. The only
reason I’m doing it now is because I have no choice.
I wonder how different shit would have been if I’d actually gone for it
with Sebastian. Or better yet, gone for it with Liam years ago.
I have to force myself to look away, tired of bumming myself out. I get
into the groove of mindlessly walking, zoning out as I take comfort in the
atmosphere of the gym I’ve been coming to for the past couple of years.
I don’t know how much time has passed before my phone vibrates in
my back pocket. It’s a text from an unsaved number, but the message tells
me pretty point-blank who it is.
where tf is apartment 13???
When I don’t answer him in the point-two seconds he wants, I get
another one. And then another.
And now he’s calling.
“The odd numbers are all on the right side,” I say immediately, making
sure to speak before he can start his bitching. “Number thirteen is in the
second set of apartments, on the bottom floor. The thirteen is pink and
pretty big, so––Nic?”
He hung up on me.
“Dick,” I mutter to myself. I’ve been pretty lucky not having to directly
communicate with him—my mom or his dad usually being the ones I talk
to, but I guess all that’s over now. Because he’s here. I really fucking hope
he’s not an asshole to Baby or Logan.
I shoot a text to Baby to warn him that our newest roommate is there
and then fight the urge to apologize. I haven’t really explained the Nic lore
to him. Maybe he’s not a massive prick these days. I mean, I doubt it, but
it’s possible.
I haven’t seen him in years. When I go visit on holidays or whatever,
he’s just been… gone. Somewhere else. My mom will give me updates here
and there, but mostly, Nic is hardly even an afterthought. He’s just someone
I vaguely know, someone who thinks I ruined his life.
I had no clue why Nic’s leg was bleeding. I had a feeling it was
something bad when he reacted the way he did, but how was I supposed to
know that telling on him would lead to him being forcibly removed from
his mom’s? Nobody saw that coming.
I still don’t know the full story. If anyone had bothered actually looking
at him—seeing him and the muted look on his face, the sweat on his
hairline, chapped lips, and dark eyes—they’d have known something was
wrong. I only know that Nic was hurting himself, and Carrie, his mom, was
not fully present. Asking either my mom or Anton for details felt too taboo,
especially with the way they tiptoed around the topic. And asking Nic, the
guy whose hate for me went from one hundred to one thousand after that
whole thing, was not an option.
And he dipped two years after that. Up and left the place he refused to
ever call home. The only info I ever heard about him came from our
parents.
I don’t hate him, despite what he thinks. I don’t even really know
enough about him to hate him. I just have enough shit going on, and I really
don’t want him and his drama piling onto the mess.
Liam comes out after what feels like a small forever but is actually
twenty-something minutes and tells me he wants to talk to his boyfriend
before we go. I can’t tell if he’s just trying to act like I didn’t put my lips on
his ten days ago or if he truly doesn’t care, but either way, it’s driving me
crazy. It feels too weird to witness whatever goes on between those two so I
make my way out of the gym and wait for him by my car.
“You ready?” I ask about five minutes later as he walks around up to
the passenger side to get in it.
“Yeah. Let’s stop for some food.”
“Okay,” I agree, not bothering to ask him where to go as I climb in and
start the car. He’s one of those people who like to drive me insane by
having zero clue where they want to eat, even if they’re the ones who
suggested we do so. If he knew what he wanted, he’d have just named the
place. “How was the meeting?”
“It was okay. He used to be a food therapist––which apparently is a
legit thing. We really just talked about my eating habits and how they make
me feel, so nothing crazy.”
Thinking about this a little more in-depth, it’s not all that surprising. I
found a stash of junk food in his closet when we were teens once, and when
I mentioned it, his face had gone pale. I just never brought it up again.
Maybe I should have, but from where I stood, he was a healthy jock who
just didn’t get to eat sweets very often.
“Maybe you should see a professional? Someone who is currently a
food therapist.”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, clearly feeling certain about this. “I’m not…
I just have all this freedom now, y’know? I just have to get used to it not
needing to be a secret when I eat a fucking piece of cake or something. And
this guy is cool. And cheap, so I can meet with him a few more times. He
works on diet plans with people trying to lose weight and gain weight, but
he also just listens. He said as long as I’m honest with him, he’ll do his best
to recognize habits, and if he spots any unhealthy ones, he’ll advise me
on… I don’t know exactly. It won’t get that far.”
The way he talks about it makes it seem like it’s maybe a bigger deal
than he’s willing to admit. I open my mouth to ask if he’s sure he’s got this,
but he speaks first.
“What do you have going on for the rest of the day?”
I cock my head at him, unsure how I want to answer. I can feel him
asking to hang out, but I’m not all that certain I want to—that I can even
deal with that right now. Maybe it’s messed up to not want to be around him
immediately after he sort of admitted to having an eating disorder, but
things are messed up between us right now.
“Not much, but I should probably get home. Nic just got here, and I
don’t want him to––”
“Nic—like, your stepbrother? That Nic?”
“Oh. I never told you.” I let out a rueful laugh as I run a heavy hand
down my face. I haven’t had the chance to tell him more like. I’ve only
known about this for three days, and we haven’t talked that much since he
moved out. “He’s your replacement.”
“What do you mean?”
 “He’s moving in.” When all he does is gape at me, I shrug. “My mom
asked.”
“And you said yes?”
“She asked nicely.” I breathe another short laugh out through my nose
with a shrug at the look on his face. Nic and Liam don’t really get along
either—or they didn’t. I don’t think Nic gets along with anyone.
“I’m… sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Liam. And it’s not that big of a deal.” It really isn’t.
Between work and school, I don’t even spend that much time in my room.
It’s been years since I’ve lived with Nic, but from what I can remember, he
spends most of his time brooding in bed, listening to shitty music. As long
as I stay out of his way he pretty much ignores me.
It’ll probably be harder to do now that we share a bedroom. I only have
the past to go by, but I need to get it in my head that we’re not sixteen years
old anymore. I knew Nic then––and only kind of. I definitely don’t know
who he is today.
“Well, still. You’re going to be living with an asshole. That sucks.”
“You would know,” I say, nodding my head and smiling as I let myself
tease him about this.
He rolls his eyes, blushing a little which in turn triggers a roll of mine.
He’s so smitten. It almost gives me secondhand embarrassment. Dude is a
total simp for a guy who has the emotional range of a rock.
It also––a tiny bit––hurts my feelings. I’ve been around for years. Most
of our lives. Why wasn’t I his bi-awakening? What’s so wrong with me?
But I’m ignoring those thoughts. Trying to anyway.

∞∞∞

“W
here is he?”
“You mean your fine as fuck stepbrother? Cade.” Baby leans
forward, palms on his knees. “You should have warned me.”
“What do you––gross. Baby, no,” I scold. “He’s… bad.”
“He’s something alright.” He laughs as he leans back in his spot on the
couch. His face sobers quickly, all traces of humor gone as he deadpans, “I
can fix him.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious. Either way, I’m annoyed. What the fuck is it
with assholes getting all the attention? Liam and Sebastian, and apparently
Baby and Nic. Especially when Baby thinks it’s funny to constantly make
jokes about me being the ugliest dude in the apartment. “That’s not a thing.
This––you and Nic––that’s not happening.”
“Well, yeah, that’s probably true. I don’t actually have a bad boy kink. I
usually avoid them.” He shrugs. “But Nicolas doesn’t seem that bad. Kind
of shy, maybe. Moody. But, I mean, he’s out of my league anyway.”
“What? That is not true. You’re––”
“Stop. I’m a solid ten outta ten, I know this. But that dude in your
bedroom is––” He fans his face, being all kinds of annoying about it. “How
into dudes are you exactly? Because no marriage would have kept me
from––”
“I’m done talking to you.” I walk away, shaking my head at the fuckery
that was.
“I’m just sayin’. Stepbrother porn is popular for a reason!”
I roll my eyes just as I reach my door, not thinking things through as I
open it. My body lags as I remember Nic is supposed to be in here, but he’s
not. Both beds are empty, though what used to be Liam’s is no longer bare.
I twitch when the bathroom door opens.
“Nic?” I don’t know why I bother asking, but fuck. “You got…” Bigger
is what I almost say, but I manage not to embarrass myself. He was
eighteen the last time I saw him and both shorter and skinnier than me. A
gauntly looking emo kid with patchy skin and hair.
But, fuck. Not anymore. He looks just as tall as me and definitely
packing the kind of muscle mass I wouldn’t have ever assumed was capable
for him.
“Get out.”
“What? It’s my room.”
He has a gift. Never has a single person pissed me off so
instantaneously like that. And with so little effort, too.
“It’s also mine now, and I need to get dressed. So, fuck off.”
I almost flinch. I––yeah. He’s naked. He’s naked and wet and has
nothing but a big towel wrapped around his waist to keep shit from getting
hella awkward.
 Well, no. That’s not true. It kind of does feel awkward. I haven’t seen
him in years, but I’ve never just had a front-row seat to the guy’s nipples
like this. His skin-thing is more prominent than I’d have guessed now that I
can see his chest. He even has one spot, under his collar bone on his pec,
that looks like a small jagged heart. Probably a good representation of what
his actual heart looks like. I should maybe look away, but also… “No. It’s
my room. You can get dressed in the bathroom.”
He scoffs as he steps in front of me. “Just get out, Cade.”
I stare for a moment, the utter audacity of this guy leaving me at a loss
for words. I don’t remember his eyebrow being split like that, about a third
of it white, like his hair.
“Stop fucking drooling and get out.”
This time, I scoff, my face heating at the accusation he’s throwing out
there with his deep voice. I don’t know how to respond to that. I open my
mouth to speak, make myself deny it or something, but he’s suddenly
shoving me, and the door is shut in my face not even a full second later.
I try to open it back up, but my hand isn’t quick enough. He flips the
lock, and I’m left to stand there with my mouth agape. Stunned.
What the fuck?
There’s just too much about this situation that’s irritating the absolute
hell out of me. Nic is somehow exactly nothing and everything I expected.
An asshole? Definitely. A scrawny-looking kid with his white-streaked hair
overgrown and covering his eyes? Not exactly. Not anymore.
I get what Baby was going on about just minutes prior. I get it. I can’t
deny how good he looks, and who the fuck saw that coming? Not me. He’s
just all grown up and shit, and it’s confusing me. The fucker might actually
be a little bigger than me. I’m not even a small guy, but he only needed one
hand, one solid shove to move me out of the room.
And it’s my fucking room!

OceanofPDF.com
 Three
Nic

I
ignore Cade when he starts knocking on the door, fists heavy as he
pounds away. I only just manage not to let him annoy me. He hasn’t
changed one bit. Cocky and muscled with that ever-present himbo look
on his stupid fucking face.
Okay. So clearly, I fail at not letting him get to me. But it can’t be
helped. He’s always pressed all the wrong buttons, every single one I’ve
got. And there’s a lot of them. His very presence pisses me off pretty much
the split second I see him, and that has not at all changed. There’s just
something too easy about him. The very air that surrounds Cadence Howard
is light. Like he has no worries, nothing to stress over. Like he’s not forced
to carry the kind of weight I am.
And he isn’t. He breathes easier than I do because he can. Because his
air isn’t something dense and suffocating. He’ll never understand just how
much he’s lucked out. I lost a parent when he gained one.
He hasn’t changed. At least not in appearances. His dark brown, wavy
hair is a medium-length mess on his head, just like always. Same muddy
green eyes with lashes much longer than necessary surrounding them. The
only real noticeable difference is that the divot in his chin is more
noticeable than it once was now that he’s lost the bit of baby fat he had.
His good looks were one of the things that made me hate him when I
moved into their house five years ago. He’s nothing like me, and all of the
differences were so glaring and better that I just had to resent him. He was a
good son and I was a disappointment, and we certainly looked the part.
Even people at school flocked around him. Why wouldn’t they? He was
nothing but smiles––as long as he wasn’t looking at me––and I was the
opposite. Disturbed. My dad actually said that once. It made people––my
dad and his new wife, namely––not want to be around me. Even if they
were the ones who insisted I be there. Cade was easy for my dad to deal
with, to love, and I just… made shit hard.
It got easier once I accepted things as they were. My mom was alone,
and I was alone, and I just couldn’t do anything about it. So I put up with it
—learned to not feel.
When Tracey suggested this arrangement, my immediate reaction was
something so filled with dread that I was thrown off. It had been jarring to
have any one feeling be so tangible, something I felt with my whole body.
So, I lied. I told myself that I don’t hate Cade, that I could handle living
with him if it meant getting my shit together and learning how to feel again.
Seeing him in person proves how big of a lie that was, but I have the chance
to move forward. Move out of the limbo I’ve been bound to for a big chunk
of my life, and I want that. I’ve sacrificed a lot for my mom. I see that now,
and I want… more.
Or I think I do. Otherwise, why would I start therapy? Reach out to my
dad? Some part of me doesn’t want things to stay the same.
There are other parts of me that are missing, a hollowness that makes it
hard to feel. And while it is hard, sometimes unbearably so, it’s also not
impossible. I do feel some things—sad, ugly things usually. But if I could
somehow get to a point where the things I feel aren’t always sad or ugly…
well, why wouldn’t I want that?
So, I’m here. In Cade’s room. Feeling annoyed because he just happens
to be real fucking good at inducing that particular emotion. Being here is
temporary. I just need to get a job and save up so I can get my own place.
As long as I stay in school––actually finish this time around––my dad said
he’d help out. It’s why I came so early and didn’t wait until after the
holidays. I wanted to get a good footing before I actually start school. By
the time I do, I want to be on my own.
Well, not entirely. I know I have to make an effort not to be so… lonely.
I have my Dad—or I’m trying to. Sometimes, I slip in my head and still
refer to him as Anton, but I’m trying. And he is, too. He seems happy to do
it even. He insisted on helping me out. With him giving me cash, I’m fairly
certain that I can pull this off—be on my own. I mean, living with my mom
was basically the same thing anyway. This won’t be all that different, but it
will hopefully be healthier.
 I move quickly as I get dressed, pulling a pair of sweats on and being
careful to spread the hemline enough to keep it from dragging over the tops
of my thighs.
It’s been years since those wounds were fresh, but the scars left over
have made the skin there both oversensitive and unfeeling at once. It’s
uncomfortable. There’s a lot of nerve damage surrounding them, and when
anything touches those areas, it makes it hard not to cringe. One of my
doctors said that there wasn’t much I could do to avoid it. Hurting myself
has left a lot of nerve endings all jumbled up, jagged. She said that when
they’re stimulated, my body is just stuck trying to make sense of the mess.
Sometimes it hurts, but most of the time, it just feels so fucking strange. It
makes my whole body want to recoil.
Cade can be as pissed as he wants to be. No way was I going to let him
stay in here and gawk at the mess I’ve made of myself. And he would have.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of me, off my chest.
I’ve had vitiligo in some form my whole life, but––my hair and the spot
on my forehead not included––it hadn’t been as noticeable when he’d last
seen me as it is now. Stress and age have made it worse. When my doctor
told me those were likely the cause of its progression, it kind of cemented
the idea that I don’t have control of my life. And it’s hard to expel those
beliefs with the proof being right there every time I look at myself. But I’m
trying to change that.
The topical corticosteroid she prescribed didn’t really do anything
except make my skin thin and give me acne, so I stopped using it. Looking
at my arms has me wondering if maybe I should just try again. There’s a
mirror hanging on the door, and one look at it has me reaching back in my
suitcase and digging around for a sweatshirt.
It’s only once it’s on that I finally unlock the door.
He tries to barrel past me, but I’m not as small as I was the last time he
saw me, and pushing him out of the way is pretty easy.
“What’s your problem?” His face is flushed as he straightens back up.
He hit his back on the edge of the doorway, which I’m sure hurt more than
he’s willing to show. “You literally just got here and already––”
“I don’t have a problem, little brother.” I fight a smile when he glares at
me, his mouth clamped shut as he takes that in. He’s always hated when I
call him that.
 I’ve never said it with anything less than disgust in my voice and I get
why he hates it. But it’s my dad’s fault that I say it at all. We were both
thirteen when we met, but Cade’s birthday being three weeks after mine
prompted him to introduce Cade as my new little brother.
That in itself had felt like a slap in my mom’s face, so I didn’t really
appreciate it either. She had just suffered a miscarriage that year, something
that hit her hard––she lost a baby boy pretty late in the pregnancy. She’d
rub her round belly and smile, telling me my little brother was in there. But
he didn’t make it.
At that age, I didn’t fully understand the weight of a loss like that, but
I’d seen the damage. It’s how I mark the beginning of my mom’s mental
downfall, the avalanche that buried who she used to be. I thought it hit both
of my parents hard, but Anton moved on pretty quickly.
But something about the way Cade had blushed when my dad had said
little brother had fascinated me. And sometimes, if I said it just right, I
could make my dad squirm too.
“Don’t call me that.”
This time, I can’t keep the grin off my face. He’s always been easy to
rile up. It’s another thing about him that hasn’t changed.
When I don’t offer the reaction he wants, he changes tactics. “Why are
you even here, Nic? Your mom got sick of you and your shitty attitude?
Can’t say I blame her.” He scoffs.
I guess some things have changed. Talking about my mom, bringing her
up at all, was something he was too scared to do back then. The whole
house had been, really.
“Careful.”
“I’m just saying. Pretty bad when not even your own mother wants to
be around you. Now––”
I don’t think about it as my hand closes around his throat, squeezing
just hard enough to shut him up as I shove him against the door. “Watch
yourself.” It’s only a second, maybe two before I push at his neck to get him
away from me, but I get a satisfying view of his panic-stricken face all the
same.
His head thuds against the wood as he chokes on a garbled noise. His
widened eyes don’t settle, like maybe he’s shocked that I even did that in
the first place. If I bothered to consider it, maybe I would be too. He was
the one who had a problem with keeping his hands to himself back then. I
was too small to really do anything about it, but we’re evenly matched now.
And he pretty much asked for it. The topic of my mom being in this
guy’s mouth doesn’t sit right with me. He’s the reason I was taken away
from her. I’d be doing her and myself a disservice by letting him run it now.
“I don’t have a problem, and I don’t want any, Cade.” My voice is a lot
calmer than I feel. Cade gives away too much with the way he reacts to
things. I don’t want to be the same, don’t want to let him see things he just
doesn’t need to fucking see. “Leave me alone, and it’ll stay that way.”
He clears his throat, slowly straightening his spine once again, clearly
feeling out of place in his own room. His hand moves, like maybe he wants
to feel the skin my hand was just on, but it settles quickly at his side
instead.
It’s true. I’m not here for the drama, but if he wants my hand around his
neck again, I guess I could find a way to be okay with that.

∞∞∞

“A
lright, man. You’re hired.” Alex, the manager, smiles at me as he
starts shuffling the papers he brought to the table.
“Just like that?” I had applied online as soon as Tracey told
me about Cade’s lack of a roommate, but I still expected more than just
showing up and immediately getting the job.
He shrugs. “Sure. We called your references already, and everyone
loves you. You’ve got experience, and we need the help.”
“Well, shit.” That was way easier than I thought it was going to be.
“Oh, sorry,” I say when he cocks a little admonishing brow at me, but the
small smile on his lips tells me he’s not actually mad. Still. This is an
interview.
My fingers tap over my scars—a grounding technique that is mostly
safe—doesn’t hurt unless I make it. The thick fabric of my jeans doesn’t let
me feel the ragged ridges, but it’s soothing, the slight pain muddied up by a
phantom-like numbness. It can get to the point of overwhelming, too
painful in certain spots at times, but right now it’s good. Working at a diner,
being on my feet all day, will make those sensations worse, but I have pain
pills and lidocaine for that if it gets too bad.
“As long as you don’t curse in front of the diners, you’re good.” He
goes on to give me the rundown on the place, having me follow him to the
office so he can get copies of my driver’s license and social security card.
“Well, I have open availability until the spring semester starts. As soon
as I have my class schedule, I can get that to you.” I say it with as much
aloofness as I can muster, but really, I’m hoping he isn’t annoyed that I
didn’t tell him this before he told me I was hired.
I’ve put off school long enough. I only ever managed to do two
semesters, so I’m way behind where I should be at twenty-one. I was stupid
in thinking I could pull it off living with my mom.
I’d spent two years being forced away from her, rarely hearing from her
and hardly ever seeing her. When I did talk to her, all of her updates
involved her talking about getting help. Doing better. Even Paulina had said
she was okay when I asked.
She lied. They both did. Turning eighteen meant freedom. It meant
doing what I wanted, and she told me that she was okay. I visited, and the
house was clean. She looked fed and happy. I had no reason not to believe
her. So, I went to school. I left her––again––and when I came back, she was
worse than when I’d been dragged away from her at sixteen.
My stomach pinches as I think about it. Those memories fucking suck.
They aren’t all like that. She really was a happy woman and a good mom
for most of my childhood. But somehow, thinking about those memories is
just as bad.
“Alright.” He claps his hands together after handing me my things back.
“So, you can start on Friday. I’ll schedule you mornings for a while. That
way, you can train with Cade.”
“Cade?” The bitter laugh that leaves my lips can’t be helped. What are
the fucking chances?
“Yeah, he’s one of our servers. He’s the best.”
The smile on this guy’s face has my own fading. The best. “I’m sure he
is.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Four
Cade

“W
hat the hell is he doing?” I pull into the spot I always park in,
only to have Nic pull in next to me. He’s been following me the
whole way here, and for some reason, I really doubt he got a
sudden craving for Gerty’s Grubhouse at six in the morning. Most likely, he
followed me just to fuck with me.
Things have calmed way down in the two days he’s been here. It’s a
little embarrassing, but him fucking choking me definitely did what he
wanted––I got the message. I’m not proud of how much I let him get to me
when he moved in all those years ago, but me hitting or shoving him just to
shut him up––the few times he actually opened his mouth to speak
anyway––wasn’t out of the ordinary. So Nic doing that to me… well, I was
surprised.
Surprised and maybe a little something else. I have no idea what it was
I was feeling when his hand was wrapped around my throat. There were too
many things all at once, making it impossible to pinpoint one thing. I mean,
he choked me. Who does that? Besides, like psychos and serial killers. I
look over at him when I hear his car door shut and decide that, yeah, that
tracks. Fucking psycho.
He gets out and stands there for a moment. Just stands there like a
weirdo, staring ahead at the front of the building. I don’t expect it when he
finally looks at me. I freeze, my mind and body buffering. It’s not until he
cocks a judgy as fuck brow at me that I react, face heating as I force my
eyes away from him.
He is annoyingly hot, and I hate it. I hate it. My hookups with guys
have been quick, nothing more than swapping blowjobs or handjobs in the
backroom at Class or some other overcrowded club. So, being picky wasn’t
necessary, and outside of Liam, I’m not sure what my type is.
Nic looks nothing at all like my best friend. Liam is Hollywood pretty.
Built and the kind of sweet that adds to his presence in a way that makes it a
part of his appearance. Nic is the worst kind of fuckhead. He has issues, and
I’m sure they’re valid, but he makes it everyone else’s problem. It adds an
air of ugly to him that is too hard to ignore. Or it used to be.
Now he looks all hot and pisses me off and chokes me, and I’m just
confused. Stepping out of my car has my belly dipping, angry anticipation
bubbling all throughout my bloodstream as I get ready to face him.
“What are you doing here?” I sound fairly normal, so props for that.
“Working.”
“That’s—–” That’s the most unfunny joke I’ve ever heard. It’s so
unfunny that part of me knows he’s serious. He even has a nametag on his
black button-up.
“Alex says that you’re training me.”
“Me?”
“You,” he mocks.
I make myself take a deep breath and stop the comeback that wants to
fall out of my mouth all willy-nilly. He’s usually calm. Even when he puts
his hand around my neck, he manages to do it with an icy demeanor. It
makes me look stupid when I’m the only one sputtering and red-faced.
So, I swallow every word I want to say and stalk inside with him on my
heels.

∞∞∞

“T
he new guy doing okay?”
I look at our hostess and frown.
“That bad, huh?” She laughs.
Actually, no. He’s doing more than okay. And for whatever reason,
that’s the part that’s irritating me. He does whatever I say, doesn’t ask too
many questions, and it’s clear that he studied the menu. Plus, the clueless
guests all love him. I’m pretty sure he’s made more in tips than me. Fucking
morons. They can’t tell that an actual psychopath is taking their orders—
don’t see through his artificial smiles.
And honestly, I might be having a hard time seeing through them too. I
don’t know if I’ve ever seen him smile when it wasn’t just something smug
because he was irritating me to near death. So, these? These big, toothy
grins and easy laughs?
I have to remember that he’s the enemy. He once called my mom a
whore to her face, and somehow it was me who got in trouble when I
punched his arm. He called Liam and me homos every time Liam came to
the house, and it stressed me out so much I just stopped letting him come
over. Trying to fight over our shared bathroom as teens made mornings
unbearable.
I realize that holding onto stuff he did as a teenager is a stupid reason
not to like him, but there’s also the part where he’s just a horrible person.
Rude and mean. Too bad his insides didn’t have the same glow-up the rest
of him did.
As a teen, he’d get mad that his dad and my mom were so nice to me all
the time, but really, they coddled him. Let him get away with almost
everything just because they were afraid to break his already fragile mind.
And all the while, he acted like he was some mistreated prisoner—one with
a really shitty attitude.
Glow-up aside, it’s hard to get over the disdain I have for him.
But I’m not explaining all of this to Vivian.
“He’s fine.”
“He is that,” she agrees, a coy little gleam on her face that just should
not be there this early in the morning.
Ew. “He’s gay,” I grunt and then ignore it when she pouts.
She starts talking about how cool and beautiful his skin is––a weird
thing to say out loud, in my opinion––and I decide that I’m over it. He’s not
all that. It looks okay. It’s kind of cool, yeah, but it’s not cool enough to
actually say so.
And beautiful?
My eyes trail him as he makes his way up the kitchen window, taking
him in. I’ve always––rather begrudgingly––liked his hair. It’s pitch black,
except where those solid white streaks are, and I think most people would
agree that it’s nice––it’s definitely not just me. He mostly has his dad’s skin
tone, a tawny shade of warm brown, but there are random patches of skin
that are paler than even Baby’s is. Light and creamy. All of him looks so
soft, which is weird considering how rough his personality is. But he
looks…
I huff, rubbing tiredly at my face just as a small group of senior citizens
walk in. I’m supposed to be working, not fixating on Nic.
It’s not crazy busy, not yet, and after I realized that Nic could handle his
shit, I gave him his own section instead of letting him work off of mine. I
was hoping to ignore him.
And that’s what I do. Only it’s a lot harder than it should be, his quiet
presence demanding attention when he’s not even doing anything except his
job, and it is so fucking infuriating. There’s no reason to be so irritated, but
Jesus fuck. He’s just the worst.
We’re not even halfway through the shift when I see him pick a fifty-
dollar bill off one of his tables. “Is that a tip?”
“Yup.”
He gives me a cocky smirk, and that’s how it starts. How he starts it, the
fucker. We spend our last few hours trying to one-up each other—racing to
put our orders in before one another, greeting customers as they walk in,
and just all around giving these oldtimers the service of their goddamn
lives.
When I see an order of country-fried steak pop up, I know it’s not mine.
He put his order in first, and sitting right next to it is a stack of pancakes
that definitely doesn’t belong to any of my tables. Does that stop me from
grabbing the steak? Absolutely not. I’m on a mission as I walk toward my
table and end up clipping his shoulder as we pass each other.
“Watch it,” he complains.
But I’m already setting the stolen breakfast plate in front of my guest,
smiling as the man thanks me. I feel a little giddy as I walk back and hear
him asking the cook where it is. The plan is to feign innocence as I crowd
his space, but the look he gives me––brows pitched low and a few strands
of solid white hair falling over his frosty grey eyes––triggers a jolt of raw
joy in me and suddenly, I’m all for simply owning it. I can feel the
excitement his anger instills as it flares in the middle of my chest, and I am
so ready for this.
“Oh, I took that.” I shrug, and when he scoffs, I go as far as beaming at
him. “Whoops.”
 His full lips tilt at the corner, a tight half-smile paired with a humorless
laugh that has my breath hitching. I don’t even know why. That’s all he
gives me––a mirthless laugh and a sexy little pissed-off curve of his lips––
and I swear it’s the highlight of my day so far. Making him mad.
In the end, he wins. He counts his tips, but before he’s even done, I can
see that he’s won. It’s that fucking pretty privilege Liam is always talking
about. Telling myself that it doesn’t matter isn’t all that effective. But still,
it’s a complete accident when I walk into him on the way to the crew room.
It’s happened a few times today, and in a restaurant setting, it’s not
uncommon. It’s not a surprise when he gets mad, though. Tensions have
been a little high—his fault, really but I haven’t exactly helped the situation
either.
“Watch it,” I mimic his words from earlier.
“You’re so fucking immature.” He huffs, grabbing his keys and wallet
out of the little cubby he dumped them in earlier.
I am immature. I can admit that, but I don’t really see a problem with it.
So, as I pass him again, it’s not an accident when my shoulder hits his.
I expect the anger. I do not, however, expect it when he shoves me. My
hands only just barely keep me from faceplanting into the cubbies.
“What the fuck, Nic?” I only just manage to turn around when the back
of my head thuds against something hard, a warm hand keeping me there as
I let out a hiss.
“Keep testing me, little brother.”
“Don’t call––”
His hand tightens, forcing me to move onto my tip toes. All my
attention zeroes in on him, nothing but Nic plaguing my every sense. The
tips of his fingers dig into a thick vein on the side of my neck, and I gasp,
inhaling and somehow tasting him as I do. I can smell him—woody and
laden with a spice that has my heartbeat thrumming. My nostrils flare, an
attempt to find some more of that scent that ends up being nothing but a
wasted breath.
I want him off of me. I open my mouth to try to speak, but he only
presses harder over my Adam’s apple, and then it’s just a struggle not to gag
as my hands clasp around his wrist. There’s a pressure building in my
temples––subtle, but it’s there. Actual panic starts to take a physical form in
my body, forcing a feeble little whine from between my parted lips that
would embarrass me if I could only fucking think.
 He’s for sure overreacting. Nothing I’ve done today has warranted this.
He’s mental. Actually insane. He’s telling me to leave him alone, but I
haven’t taken a breath in what feels like too long, so I can’t listen. I try to
move, but it only has him pressing into me, his body blanketing mine in an
attempt to keep me still.
It’s better, I realize. There’s a swift, icy calm that tries to trick my
nervous system into relaxing as his solid frame meets mine. It’s real close to
peaceful and so warm I close my eyes just to feel it.
And then it’s gone. I’m left gasping for breath and coughing, gagging
on oxygen as I try to blink through tears. He choked me. Blood rushes to
my head so quickly I can hear it.
“You’re––” Another cough cuts me off, and when my eyes come into
focus, I give up. Gone. He left. Literally cut off my oxygen and dipped.
He’s certifiable. It feels a little like attempted murder. What a prick.
And for what? Because I bumped into his shoulder? Fucking nut.
I breathe deeply through the comedown and let my body regain
awareness as I stand hunched over with my hands on my thighs. When I
finally straighten up, I freeze.
I’m hard. My dick is fucking hard, pressed against my zipper in a way
that hurts when I move.
“Hey, Cade.”
My coworker’s voice has me moving out of the room—unexpected and
unwanted boner aside.
“How’s it––”
“I gotta go.” I hurry to leave, avoid looking at anyone as I walk through
the restaurant, and hope like hell nobody looks at my dumb dick while it’s
being all sorts of dumb and refusing to relax.
I must have lost brain cells. I don’t know how else to describe this.
I hesitate with my hand on my car door, grateful that my stepbrother’s
car is no longer here. I can’t see my face all that clearly in the reflection on
the window, but I can see enough to know that I’m glad he’s not here to
witness it. Face flushed and eyes glossy. I don’t look at my neck. I don’t
even want to think about how I must have looked while he was giving me
the marks that have to be there.
After long moments of nothing, I take a deep, well-earned breath as the
pressure behind my zipper eases. Maybe it was adrenaline. A pissed-off fear
boner. I was actually suffocating––being suffocated. That’s gotta have all
kinds of crazy, one-hundred percent unwanted effects on a body.
And it’s definitely not boner-inducing. Not the good kind of boners,
anyway.
God. Nic sucks. I haven’t been this confused since Liam embraced the
five-inch inseam fad. But, hell, at least Liam is nice. I may not know what
my type is when it comes to guys, but nice is usually a factor no matter the
gender. Nice people do not choke others.
He needs to cut it out. He better stop putting his hand on my throat like
that, or I’ll… shit, I don’t even know.
Come. I’ll probably come.

OceanofPDF.com
 Five
Nic

H
e’s probably embarrassed. That’s got to be why he’s still not home.
I’m not sure why it bothers me so much, but I do wish we could just
get this over with. Cade being gone is as much a relief as it is
absolutely maddening. He makes me crazy when he’s not even here. I keep
waiting, expecting him to walk his bratty ass through the door at any second
and tell me he’s going to tell my dad on me or something.
I shouldn’t have done it, but fuck. He asked for it. I tried to ignore him,
but he did not make it easy. He made it impossible, actually.
I groan through clenched teeth, not wanting to voice any of my
frustrations. I called him immature, but I wasn’t exactly the picture of
sophistication either.
But he did ask for it. Practically begged me to react—made sure I did
by going on and on and on. Bumping into me, stealing tables, stealing food.
I may be immature, but he’s a toddler.
I might have overreacted, though. A little bit.
I don’t know how to feel about what I did when the dam finally broke.
The little warning squeeze I gave him two days ago was nothing compared
to what I did a few hours ago. That was assault. Violent.
I just wanted to shut him up and teach him a lesson. I didn’t expect it to
backfire like that. Punch me? Sure. That makes all the sense there is. Pop a
fucking woody against my thigh?
Yeah, I still don’t really understand the logistics of that.
I used to tease him whenever I could about his obsession with Liam,
and I definitely had my suspicions. But I never had any concrete proof to
confirm. As far as I know, Cade is straight.
 The music playing in my ears is quiet enough that I hear it when my
new roommates start laughing out in the hall, the closed door keeping me
out of the loop. When I recognize one of the muffled voices as Cade’s, I’m
moving.
I don’t like confrontation, but I like avoiding confrontation even less.
All that does is cause stress, and I’d really rather just rip the bandaid off.
I can hear him speaking to Baby before I pull the door open.
“What is this?” Baby places a hand on the side of Cade’s neck––or tries
to––making Cade flinch. The move has me feeling a conflicting mix of
smugness and guilt. “Are those hickeys? What the heck was goin’ on over
at Gerty’s?” Baby is overjoyed at the notion that someone was sucking on
Cade’s skin, but I’m pretty sure it’s just from my fingers digging into his
soft flesh. I can’t see the marks, but I know they’re there.
I’m not crazy—I didn’t really want to suffocate him. Not at first. I just
wanted to prove a point, maybe scare him. I was holding him with a
purpose, being deliberate in trying not to actually suffocate him. Him
staying cocky had my hand acting on its own, squeezing where a normal
person would have let go.
To be fair, I don’t think a normal person would have done any of that to
begin with.
Cade denies Baby’s accusation but offers no explanation, and it’s
obvious he’s grateful Baby is nice enough not to press the issue. Instead, he
turns to me, something Cade is actively avoiding.
“And where were you, Nicolas? I needed someone tall earlier, and
somehow, all of my tall roommates were gone.”
“Working. Got a job at Gerty’s Grubhouse.” I love the way this little
twink’s eyes light up when I say it, the way he snaps his attention back to
Cade and zeroes in on his neck. It played out exactly how I wanted.
“Oh. I see.”
“You don’t––you see nothing,” Cade bites, placing a palm on his
bruises before quickly dropping his hand, realizing that all he’s doing is
drawing more attention to what he wants to hide.
“Okay. Sensitive.” Baby side-eyes me, a playful little smile on his face.
“But then, I guess that many hickeys would be, huh?”
He thinks I kissed my stepbrother. That’s––hm. It bothers me, but
compared to the truth, I guess it’s okay. He most likely wouldn’t
understand. I’m not even sure that I do.
 “Do you want to go to Class with us tonight?” Baby effectively changes
the subject.
“Class?”
“It’s a gay club.”
That has my eyes moving to Cade again because why would he be
going to a gay club? “You’re going?” I ask, wanting some clarification.
The composure he was wearing cracks when he looks at me, his lips
pursing as he fights his anger. Or maybe it’s not anger but embarrassment?
Both?
“Yes,” he grinds out, triggering an involuntary tick in my jaw. It seems
he learned no lesson.
I decide that I don’t care if he’s developed a liking for dick over the
years and focus my attention back on Baby. “Yeah, I’ll go.”
I actually didn’t know that’s what I was going to say, but it’s a done
deal. I’m going. Fuck knows why, but maybe it’ll be fun.
Of course, Cade is standing a foot away to remind me why that’s a
crazy thought to have.
He scoffs, moving into the room awkwardly in an attempt not to touch
me as he goes. But I’m taking up the doorway, which means he is once
again knocking into me. He has no fucking manners, but then I remember
who his mom is, and I suppose that makes sense.
The only reason he gets to shut the door with me still in the hallway is
because Baby does this thing where he just doesn’t shut up, and I get stuck
listening to him babble about what kind of club he’s dragging me to tonight.
I barely listen. Cade is going to a gay club, and I can’t get over it. What
does it mean? I’d written the boner off to some weird adrenaline, but now
it’s a possibility that it was something else entirely. There’s a chance that I
understand him a little better, the kinds of things that get him going, and it’s
kind of blowing my perception of him to pieces.
Dick and hand necklaces.
I have to smother a laugh as Baby keeps talking.

∞∞∞
C
lass is somehow wilder than Baby described. They’ve stuck to the
classroom theme to the point of almost overdoing it, but it’s the
amount of people here that makes it feel intense. I’ve been here ten
minutes, if even, and have been clipped by an elbow on all sides. After the
shit Cade put me through today, I’m having a hard time not letting each
hit––accidental or not––get to me. I honestly regret coming. I’m not even
sure why I did.
Cade. I know it had something to do with him, but now that I’m here––
heart pounding a little too hard, sweat making my shirt cling uncomfortably
to my skin, and hackles rising the tiniest bit every time I’m touched by
some stranger––I know that it wasn’t worth it. Maybe I wanted to mess with
him, show him that I couldn’t be ignored, but right now, that doesn’t sound
so bad.
If anything, he’s the one with all the power here. Annoying me by just
existing. Went from pressing his boner against me to staying away from me
—always in my line of sight, but not close enough to touch.
When Baby hands me a shot, I can’t decide if I want to take it or not. It
could be nice. Maybe. But I’m on meds that it wouldn’t mix well with, and
I’m trying to be better about things like this. It’s awkward, though,
admitting you’re a twenty-one-year-old college kid who doesn’t drink, so I
do take it in my hand––hold it for a bit like a moron.
I just want to fit in, I guess, even if it makes me a little sick to my
stomach just to be here, to have this shot glass in my hand. Cade makes it
worse, of course. He downs his shot quickly, seems to swallow it without a
second thought.
It hits me, for fuck knows how many times at this point, just how easy
things are for him. I force myself not to fixate on him, follow his lead, and
keep my attention on anything but him.
My new resolve only lasts a few minutes, though. Baby lost interest in
me when his attempts at conversation fell flat, and he’s made friends with a
few others and is busy dancing with them. So my eyes find Cade once
again. And then again.
A part of me had assumed that he was some kind of interested in men as
the night progressed because why else would he be here? Plus, with the
whole hard-dick-against-my-thigh thing earlier, it just makes sense that he
would be some shade on the rainbow. But seeing it is something else
entirely.
 Cade is an agressive flirt. Handsy as fuck. The kind of ballsy that would
have me balking, but for whatever reason has the few guys he’s moved
through tonight going putty in his hands. I can see how he’d be considered
hot enough to get away with it, but it’s still strange to see so many guys
enjoy it. And he always ends up moving on, leaving them either pissed or
confused, even though each one of them has clearly been interested in
more.
He’s a bit slutty with it, to be honest. An attention whore, maybe. A
fucking tease at the very least. I can’t look away.
And Baby’s stick-together rule means that I get to witness all of it. Like
right now, I have a front-row seat as Cade slips his hand over some twink’s
navel, his mouth moving against the guy’s ear as Cade whispers something
that has his eyes fluttering shut. What the fuck could he be saying that
would warrant that reaction?
I don’t know, but thinking about it has my whole body tensing. I’m on
the dance floor, barely moving because he keeps distracting me. It feels like
my skin is vibrating, uneasiness clawing at every inch of me. The shot glass
is still in my hand, being held with my fingertips as I hide it at my side. It
might be empty by now, with as many times as I’ve been jostled. I’m about
to check when a hand slaps heavily on my shoulder, and I drop the thing
altogether.
“Hey there!”
I have to turn to see who it is, shooting them a glare because I’m in a
mood, and that greeting fucking sucked. He’s a fairly built guy with a broad
grin to match that broad chest of his. The type I usually go for—someone
easily matched with me—and my dirty look doesn’t even throw him off, so
I know he can handle a little attitude. He kind of reminds me of Cade, only
his goofy smile is actually pointed at me.
Cade doesn’t smile at me like this—not ever. His grins are usually self-
assured, the kind that makes me want to slap it off his face—not at all like
the smiles he’s wearing tonight. Those smiles are like gay-guy magnets, has
all kinds of men flocking to him. But they’re not pointed at me.
Actually, now that I’ve had a second to look, they don’t really look
alike. This guy is a brunette. That’s their only similarity, so I’m a little
bothered that I compared them at all. Thoughts of Cade are infesting my
mind, making it so that every single thing I see has me finding some
connection to him. It’s gross.
 I lean in close to hear what the stranger says and only catch it at the end
as he asks if I want to go sit down. I do want that. I very much want that
and am nodding my head and moving off the dancefloor as soon as he
finishes asking.
I shoot a glance over my shoulder, looking for Baby to tell him I’m
moving, but I find Cade instead. He’s watching me, doesn’t even bother
looking away as I catch him in the act. He still has his hands on the guy
from earlier, the one currently grinding himself all over Cade. Not that he
seems to notice, his eyes too busy glowering at me to give the poor dude
any attention.
It has my stomach tightening, an awareness sweeping over me in a way
that makes me feel one of those pesky emotions mixed with smugness
again. This time, instead of guilt, it’s something close to satisfaction. It
shouldn’t be as annoying as it is, but if anyone could make satisfaction
something negative, I suppose it would be Cade.
But still. The restlessness I was suffering is settling into something
much more comfortable, a low hum rather than the violent thrumming from
before. It makes me feel like I have the upper hand, me being the one who
caught him in a pissy mood over me. Especially knowing he’s ignoring the
person who is still all over him. I don’t know why he’s glaring and refusing
to look away, but I like it. It’s enlivening, in a way. Like maybe I wanted his
attention on me all along. It has my mood perking up, a physical smile and
a mental middle finger pointed his way.
Seems only fair, honestly. It was feeling frustratingly one-sided, this
gross compulsion to just look at him. I let him see the cocky grin on my
face before turning away from him and following this random guy off the
floor.
“So, I thought I’d rescue you.”
“Huh?” I didn’t catch anything he just said, and the laugh he lets out
tells me he knows it.
“I was saying you looked lonely out there. Seemed like you needed a
friend.” He shrugs, his mouth pulled in that crooked grin that doesn’t seem
to waver. When I don’t say anything, he tries again. “So, you come here
often?”
I chuckle, more out of politeness than anything at the lame joke. I
wouldn’t usually bother, but I’m still riding the high that came with pissing
off Cade, and it’s partly thanks to this guy. “First time.”
 “Yeah? That’s cool. Any chance you want to hit detention?”
I let out a full-on laugh at that, have to. “No thanks.” Baby told me that
it was a barely lit room filled with horny guys getting each other off, and
unless I was down with that, I should say no to detention invites. The Zoloft
kind of kills most of my sex drive anyway. “Not my thing.”
“Ah.” He nods, still grinning, obviously not too miffed at the rejection.
“What’s your name?” I ask when he doesn’t show signs of moving on
to someone else.
“Corby.” He holds his hand up when my smile grows. “It’s the name I
was given, man, I don’t know.”
“I’m Nic.”
It’s kind of crazy how much one little glare from Cade cheered me up.
I’m able to comfortably chat with this guy––no pressure to impress since
I’ve already turned him down, and on most days, it would be much harder.
I’m good with people, but only when I try—and it’s rare that I’m in the
mood to try. Right now, though, it’s relatively painless.
It doesn’t hurt that we have some things in common. I find out he goes
to the same college I’ll be going to, studying psychology––the field I’m
interested in. He says it’s possible we’ll see each other—likely be in a class
or two together, and I think I’d be okay with that.
When he orders drinks, I don’t want to decline. I take my meds in the
mornings anyway. I doubt it’ll hit me too hard now. It’s not like I make a
habit of it. And if I start feeling too dizzy, I can stop.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks as we’re finishing up our third
drink. Or, I am, anyway. I don’t know how many he’s had, but it’s clearly
more than me.
“No,” I answer easily, though I’m a little worried he maybe isn’t taking
the rejection as well as I’d thought. Maybe Corby being drunk has him
forgetting, or at least desperate enough to try again. I hope not. I don’t
really have friends––and Baby is nice, but I don’t want Cade’s friends. Part
of me moving forward, the plan my therapist and I worked on, included
making an effort to make connections. That’s the word she used, claiming
that I haven’t made any meaningful ones since I was much younger.
“Why not? Can’t manage to convince anyone to put up with you?”
“You’re projecting.” I roll my eyes, keeping things light by joking along
with him. “I could have had you, remember?”
 “Yeah, well, I’m desperate.” He shrugs. “Before I came along, you were
standing there all alone. Looking sad.”
“Pfft.” I wave a hand, physically sweeping that thought away. If I were
being honest, I might actually agree with that, but right now, I’m feeling
buzzed. Not sad. “I could have anyone I want.”
This time, it’s him who rolls his eyes.
“I could!” I insist. “Anyone.”
“Wanna bet? Say, fifty bucks?” He swallows the rest of his drink and
smiles at me as he places his ice-filled cup back on the table.
“Well, I’m not looking for––”
“That’s what I thought!” he cuts me off, laughing a little and annoying
me enough that I bristle.
“I’m just not in the mood for any of that right now.”
“Says the guy who can’t get none.”
“That’s a double negative,” I grumble, but he’s too drunk to understand
the grammar policing right now. “What if––” I sigh. “I’ll just get someone’s
phone number. Then you owe me fifty bucks.”
“I get to pick the person,” he says way too animatedly, but I shrug.
Whatever. I’ve never had a problem getting some when I want it––it’s just
been a while since I have. “A phone number is too easy, though. You have
to kiss them.”
That has my spirits sinking. I don’t do that––for reasons I’m not willing
to dive into it at the moment, but I don’t want to explain that to this guy I
just met. Kissing is… not something I can do.
I think about it for a moment—just a few seconds too long—before
deciding that I’m buzzed enough that maybe a simple kiss won’t bother me
too much, and then I’m agreeing to this bullshit bet. A peck. I can handle
that.
He holds his hand out, and I roll my eyes as I shake it. When he
points––with a smile that tells me he clearly thinks I’m going to strike
out––I turn around and find the stranger he wants me to smooch.
“Alright.” Of course, the guy he points to is standing pretty close to the
one person in the massive crowd who hates me. He’s even glaring at me as I
stand up, still hanging by Baby but much closer to the bar now. He’s not as
brave this time around and looks away quickly, but I have a feeling he’ll
look again, and that thought pushes my feet across the room.
 Just a kiss. Possibly while Cade watches me. I can do this. I kind of
hate spit, the feel of a tongue on mine makes me gag. It’s why I usually
avoid kissing altogether
“Hi!” I speak loudly, having to lean in close to a guy just about my size.
I have no game, but I’m drunk and could use fifty bucks—and really want
to annoy Cade—so I utter a simple, “Want to kiss me?” and hope it works.
It does. The guy is attractive, darker skinned with dreads that fall
forward and skim my cheek when he leans in to lay one on me. His lips are
warm as they cover mine, instantly taking complete control of the kiss. It
makes me nervous and has me stiffening up in anticipation of a tongue. My
palms only just touch his chest to push him when I feel myself being tugged
away from behind.
“He’s too drunk!”
It’s fucking Cade, yelling at the random dude who just won me fifty
dollars for no reason. I’m almost grateful because I was just about to push
him off of me, but mostly, I’m petty and annoyed that he’s stepping in.
“What the fuck, Cade?”
“You’re shitfaced—we gotta go.”
“No! We—” But the guy is gone. I give Cade a glare, but see Corby
walking up behind him.
Corby––which I’ve decided is a stupid ass name––just laughs as shoves
his way past my stupid ass roommate. “Did you lie, Nic—do you actually
have a boyfriend?”
“He’s my stepbrother.” I leave it at that, letting it explain both
questions.
His brows jump to his hairline, mild shock still on his face as he starts
talking. “Stepbrothers count as anyone too, y’know? Fifty more bucks, and
—”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughs into his cup, which definitely doesn’t have anything but
melted ice in it by now. “It would be pretty hot, though. And he looked
crazy jealous just now.”
“No, it isn’t. And he was not.”
“It is, and yes, he was.”
“The game is over!” I yell. “You lose. Pay up, sucka.”
“Mm, alright, I guess.” He reaches into his pocket to grab his wallet,
finally giving me my money. “But that sucks for you because he’s hot.”
 I ignore that last part and look over his shoulder to see Cade glaring at
me as Baby hangs off his arm. Cade has always been someone I know is
attractive, and I guess he is pretty close in looks to the guys I’ve been with.
Guys kind of like Corby, but both he and my stepbrother are annoying.
Cade is still glaring at me as Corby tells me I should hit him up
sometime, and I can’t explain how happy it makes me. The kiss didn’t make
him jealous, but it did piss him off for some reason, and I’m all about that.

OceanofPDF.com
 Six
Cade

“W
hat’s wrong with you?”
We’ve been back long enough, and I mean, he definitely had
a few, but he shouldn’t still be wasted.
“Nic.”
“Shut the fuck up, Cade.” He sighs, finally moving away from the
bathroom door where he’s been standing for the past minute. He’s not
moving normally, though.
My mouth opens and then closes just as quickly so I can—smartly––
swallow the words I feel compelled to say. He doesn’t want me checking in
on him, and I’m not even sure why I want to. But he’s walking so slowly
and a little wobbly. It’s making me uneasy. He has a history of being… not
okay.
“Are you drunk?” I make myself ask for peace of mind. “How much did
you drink?” I couldn’t help but notice him and his buddy––whoever the
fuck that guy was––sitting together. Like friends. I’ve never known Nic to
have friends. Plus, the guy looked like a tool. Kind of skeevy. Maybe he
drugged him. Maybe that’s why Nic kissed that fucker.
“I’m… dizzy. Or something.”
“Dizzy.” I scoff, my fingertips pulling at the fabric of the shorts I
changed into when we got back. “Lightweight.” I don’t sound as easygoing
as I mean to.
“I’m not a lightweight.” He scowls at me, and for whatever reason, the
sight of it makes me feel better, my chest less tight. It’s almost normal—
like he’s close to himself. But still, it seems like something isn’t right.
“Coulda fooled me.”
 “It’s just my leg, and… I’m really tired and still buzzed. I’m fine. Just
need to lie down.” But he doesn’t lay down. He just sits there with his eyes
closed, bracing himself with his hands on the bed.
I want to tell him that he should be careful, that if drinking makes him
walk like a baby deer, then maybe he shouldn’t drink. But I don’t think me
showing any actual concern for him would go over well.
Plus, I don’t have any actual concern for the guy. He can do whatever
he wants––put himself into alcohol poisoning for all I care. But then I look
at him and instantly change my mind.
“You’re bleeding.” I stand up, my body pushing me to act, but I get
stuck as soon as I’m off the bed. It takes him a second, confusion flooding
his features before the blood trickles over his lip enough that he finally feels
it.
“Shit,” he mumbles, his hand cupping his nose to catch what he can.
“Are you… good?”
“It’s just the ibuprofen.”
“I––what? That makes no sense.” I finally move and pick up the shirt I
left on my bed before we all left for Class. When I give it to him, he doesn’t
hesitate to hold it against his face.
“My meds––they don’t react well together.”
“What meds?”
“None of your business.” He shoots me an indignant look, but with my
tee, all wadded up under his nose, it doesn’t have the effect I’m sure he’s
going for.
It’s true. It’s none of my business, but also, he’s my roommate. So,
maybe it should be my business. I’m forced to spend an unfortunate amount
of time with the prick, so I should know these things. Right? At the very
least, so I’m prepared for stuff like this.
“Does this happen a lot?”
Another glare.
“What meds? How much did you drink? I don’t think––”
“Cadence. Fuck off.”
“No.” I move back and sit down on the edge of my bed to make a point.
“It’s my room.”
He scoffs––I swear we could have entire conversations consisting of
that one little sound at this point––and my lips try to pull into another smile,
but I stop them. The urge is gone when he moves to stand up. I make sure to
beat him to it because just what the hell does he think he’s doing?
“Sit down. Nic, stop,” I order, my hands on his shoulders to keep him
from trying again. “Don’t be stupid.”
He goes quiet––or stays quiet, I guess––and it takes a few seconds of
that to recognize that I’m being weird. I can’t even think of a time I’ve ever
touched him. Hit him, pushed at him, elbowed him––stuff like that has
happened a lot. This is none of those.
I remove my hands and let them fall to my sides, where they feel
strange. Almost heavy. “You should sit down.” Which he’s already doing.
Idiot. “You’re dizzy. And bleeding.”
“I need to wash my face.”
“Well… wait.” I step away, moving into the bathroom with what feels
like choppy movements. I pull a hand towel off the rack and wait for the
sink water to start running warm before wetting it. I move fast, specifically
not letting myself think about things too closely, and am back in front of
him not even a minute later. “Here.” I hold the damp towel out, reaching for
my shirt with my free hand while doing so.
But he’s Nic, and nothing with him is easy, so he ends up stubbornly
leaning back enough that I can’t reach it. “Stop mother henning me. I swear,
you’re just like your mom—so fucking annoying.”
“At least I’m not like your mom.”
My whole body tenses as I wait, locking up like I expect him to strike. I
regret saying it pretty instantaneously, a bit guilty even. She’s not well.
That’s the only actual information my mom ever gave me. I don’t know
what his relationship with that woman is, but I do know that he’s very
protective of her, and I probably should not have said that shit.
But he doesn’t react. Not really. He stares at me, his grey eyes narrowed
a bit, but other than that… nothing.
It’s underwhelming. My shoulders slump like I’m some kind of
letdown, but that can’t be. It’s a relief that he’s not putting his hands on me,
not a disappointment. When he finally moves––reaches a hand out––I
flinch. Just a little––the tiniest bit, really––but it’s a degrading move all the
same. He grabs the wet cloth out of my hand, and then it’s even worse. I
overreacted. He was not about to choke me.
“I’m not going to reward you for your poor behavior, Cade.”
 “Wha––” I sputter, the question tripping on its way out. “What the hell
is that supposed to mean?” But my face heats as he cocks that judgemental
bicolored brow at me. We both know what it means.
Maybe––I hope––I’m wrong, but there’s something in the look he gives
me that tells me he sees right through me.
I take a few steps backward and wordlessly sit on my bed, feeling out of
place in the room I’ve slept in for the past couple of years because my room
is also Nic’s now.
“Are you okay?” I make myself ask in an effort to change the subject.
But also, I need the peace of mind. Assholery aside, I want him to be okay.
Because if he weren’t, it’d be a hassle. A heap of unnecessary stress.
He’d be a bigger pain in the ass than he already is. That’s all this
compulsive need to mother hen him is.
Nic wipes at his face with the towel, not looking at me as he does it.
When he finally meets my gaze, I have to make myself hold his stare and
ignore the smeared blood above his mouth. Just when I think he’s going to
ignore me, he gives me a nod, and I take a very slow breath, relieved. He’s
okay, and there’s no problem.
I gotta watch him, it seems. Maybe find out what meds he’s on so I can
read up on it. It’d be good to know, I think. But, for now, he’s okay.
This time, when he gets up to go to the bathroom, I let him.
It gives me time to consider the bullshit he just said. I know what he
meant, but… well, what the fuck did he mean? Like his hands anywhere on
me is some prize. Reward. Pfft.

∞∞∞

A
sharp exhale has me holding still the second I wrap my hand around
my dick. After a swift look to make sure that Nic is still asleep, I slide
my fist up in one long, achingly slow stroke that is not at all
relieving––because, of course, it’s not.
My hand is dry, and he is only a few feet away. I can hear him
breathing, making it too hard to settle into the right mindset for this.
 But I need it. Something has got to give. I’m embarrassing myself at
this point. It’s been too long since I’ve done this or had any sort of release
—before he showed up, I’m pretty sure. And if someone like Nic is getting
to me, it’s a must that I get it over with.
I drag my hand out from under the covers and lick my palm in one long
stripe, hoping that it’s enough to get past the initial discomfort. It takes
longer than it should since I’m forced to move slowly and keep quiet so I
don’t wake him up.
I don’t even know what I’d do if Nic did wake up. Fuck. That’d be
humiliating.
My head leans back, sinks into my pillow as I roll my lips between my
teeth to keep a moan from escaping. I can feel my frustrations uncoiling
that much more with every new muscle that pulls tight. My palm skims
over my slit, collecting precum to make the glide easier. Each stroke laps at
my spine until it’s hard to keep my breaths quiet, and I have to look to make
sure Nic is still asleep.
He’s facing the wall, the white patch of hair on the back of his head
visible in the little bit of moonlight that seeps through our curtains. Still
sleeping.
“Fuck.” I make myself look away, but tearing my eyes off of him
doesn’t convince me that I’m not being a pervert right now. I shouldn’t be
doing this. Not right here, with Nic right there. I should stop. It feels wrong.
A quiet moan should have me freezing, but I find myself chasing more
instead. My hips jerk, a shallow fuck up into my fist that makes my
stomach clench. I know I should stop, but it’s too good. Nic could wake up
at any second, but it’s so fucking good.
My free hand finds its way to my neck, and I can’t even pretend I don’t
want it there. I let it rest, a loose band that has a shiver raking across my
skin. I don’t understand why it feels so nice—it’s barely even a tease. But
the soft touch gives me a sense of craving that’s vibrating beneath my skin,
slowly building into something overwhelming. My hand starts to tighten—
both of them do. Oh, god. I need a little more. More.
“Cade.”
“Fu––” I gasp, my body stuttering to a stop. “Fuck.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I—nothing.” The hand still wrapped around my cock
squeezes, and I let go quickly with a hiss.
 “Nothing,” his sleep-rumpled voice parrots. He sounds pissed.
Annoyed, maybe, at having been woken up. That’s all it is. No way he
knows what––“You’re over there moaning like you’re getting paid for it,
but sure. Let’s go with nothing.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, face heating. “That’s––”
A bitter little chuckle has me shutting up, face on fire, and pulse racing.
I was on the verge of coming, all sorts of feel-good shit coursing through
me, and it’s all gone. Poof. Just like that. Chased away by that cocky laugh.
“Pretty sure it’s you who needs to be fucked, little brother.”
My cock jumps, raises up off my abs, heavy and hard enough to move
the blanket a bit. So maybe that feel-good shit isn’t completely gone––still
there and getting all mixed up in this confusing little bubble of humiliation.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My head shakes, refusing to admit
fault here. Shit like this happens. Like Liam and I never heard each other?
Of course, we did. “A normal person would have ignored it,” I insist, like
somehow pointing this out will shift the blame off of me.
“A normal person wouldn’t be fucking his fist a few feet away from his
big brother.”
I know he’s only trying to goad me, to piss me off, and I fucking hate
that it works. He doesn’t think of me as family and never has.
“You’re not my brother. You’re just the baggage me and my mom got
stuck with.” I’m back to breathing heavy, pissed off in a way that only
Nicolas Aldana can bring on. There are too many things going on right now,
and my body doesn’t know how to react. My dumb dick is still hard. It
aches. I can feel it throbbing, and it’s difficult to ignore.
“Are you imagining it’s mine?”
“What?” I scoff, turning to see him through the dark room. Nothing
about Nic makes sense. “What the fuck are you––”
“The hand on your throat.”
My fingers flex against my pulse point, the rest of me unmoving as a
breath gets caught in my chest. I forgot it was there.
“If you are, you need to squeeze tighter.”
“Shut up.” My eyes screw tight, my embarrassment nearing the point of
smothering.
“If it were mine, you wouldn’t even be able to speak. Breathe.”
“Shut up,” I plead, my voice annoyingly whiny as my hand stays right
where it is.
 “God, listen to you.”
But I’m listening to him, to the gravel still lacing his words––the sound
of them rumbling in the space between us. Rough and coarse—it’s doing
shit to me. I hate it.
“Are you embarrassed? You fucking should be, Cade.” He lets out
another dark laugh that has my skin crawling, every inch of me begging for
relief. What’s wrong with me? I am embarrassed, but it’s like my cock
hasn’t gotten the message. Still stiff, almost in pain, and for what? Not Nic,
with all this venom in his voice. There’s no way.
“You could have…” I take a breath, try to calm down. “Ignored me.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what you wanted, is it?”
I don’t speak. It feels like a rhetorical question, but also, I’m not sure I
know the answer.
“Those moans, they’re not that quiet, Cade. You wanted me to know.
You like my hand so much––such a pathetic little slut for it––that you
couldn’t help yourself, huh?” His breath hitches, and I can’t even begin to
describe the instant relief that sound gives me, the feeling of it
overpowering the shock at his words.
“Are you––” A sound a lot like a moan drowns out my question as I
take myself in hand once again. I don’t have to worry about a dry stroke this
time––my dumb dick is drooling, doesn’t understand how wrong this is.
Or, hell. Maybe it does. Maybe that’s why it’s acting like this, has me
acting like this. A pathetic little slut. Another moan, softer now, makes me
roll my face into my pillow in the hopes that I can smother the sound.
But his bed is so close. He can definitely hear everything I’m doing,
and I’m too keyed up to mind it. I have no intention of stopping. God, I
don’t even think I could.
There’s an absolutely demented part of me that wants him to keep
talking. Say it again, say more. I need him to keep talking.
“You are so desperate for my attention, practically begging for it.”
“Oh, god.” My back bows, nothing muffling the needy sounds coming
out of my mouth now.
The quiet laugh he lets out is cruel, has anticipation coiling around my
balls as they pull up in a tight hug against the base of my dick. “You like
this,” he says. “You want to be degraded by me. That’s cute, little brother.”
“Nic,” I groan, the protest dissolving as my hand moves faster, fist
squeezing tighter. Slick sounds barely audible as I fuck my fist, just like he
said.
“That’s right,” he agrees, almost like a praise, and the sound of it
pushes me closer. “I’m not even touching you, but it’s me making you feel
this good. Say it again.”
It’s disgusting how fast I listen. “Nic. Fuck.” My hips lift off the bed,
meeting a downward stroke as the air is expelled from my lungs, my vision
whiting out as bliss barrels through me. A grunt trips over a whine as I try to
smother the sounds of my orgasm, but as I stroke myself through it,
everything gets wet—every stroke making noise as I drag my cum up and
down my cock.
It’s not until my body finally slumps that I feel the beginnings of regret.
That did not take very long at all—coming for Nic. Not once I got
started anyway. How am I going to live that down? I don’t know how to
move on from this. How to explain it.
I blame my dumb dick. Have to.
But I mean… it felt good. Still kind of does, even with shame trying to
ruin it. My hand caught most of my cum, which is quickly cooling as I
softly stroke through the aftershocks with a loose grip, and the soft grunt I
let out has me finally letting go of my neck. My stomach twitches through
the comedown as I catch my breath, feeling a little cold now that I’m not
chasing the orgasm I so desperately needed.
I feel oddly settled. At ease. As my heart starts to pump slower, I get the
crazy thought that the comedown is almost better than the orgasm. It just
feels so good, so peaceful. Pretty foreign. I can’t even remember the last
time I felt so relaxed.
And then I remember Nic.
I’m being loud, breaths so heavy that I can’t even hear him. For a
moment, a very quick second, I thought he was touching himself. I heard it
in his voice––in the words that had me overwhelmingly turned on––and I
was excited because it meant that I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the only brainless
one in the room. But I’m less sure now.
“Did you…” God, he just listened to me come. Talked me through it.
Why is it so awful to ask? I really don’t see how it can get any worse—
unless he didn’t. Wasn’t into it like I was. I mean, fuck. I was into it.
He came. The alternative is that he meant the things he said. He called
me things that only work if he was getting something out of it too. I don’t
know what this was, but I know that I want him to say yes. Yes, he was
touching himself. Yes, he finished. Yes, he fucking liked it. Just say yes,
asshole.
“No.” He scoffs.
“Bullshit,” I call his bluff as my stomach drops. “You were—”
“I think it’s obvious you have a little crush on me, but let’s not get it
twisted. That shit is one-sided, Cade. I can barely even stand to look at you
—nothing about you makes my dick hard.”
“That’s––” It hurts my feelings, which is ridiculous. I shake my head,
searching for the right thing to say—something that doesn’t make me look
stupid. I have to blink as my eyes start to water. “I don’t have a crush on
you. And I am not a slut.”
I think I might have made myself look stupid anyway.
He laughs, not nearly as sexy-sounding as he had been only minutes
prior, and it has me sitting up.
“All that cum on you kind of says otherwise.”
I regret existing at this point. My dumb dick has moved past dumb.
That thing is the stupidest fucking… it… “You’re so… you––”
He chuckles darkly, all smug with it, and I wish I were anywhere but
here. “You should clean yourself up.”
What a loser. I am such a loser.
“Fuck you,” I spit, but I’m on my feet, Dumb Dick all tucked away in
my boxers, because, yeah. I do need to clean myself up.

OceanofPDF.com
 Seven
Nic

I
consider it. Jerking off. My cock is demanding attention, aching. But it
would take too long. That’s… well, I can’t do that. He came ridiculously
fast, was close that whole time. That’s the norm for guys our age. It’s not
like that for me—that easy. It hasn’t been for a while.
Everything I’ve read––read because it’s too daunting to ask a
professional outright—says it’ll only be a problem until I stop taking my
antidepressants. Usually, it’s only a mild concern. Being turned on and
wanting sex don’t always go hand in hand with me. In fact, it’s sort of out
of the ordinary for that to happen. Looking for sex really means that I’m
looking for a break. A way to punish myself. It’s never all that nice or
comforting. I say yes, but I can’t say I’ve ever actually wanted it. It’s
simply what I need in those moments. Deserve.
Right now, though, I can’t imagine putting myself through that. I
want… something. Not to hurt, and isn’t that something? That I want to feel
good.
How irritating that it’s because of Cade.
But the last thing I need is for Cade to witness me struggling to come.
I’d never live that down. Hell, I don’t know how he’s going to live what just
happened down. I chuckle at the thought. How embarrassing for him. That
he gave in so easily, enjoyed me and my general disdain for him so much.
The sounds he made…
I groan, giving myself a single stroke before I let go completely. It’s not
a good idea. But neither was that whole mess.
I shouldn’t have done it. Spoken to him like that. Everything I’ve done
in regard to him since I showed up here has been wrong. It’s like I walked
into a mess and just started wiping it down, but instead of cleaning shit up,
it’s only spread it all around. Made things worse. I don’t like hearing things
like that—the things I said to him.
I feel guilty. It’s sitting heavy in my stomach. But it’s also not killing
the urge to come, and that makes me feel even worse. I shouldn’t have done
it, and I definitely shouldn’t have liked it.
Cade wasn’t wrong in saying that I could have ignored it. That’s what I
should have done. Instead, I told him to say my name. I wanted to hear it—
those sexy moans all wrapped in my name because it was me who caused
them. It was presumptuous and bold, but I knew I was right.
He was touching himself because of me—the stepbrother he hates. He
knew it. He might have even hated it but was too weak to deny himself. He
wanted it—me—too badly.
It was kind of nice not being the weak one for once. That in itself is
good enough to negate the blue balls. Or that’s what I try to convince
myself anyway. The way the fabric of my sweats stretches over my dick as I
move tells me it doesn’t exactly agree. I can’t remember the last time it had
been so needy, so hard. It’s like it’s been dormant, this side of me. I guess
all it needed was for me to call a guy a slut.
Too bad it’s a waste.
My shoulders relax as I make my way into the hallway. I need more of
that, that easy breathing and muscle relief—a lot more of it—before I go
back in there.
It’s hard to believe someone like Cade wants me that way. I was there
and still can’t seem to wrap my head around it.
“Hey,” a hushed voice startles me, making me jump.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry,” Baby says with a little snicker. “What are you doing?”
I stand there, feeling strange as my cock slowly softens in this dark
hallway. Hopefully, he can’t see it. “I can’t sleep.”
He hums, still standing there in front of his door. “Want to smoke a
bowl? Helps me sleep sometimes.” His slim shoulders shrug, visible even in
the dark.
Baby’s alright. He’s… snarky? Mostly nice. Unless he’s talking to
Logan. I’ve only seen him a handful of times, but each time involved Baby
snapping at him.
“Sure,” I say just before my silence gets awkward. “But don’t bite me.”
 He laughs at that like I’m kidding. But I’m not. I don’t want to be high
and have him chomp on me out of nowhere.
“Do you like it here?” he asks me as he opens his door.
I have to squint to filter the sudden light and end up closing my eyes
altogether as I get closer. “Um, yeah. It’s cool.”
“What’s it––you can sit on the bed. Or the bean bag. What’s it like
rooming with Cade?”
It’s still hard to open my eyes, not used to the light just yet, but I
manage to pry them open enough to see the massive bean bag chair he has
sitting in the corner of his room. This room is a lot smaller than the one
Cade and I share, but this chair is huge.
“It’s… fine,” I say as I sit back, the top of my shoulders leaning back
against the wall. What a loaded question. It sucks. Cade in my face close to
twenty-four-seven is frustrating, but also, it’s not half as bad as I thought it
was going to be.
“He’s cool. I like to tease him, but he’s pretty much always been my
favorite roommate.”
“You didn’t like Liam?”
“Everybody likes Liam. It’s hard not to.”
I bristle at that. I personally found it real easy. He and Cade have
always been the very definition of unlikeable in my eyes.
“Plus, I mean—–” He pauses to take the first hit, cornering the edge of
the bowl with his pink lighter. I honestly expected more pink in here, but
looking around, it’s very muted. Even this fat bean bag chair is a basic grey.
The most color is on his bed, a cluster of stuffed animals all over his
pillows, which makes sense. It’s not that Baby is all that femme—the
occasional crop top and girly pajamas––but he just seemed frilly. I expected
more pink.
It feels like a small forever before he’s talking again. “He’s hot.”
I scoff, taking the pipe from his outstretched hand as he settles
crisscross on the edge of his bed.
“Are you gonna try to lie and say he’s not?”
“He’s…” I grunt, choosing to inhale rather than answer. He’s alright.
Anytime I saw him, he was next to Cade, so I’m sure that has something to
do with why I’ve never been impressed. It’d be hard for anyone to stand out
next to Cade.
“He’s hot. So is his boyfriend.”
 I cough. I cough loudly, my lungs burning at the failed attempt that sad
hit was. “Fuck,” I wheeze, my chest burning. “Holy shit.” I drag in a deep
breath as Baby lets out another one of those creepy little laughs.
“You good?”
“Fine. I just thought… what did you say?” I blink away the moisture in
my eyes and ignore the pinch in my lung.
“What?” He takes his weed back.
I try to clear my throat again, ignoring it when Baby laughs at me.
“Are you a lightweight? Want to skip a few?”
I glare at him as I hold my hand out. That’s the second time I’ve been
called that in the span of a few hours. “I’m not a big pothead, so excuse me
for choking on literal smoke.” Shithead. “You were talking about Liam
and…” I wave a hand, holding my breath and hoping he can’t tell that I’m
holding in another bark.
“Oh, yeah. Homie just decided he was into dudes one day and bagged
the hottest, beefiest, tattooed gay man in the city. Sebastian.”
“Liam—Cade’s best friend?” I ask, hoping to make sense of this shit.
Maybe I am a lightweight. Two hits might be enough for me. “I thought he
was a homophobe.”
He laughs, loudly. “So did I! When I first met him, I’d flirt with him
relentlessly. I was trying to press his buttons but I don’t know. I don’t think
he realized that’s what I was doing—he’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the
shed. Poor thing.” He smiles like one might grin when talking about a baby
or something. “At least he’s pretty.”
“He’s not––whatever.” I huff, leaning back with a flick of my wrist
when he tries to hand it back to me. Liam and Cade always had girls all
over them, but it’s possible my bias has kept me from seeing them as
anything more than annoying as fuck. They both like men now. Nothing
makes sense. I’m cutting myself off.
“He has a boyfriend?”
“Mmhm. A big one.”
I sink lower in the chair––why do they call bean bag chairs chairs? It’s
not a chair. It’s a bag. There are no legs. But it is nice to sit on. I stretch my
neck over the back of it, getting comfortable. It feels like my head is
floating and like I need something to drink, but it’s also just peaceful, and I
don’t want to get up.
 “A big one.” I huff a quiet laugh out of my nose. “Wait. Does Cade
know?” That’s a dumb question. They’re best friends. They know
everything about each other.
Baby’s eyes widen as he nods, excited to speak but not wanting to
waste the hit he just took. “Yup.” The p pops on his lips. “He kissed Liam.”
“That’s not surprising.” It’s really not—Cade has always been a little
too obsessed with the baseball player. I close my eyes and ignore it when I
feel a bit of something in my chest. Not just weed.
“No, you don’t get it. Liam was dating Sebastian already. Like, head
over heels for the guy, and Cade kissed him anyway.”
I open one eye. “What?” That’s fucked up, but also, I’m not surprised.
Baby nods. “Got sent to the hospital for it.”
“What?” I sit up, but that kind of sucks, so I let myself fall back
immediately.
He goes on to tell me a whole lot of stuff that makes fuck all sense.
Liam likes a dick, and that dick punched Cade in the face—broke his nose. I
don’t get it. They’ve been best friends since… well, I don’t even know.
Long before I came into the picture. Why would Liam be okay with that—
with his supposed boyfriend hitting his best friend?
What a bitch. Both of them—Liam and the tattooed beefy dude. I don’t
even like Cade, and it bugs me that someone hit him.
Someone else.
That’s got to be why I haven’t seen Liam around. A part of me
wondered, but mostly, I was relieved. Cade is a lot more tolerable on his
own. They used to do everything together.
Liking dick is included in that everything, apparently.
“He’s coming over tomorrow. Today, I guess.”
“Oh.” I get to watch Cade get all dopey around him again.
“Wonderful.”

∞∞∞

hat the fuck?”

“W
I pause rubbing my eyes, and shut Baby’s door as quietly as
I can. He’s still asleep. It’s just instinct to try and keep quiet, not
be a rude fuck. That’s, of course, not in Cade’s instincts, though.
“You slept in Baby’s room.”
It doesn’t sound like a question, and if it were, it’d be too stupid to
answer anyway. Because obviously, I did. I didn’t mean to, but he—my
now favorite roommate—was right. Weed can knock a lightweight out. And
bean bag chairs are cozy as fuck.
“Why?”
I look at him, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. It’s too fucking early to look
that good. Unless you’re Cadence Howard, I guess. The backpack hanging
at his side clues me in that he’s dressed for school, so it’s slightly
forgivable. It’d be more so if he didn’t look like a dweeb. He wears a lot of
basic T-shirts. Plain. Most of my shirts are graphic band tees, something I
remember him hating on when we were teens.
I wouldn’t call Cade posh, but he’s very much put together. Preppy is
maybe a better word. Always has been. A lot like Liam, actually.
The reminder that Lian is supposed to be here later today has my eyes
narrowing. My thighs hurt, I’m dehydrated, and my eyes feel like they’ve
been rubbed with sandpaper, so I’m in a bad mood and don’t want to deal
with this first thing in the morning. “Can you just tell me what your
problem is so we can get it over with?”
“Why were you in Baby’s room?” He’s glaring, looking way too tense
for a guy who had the privilege of coming his brains out last night.
That’s why I was in Baby’s room. I want to tell him, but it’s too early to
deal with his nonsense. Still, I can’t help but smile, and that—for whatever
reason—only seems to piss him off more.
He scoffs, sputtering in that way he does so often. “You—” His eyes
slide to the door at my shoulder, and he sighs, the sound rough as he
aggressively runs a hand up and down his face a few times before he just
walks past me altogether.
That was anticlimactic, and where I know I should be relieved not to
have to put him in his place when I haven’t even had the chance to piss
today, I sort of feel uneasy about it. I grunt as I dig the heel of my palm into
my leg, trying to soothe the burn just as Cade shuts the front door behind
him.
 Maybe he doesn’t want me to be friends with his friends. He never
wanted me around Liam, so it tracks. It’s not even like we are friends, Baby
and me. All we did was smoke and talk about nothing—my vitiligo, work,
Christmas, and school plans. Nothing meaningful.
But it had been nice—once we stopped talking about Liam. I don’t have
friends. Corby. Sort of. It’s hard for me to make connections. That’s kind of
my whole schtick, but it felt like I was on my way to doing that very thing
last night.
What a piece of shit for not being okay with that. Good enough to make
his dick hard when nobody is around but not good enough for his friends.

OceanofPDF.com
 Eight
Cade

“W
hat’s your problem?”
“I don’t have one.” Except I do, and it’s obvious. And
beyond bothersome. Especially when said problem is talking to
me, sitting a little too fucking close to me.
I’ve always liked Baby. It’ll be a goddamn shame if that has to end over
something as insignificant as Nic.
My jaw tenses before I make myself relax, my chest expanding with a
sigh I don’t want to let out. I’m all mixed up over my stepbrother. I’m not
even that surprised. Being so mind-numbingly stupid means that these kinds
of things happen. I am the king of inappropriate crushes.
Crush doesn’t feel like the right word. I don’t know how to explain it.
But I feel it, and it’s awful. Nic.
Nic, Nic, Nic.
He’s like a disease. A nasty infection. Venomous little shit. I gotta hope
I can suck the poison out somehow—before it’s too late.
But there’s a part of me that kind of hopes Nic does it for me. Gets on
his knees and just sucks it right out. Seems only fair, since he’s the whole
reason I’m over here suffering and shit.
“But really, Cade. What’s wrong?” Baby shuffles in his seat—right next
to me on the couch—and the genuine concern on his face has me feeling
close to guilty. “Is it because Sebastian is coming over?”
Movie night, he said. I want to be mad at Sebastian, but it doesn’t feel
like I can be. I went years wanting to kiss Liam and decided that the perfect
time to actually do it—be brave and get it over with—was right after he got
himself a boyfriend. That’s a punchable offense. So, no, I’m not mad at
him. That doesn’t mean I want him here, but whatever. There are bigger
issues.
“No.” I roll my eyes. That’s all I do these days. I can’t help it—
everything is just so ridiculous.
“Well. Okay, then what?”
“Did you and Nic fuck?”
“What?” His eyebrows jump to his hairline, the movement making a
stray strand slip over his eye. I’d be a little shocked too, if I wasn’t so
focused on the way his cheeks flush. Little dude looks guilty.
My eyes narrow.
“I beg your finest pardon? Cadence…”
I huff. “It’s a yes or no question, Baby.”
“No! God. No, you freak.” He gives a single shake of his head. “Where
the hell did that come from?”
“He spent the night in your room,” I deadpan.
“So?” He stares at me, searching my face for an answer, and then gasps.
The sound of it is so dramatic I have to fight the urge to jump. “You’re
jealous!” A shit-eating grin warps his face as he clambers onto his knees,
moving closer to me.
“Ew, no. That’s not what this is,” I lie. I don’t even realize it’s a lie until
I say it. “Don’t change the subject.”
Jealousy is a nasty feeling, and I am very much acquainted with it. I’ve
been stuck wallowing in it ever since Liam first laid eyes on Sebastian. It’s
an ugly, baseless thing that I have no right to feel.
But, fuck, am I feeling it.
Only it’s far worse than usual. More confusing. This is fucking Nic
we’re talking about.
“I called it!” He is way too excited about this—downright giddy as he
slaps at my shoulder. “You guys did kiss! You pervert. You’re hooking up
with your stepbrother.” He cackles, and the obnoxious sound of it pushes
me to stand. Has he always been this annoying? “You guys would make
bank doing porn.”
I do not have to take this.
“Wait!” He grabs onto my arm, and I jerk it out of his hold. “No, I’ll
stop. I’m sorry.” He pats the couch cushion, wanting me to sit back down,
but I ignore him. “Sorry. If it helps, I don’t think anyone would blame you.”
He shrugs. “Nic is crazy hot.”
 My brows dip at that. “Did you—”
“I already said no, dipshit. We just smoked a bit and passed out. He
slept on my bean bag chair.”
That’s… mostly believable. I’ve slept on that thing a few times. I still
squint at him, though. Maybe a tiny bit accusingly.
“Awe. Little jelly bean.” He pokes at my stomach, and I scoff.
“I’m not jealous—and we’re not hooking up!”
“You are so—”
A key in the front door has both of us shutting up.
The vibe in the room as soon as Nic enters can only be described as
uncomfortable. I have to hope that it’s me alone experiencing it, but
somehow, I doubt it. It’s too charged—makes my skin crawl. No way is it
just me.
It’s absurd. All he did was walk in—looking like his sexy self—and it
made me nervous. He doesn’t speak to either of us, barely manages to give
the room a clipped nod before he saunters off down the hall.
“Oof. I could feel the sexual tension,” Baby says as soon as we hear my
bedroom door shut.
“Eat a dick,” I hiss.
“You know what… I just might. Gonna go see if Nicolas––”
“Sit the fuck down.” I use one hand to gently push him back onto the
couch when he tries to get up.

∞∞∞

N
ot even getting to pick the movie we all watch has me perking up.
Liam and his giant boyfriend are cozied up on the loveseat while
Logan somehow gets away with sitting next to Baby. Nic is on the
floor, not paying attention to the film as he scrolls through his phone.
And I’m just… here, feeling like I don’t belong. Ignored.
I try not to focus on them, on anybody at all, but there’s a low hum as
they all talk quietly amongst themselves, and that feeling of being ignored
starts to grow. It’s been like this for months. I didn’t realize how much I
relied on Liam’s friendship until I didn’t have it anymore.
 I know we said we were good, and things do seem that way for the most
part, but things are different. He has his own life, and where that’s always
been the case, there’s less room for me now that Sebastian is in the picture.
I’m by myself a lot these days.
When I look over, I see Nic with his head craned as he talks to
Sebastian of all people. They laugh and I clamp my mouth shut tight, jaw
strained as I grind my teeth. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them
laugh. Assholes. Seems fitting that they’d get along.
I notice Liam shift closer to his boyfriend, practically on top of him at
this point. When I look at him I catch him staring at me, a pissed-off look
on his face. He thinks I was glaring at his precious Bash. I guess I was, but
not for reasons he’d understand. Still, I fix my face and look back at the
screen. How would he look at me if he knew the real reason I was staring?
Like I’d lost my mind. Have me hauled away and checked into some
facility. It kind of feels necessary, to be honest. I could use an extended
vacation locked up with some therapists.
I get up to grab a drink, and when I come back, I don’t even think about
it as I sit in front of the couch next to Nic. I want him to acknowledge me—
I’d even settle for a glare, honestly. But he gives me nothing. Too busy
ignoring me.
Well. That doesn’t seem right. It’s not fair. I shouldn’t want him to
notice me. But if not him, then who? Liam is busy. Baby and Logan are
doing whatever they’re doing, and I definitely do not want Sebastian’s
attention. Maybe I shouldn’t want it to be Nic, but fuck. I want somebody to
notice me.
So, I scoot over. Just a tad—no more than an inch—and when I feel his
shoulders stiffen next to mine, I’m thrilled. The feeling zips through me and
has my skin thrumming, my heart pumping a little harder.
“Move.”
I match his whisper with one of my own. “No.”
He makes a sound close to a growl, quiet enough that only I can hear
him, and it has my body comfortably slumping against the furniture behind
us. It’s almost relaxing, having things as they should be—Nic annoyed
because of me and no longer talking to fucking Sebastian.
“Sit somewhere else.”
“I’m fine here.” My lips twitch when he huffs in response. Consider it a
punishment for making my dick hard.
 He doesn’t pick his phone up again. Doesn’t look over his shoulder to
talk to the guy who broke my nose. He just sits here, right next to me,
seething. I kind of love it.
It’s uneventful, but it’s… nice. My mind goes sort of blank as I pretend
to watch the movie. There are a lot of things I could be worrying about.
Liam. Finals are coming up. Going to my mom’s for winter break. But
somehow, Nic’s attention is enough to have all my frazzled nerves settling.
I sit there, mind at ease so long as his body stays stiff next to mine.
God, what’s wrong with me?
This is not normal. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours ago that the dude
was calling me a slut.
My face heats, and my only saving grace at the moment is the credits
that begin to roll on the TV. At least the room is mostly dark. But then Baby
gets up and turns the light on, standing on his tiptoes as he stretches and I
duck my head so nobody notices my frustration.
I don’t pay attention to anything anybody says, too focused on the way
Nic stays seated as the rest of the room starts to move about.
“Cade.”
“Yeah? Oh.” I blink, eyes meeting Sebastian’s as he glares at me over
Nic’s head.
“I wanted to tell you…” He sighs, rolling his broad shoulders before
trying again. “I’m––”
“Wait.” I look for Liam who is coincidentally over by Baby, very
unsubtly peeking over here every other split second. I understand what’s
going on instantly and wish I hadn’t been so adamant that I needed to sit by
Nic. Now he gets a front-row seat to this mess. “Let’s not do this. I’m sorry,
you don’t need to be, and we’re good.”
His brows dip, that scowl he’s always sporting deepening before he
shrugs. “Yeah, I wish that was enough, but that’s not going to satisfy my pr
—Liam.”
I snort. “It’s not a real apology if you’re only doing it because he wants
you to.”
“No, it’s… I am sorry,” he grumbles. “You deserved a punch, for sure.”
“You’re doing great so far.” I give him a thumbs up with a small smile,
teasing. “Solid apology.”
“You did,” he insists, ignoring my very poor attempts to make light of
the situation. I know he’s right, so I don’t argue. “But I shouldn’t have
done… that. So, I’m sorry.”
I’m glad he doesn’t drag it out. He doesn’t even wait for me to
acknowledge it. He gets up and heads straight for Liam, who opens his arms
and immediately wraps them around his boyfriend’s waist. My best friend
looks… in love.
I wish I could say good for him and mean it, but the words feel like a
lie, even in the privacy of my own thoughts. There’s a sense of wistfulness
as I dwell on it. I wanted that with him for so long. I’m glad he’s happy. I
am. But I’m kind of… not. I’m not glad because I’m a piece of shit plagued
by jealousy. I can’t be happy for him. Not exactly. I just want what they
have too badly.
Well, not what they have exactly. There’s a softness about Liam when
he’s around Sebastian, and I can admit that I never pictured that when I
imagined us together. Thinking back, I don’t think I even knew what I
wanted from him—other than something more than friendship.
That’s not the case anymore. I’m as over him as I can expect. Now, I
have no idea what I want, but I know it’s not this—this sense of being
surrounded by people but feeling alone. Plus, Nic. Being stuck in a mess of
I’m not good enough, and nobody wants me is bad enough without having
to deal with a case of Dumb Dick on top of it.
It’s a condition. Possibly a mental disorder. It has me picturing Nic and
me in the happy couple’s places, and the image makes everything worse—
the mellow ache of loneliness amped up. It’s not believable and yet, I don’t
hate it. But Nic isn’t that. He’s not any sort of soft or nice, and even
knowing that doesn’t keep me from imagining it.
Liam gives his boyfriend a quick peck on the lips, and I sigh. That has
the image in front of me evaporating. Nic would never do that—let me do
that. I’m just too jealous to be happy for my best friend.
“He rejected you, and you still can’t move on,” the cause of said Dumb
Dick says, and for a moment, I’m too confused to react. “It’s no wonder. It’s
pretty pathetic—of course he doesn’t want you. Who would?”
I open my mouth to respond, but what can I say? His words pick at the
insecurities I was already wallowing in. The word nobody is playing on a
loop in my head as an answer to his question, and it’s true. Nobody wants
me. Nobody I want anyway. Not Liam. Definitely not Nic.
No, he’s made that abundantly clear.
 Nic makes me stupid, makes it hard to conjure up any wit. So I say
nothing—let him win and simply watch as he gets up and leaves the room.
Why? It’s a question I ask myself a lot. There’s nothing wrong with me.
I know I look good. Personality-wise, well, that’s subjective. But passable.
I shouldn’t be giving these thoughts any attention, but it cannot be
helped. Sexual frustration is hell. And worse than that was the reprieve I felt
because of him. Getting a taste of calm just to have it stripped away far too
soon.
Nic had me satiated for mere moments before he fucked it all up. Not
long at all, and yet my brain and this Dumb Dick I’m stuck with have come
to associate him with peace. It’s laughable.
But he could do it again—give it to me again. If he just fucking would.
And god, do I want that. But he. Doesn’t. Want. Me.
Bullshit. It’s bullshit. I feel like stomping my feet, flopping on the floor,
and banging my fists. Why not? Why? Fucking fuckhead. I’m a goddamn
catch. Sexy and… I’m hot, dammit!
I feel like I need to show him. I will. I am. Right now.
I get up and head down the hall, leaving the rest of the apartment
without any goodbye so that I can do that very thing. Yup. I’ll fucking show
him.

OceanofPDF.com
 Nine
Nic

I
’ve always known about Cade’s obsession with Liam. Liam, the baseball
player, the happy-go-lucky jock who couldn’t give a fuck less about…
anything. Girls, the gym, and baseball. Baby was right. Pretty but not the
sharpest tool in the shed.
He’s not dumb. Clueless maybe. There were a lot of moments where I
could see Cade’s longing when they were together. He’d stare at his best
friend and look so dejected, and Liam never once noticed. Not that Cade let
him.
I didn’t have any expectations, but I’m not surprised that nothing has
changed. But how fucking hopeless could he be? The guy has a boyfriend.
Move on.
And Baby was right. He’s a big dude, Sebastian. Easily the tallest
person in the room—even with Logan there—and looked pissed off at
seemingly nothing unless Liam was looking at him. I could so see him
punching Cade in the face.
Fuck, sometimes I want to punch him in the face. Watching him
pathetically pine over a person who had his arms wrapped around some
other guy—I wanted to hit him just to knock some sense into him. Idiot.
How does one go from saying my name while coming to pining over
someone else not even twenty-four hours later?
I brush my teeth aggressively until I realize I’m being stupid. I don’t
know why I’m so upset anyway. Fuck him. And Liam. And Sebastian. And
he didn’t do much, but fuck Logan too.
Baby’s the only tolerable person in the apartment at the moment.
Even I’m getting on my nerves.
 I spit in the sink and the sight of dried toothpaste has me close to
fuming. He is the actual worst. Uncivilized. How hard is it to rinse the sink
when you’re done?
I grab his face towel off the rack to clean his mess up and then try to
hurry and get dressed only to hiss when the fabric drags over the top of my
left leg.
Sitting on the ground stretched my muscles, leaving my thighs burning
about halfway through the movie. I didn’t even move to try and fix it, too
worried Cade would once again mother hen the fuck out of me in front of
his friends.
The scarring isn’t the worst. I didn’t use the same methods as a lot of
people and it wasn’t that long before I was found out anyway. But when
they hurt, it’s never one type of pain. There’s a strain from the way the skin
pulls, the scar tissue pulling too tight to even allow a proper stretch. There’s
a dull ache that goes deep, and at times, it feels like the most painful, the
most unmanageable because it goes too deep for any of the topical
treatments to work. That one kind of sneaks up on me at times.
But the worst of it is the burning. It makes the skin hot to the touch, and
no amount of rubbing it with anything fixes it. It’s shallow and makes my
skin itch, but it can’t be scratched because that only makes it worse. And
this kind of pain does not sneak up. It demands attention. It’s kind of ironic
—that same sensation used to calm me, and now it only drives me crazy.
But like it did back then, it does take my mind off of other things.
I breathe through it for a few seconds as I debate going back out there
to get some ice. But I don’t want all of them to look at me. So I pull my
sweats up the rest of the way, accepting that there’s no real solution. The ice
wouldn’t help much either way. I just need to lie down and, hopefully, sleep
through it.
Only as soon as I open the door my plans are shattered. I get a full view
of Cade’s bare ass as he digs around his drawer, and I’m pissed off all over
again.
“Can you not?”
He doesn’t even have the decency to try to cover up or look
embarrassed that I caught him naked. He just stays doing what he’s doing—
probably dragging it out just to fuck with me. As I think about last night, it
makes sense. He has no shame.
“You don’t have to look.”
 I scoff at that. It’s utter bullshit. “You do everything you can to make
sure I look at you, Cade—fucking attention whore.” He is. Even earlier,
choosing to sit by me and move closer when he knew I’d rather he sit
anywhere else. He wants me to notice him. He makes sure I’m thinking
about him. This is just another one of those little displays.
He pauses when he finally pulls his briefs over his hips, covering the
unblemished globes of his ass in a deep red fabric that clings to him like a
second skin. Might as well have left them off. “Why do you give it to me?”
he asks with his back still to me, and I force my eyes off of his ass, letting
them trail up his spine to his broad shoulders.
The slick sounds of him stroking himself are still fresh in my mind.
Those breathless and desperate little noises as he brought himself closer and
closer, my voice pushing him there.
I shake my head. “Give you what?” I make myself ask even though I’m
not sure I want to know. It’s better than the silence. The heat swirling in my
abs has my stomach tightening, and it’s not something I want to
acknowledge.
“Your attention. You can’t stand to look at me, yet you do.” He finally
turns around, and when his gaze sweeps across my chest, I regret not
grabbing a shirt.
“Why do you want me to?”
“It’s a great ass.” He shrugs with a cocky grin that I’d love to smack off
his face. It is a great ass. It’s just too bad it’s attached to such an infuriating
boy. Seems like a waste. “Someone should be looking at it.”
“Why do you want me to look at you?” I’m being antagonistic, but I
genuinely want to know. What is with this obsession with me? But based on
the look he’s giving me at the moment, I’m not sure even he knows.
After a fruitless moment of searching for an answer, he ends up rubbing
his face with a frustrated little growl. “I’m just horny.”
I… do not have a response to that—can only watch him as he crosses
his arms to try and cover himself. I guess he does have some shame then.
But all it does is squeeze his pecs together, and I have to force myself not to
fixate on them.
I don’t know how to take what he’s saying. It’s self-explanatory but
somehow makes zero sense at the same time.
“It’s not you. I hate you just as much as you hate me, Nic. I’m just
fucking… I don’t even know! You look all…” A manic-sounding laugh cuts
through his train of thought. “You know how you look,” he sneers like I
was about to argue or something. I wasn’t. I have no reply because I have
no clue what to say to that. “Wearing your slutty pants—don’t act like you
don’t know what you’re doing.”
A laugh starts to bubble out of my chest, but it’s cut short when I look
down to eye my sweats. Yeah. I left my boxers off, opting for comfort, and
grey sweatpants don’t hide much. But still. Is he saying he likes how I look?
“You’re not making sense.”
“You’re hot, you dumb fuck. You—” His face flushes at the admission,
but he barrels through it before I have time to react. “You don’t think I
am?”
My mouth falls open, brows dipping because what is going on? How is
this up for discussion right now—knowing me, why would he put that out
there? So many questions.
Of course I think he’s hot. Doesn’t everyone? I’m not going to stroke
his little ego, though.
“What does that have to do with any of this?”
“So you do?”
“I didn’t say that.” And I would never. He has access to a mirror. “This
is stupid. Go to fucking bed.”
“No. Not til…” His face falls, still pink as his shoulders slump like he’s
lost the will to keep this going. I don’t know for sure what he wanted or
what was going through his head as he said all of that, but I can guess.
And maybe I want it too.
There are things in my life that cannot be explained, and this is for sure
one of them. Cade is out of my league. He could find anyone, a girl or boy
who he actually likes. Someone who treats him like a person and not
competition. Someone not so mentally fucked. Someone not so physically
fucked.
“What do you want from me, Cade?” I don’t bother hiding the
exasperation in my voice. “You want to come?” I ask, not letting him drag it
out. “Don’t,” I warn when he opens his mouth to argue. “I’ve told you, I’m
not rewarding bad behavior, little brother. If you want something, you need
to be a big boy and ask for it.”
“Fuck you.”
A smile, not at all kind, splits my face. “Fuck you,” I correct because
that’s what this is. It’s what he wants. He’s once again begging––this time
for something we both want. “That’s what you need, isn’t it?” My lips
twitch when his arms tighten, pushing his pecs together that much more. It’s
obscene. A bit ridiculous.
He looks beyond pissed, standing there in just his briefs as his face
washes red. He’s always worked out, and he has the body to prove it. His
abs are something I’ve worked hard to have myself, but even so, they don’t
look like his. Perfect. Hills and valleys that taper down into a sexy V.
I can’t believe he had the audacity to ask if I find him attractive. I have
eyes.
It’s why I get to see it as his cock starts to stiffen. I swallow, adjusting
my stance so I’m not mirroring him too closely. But it’s no use. My body is
reacting to his, to this sexually charged air he’s trying to suffocate me with.
I take a couple of steps towards him, reveling in the nervous tick his
jaw gives. He’s practically vibrating, putting so much need on display. It’s a
heady thing, all this power he’s given me.
“Ask nicely.” My voice slips between us huskily, has him huffing out a
breath hard enough that I feel it before he throws his head back in
frustration.
“God, what is wrong with you?” He slides a rough hand through his
hair, giving it a sharp tug.
“Try again.”
Come on, Cade, I silently beg. I hope he gives in. I know that he wants
it, but it’s getting harder to deny that I do too.
“Eat shit!” He shoves at me with barely enough force to move me.
Ugh. It’s a shame my dick still wants him. “Yeah, I can see why Liam
passed on all this.” I take a step back to eye his frame disapprovingly, more
for show than anything. There’s a little wet spot on his briefs that I make
sure to give a little extra attention. “With you being so desperate to give it
up, I had to wonder, but—”
His fist connects with my jaw, and I react on instinct. There’s a struggle
—not much of one—that ends with him once again facing the dresser,
cheek pressed onto the surface as I hold him there, one arm behind his back.
“That wasn’t very nice.” I ignore the throbbing in my face and tighten
my grip on him when he tries to move. The hold has him trying harder, and
when he bucks beneath me, all it does is press his ass right against my
groin, and then he gives up. Just like that—the feel of my stiff cock
silencing him. The only sounds in the room are our breaths, heavy and
ragged. “You want it so badly, Cade.” I lean over his back, fight a groan as
my dick slots easily against his crease. “All I need is a please, Nic. Say it,
and it’s yours.”
He shivers as my mouth skims over his ear. “No. I don’t—” He drags in
a shaky breath and twists his head, trying to get away from me, even as he
presses his ass up against me. “I’m not saying that. This has nothing to do
with you. It’s—we’re just getting off. I could do that with anyone.”
I force out a laugh as my forehead rests on his shoulder blade. He could
do that with anyone. But he wants me, and I have to remind myself of that.
“Okay. Sure. We can pretend.” If he wants to keep my name off his
tongue for now, I can let that slide. It won’t last long. “But I do need to hear
you beg.”
I don’t even know why. I just want it, and if I’m giving him something,
I deserve something in return. “Beg.” I’m being an asshole, but fuck. It’d
sound so good. I can’t see his mouth, but I can picture how his lips would
look as he’d do it. Swear I can hear it, feel it in my balls as I imagine it.
“I fucking hate you,” he seethes. “You—nngh.” His hips jerk as my
hand slides over his needy dick, pressing into the touch as best as he can
because, despite his petulance, he wants it. My touch. Me.
“Give in,” I speak the command against the bend of his neck, giving
him a squeeze that drags out a guttural groan.
“Nic.”
I don’t rub it in. Just let myself enjoy the burst of self-righteousness that
flares in my chest at hearing my name in this boy’s mouth and run my nose
down his neck, silently breathing him in. My hand tightens until he hisses
and I let go completely to move it somewhere else. I have to ignore the
noise of complaint he lets out before my fingers skirt over his skin, a
featherlight touch over his treasure trail. It feels like I’m teasing both of us.
“Let’s hear it.”
He gives me a whimper, a muted little whine that sounds like a
complaint more than anything. Like he’s upset with himself for giving me
so much. It’s so much better than the plea I wanted, and my cock throbs.
“Nic, please.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Ten
Cade

I
regret saying it. Especially in that voice, so small and weak sounding—it
didn’t even sound like me. But maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t really
feel like myself. Maybe pretending I’m someone else will make this
easier.
But then his hand slips under the hem of my briefs, and I remember
exactly why I said it.
When his fingers wrap around me, I can’t help but say it again. “Nic,” I
gasp, shuffling my feet to widen my stance. I moan at the perfect pressure
as he drags his fist down. It’s almost too tight, reminding me of who it is
that’s touching me because he doesn’t seem like the person to ever take shit
easy. It’s perfect.
“Nic, I––”
He lets go, freeing the arm he had trapped behind my back––which is
nice—and my dick—which is less nice.
“Get on the bed,” he orders before I have time to complain, his voice
dry. The lack of emotion has me wanting to look at him, maybe see what
he’s feeling, but I think better of it. Don’t want to ruin this. He could change
his mind at any time, and then I might cry out of sexual frustration. Or
punch him again, I don’t know.
He was lying when he said nothing about me makes his dick hard. I felt
that shit, his cock hard against me. It’s a good feeling. Validating in an I-
need-therapy kind of way. But he’s into it, me. At least sexually, and I can’t
help but enjoy that. I’m just soaking all this attention right the fuck up, and
I want it—need it—enough to not overthink things.
Listening to him is a means to get what I want, so I do just that. I move
for the bed closest to us, to his, but he uses a hand to shove me towards
mine instead. I huff as I stumble, but I don’t want my big mouth to pop this
semi-sexy bubble we’re floating in, so I say nothing as I climb over my
unmade bed.
He laughs, and I look over my shoulder to see why. “What?” I snap,
feeling self-conscious as he just stands there and watches me.
“Nothing. You just got right into position, ass up like a good little slut.”
I grunt, unsure how to react. My shoulders tense, but I can feel every
inch of my skin—nipples peaked and balls hugging the base of my dick
tightly—and I sort of love it. There’s a plea on the tip of my tongue, but I
don’t know what it is—stop, more. I just don’t know.
It was instinct to get on my knees, comfortable. He wants me to be
embarrassed, but I don’t want to give him that—don’t want him to know
that I kind of like the indignity that comes with him calling me out. I walk
around like I’m sure of myself, someone who knows who he is, but it’s an
act. Lately the only time I’m not playing that role is around Nic. I just can’t
seem to keep it going around him. It’s relieving to give it up.
But, fuck, do I have to give it up so easily?
“Well, do you want me on my back?” I snark. There’s no way. I don’t
want that either. Having to watch him as he…
I wouldn’t survive that.
He ignores the question. “Supplies?”
I huff a quiet breath as I place my forehead on my pillow, feeling
nervous as what we’re doing becomes something real. Something that I
want is actually happening, and my starved self is overwhelmed.
“My sock drawer.” I move my hands under my pillow, hiding them
away as I grip my sheet and force myself to breathe slowly.
He’s silent as he finds what he needs, stays that way as he moves
behind me. All I can hear are the sounds of my own breaths, my heart
thundering in my ears as he touches me.
It’s not rough or hard. It’s not Nic, and I fight the urge to squirm as my
briefs are slowly dragged over the swell of my ass. Too quiet, too gentle.
It’s confusing me.
I bite my lips to keep my complaints at bay, certain that they’d only piss
him off. But when I feel him spread my cheeks apart and my shoulders
bunch up, my body fighting a shiver, all he does is hum a quiet noise of
reassurance.
This isn’t what I wanted—this softness.
 “Hurry.” I buck my hips, trying to urge him on, but he only seems to
move slower. “Nic.”
“Shh.” His hands squeeze a handful each, still being too gentle, and
then they’re gone altogether. I hear the sounds of the lube opening, and I
can’t stop my hips from jerking again. My underwear is still wrapped
around my thighs, making it hard to spread them further, but the feel of his
finger right there has me trying anyway. “I just have to stretch—”
“Then fucking do it!” My hips jerk again, pressing back against his
hand in a fruitless attempt to get what I need.
“Be patient.” He huffs when I shuffle impatiently on my knees. “I don’t
want to go too fast, you—”
His name tumbles out of my mouth with a frustrated laugh before I arch
my back a bit. It’s clear that I want this more than him. If our places were
reversed, I’d already be balls deep inside him—wouldn’t be able to help
myself. So, fuck him for having the audacity to be so calm about this. “I
swear to god, Nic. Just get inside me.” I need him to hurry before he does
something stupid—like change his mind.
The smack is unexpected and rings loudly in the room as my face heats
at the renewed rush of indignance.
“Patience.” His voice is calm and steady like he didn’t just burn my
asscheeck. I almost tell him to go fuck himself, but that’s the exact opposite
of what I want at the moment, so I close my mouth. And then a finger is
slipping in easily, pulling a little whimper out of me at the slight stretch, but
with all the lube it’s just not enough.
“Nic.”
“I—you need this, Cade. I can’t just slam it in.” He pulls his finger
almost all the way out, twisting it as it goes, and a whole lot of feel-good
shit zips straight to my sac, has them going firm against the base of my
heavy cock.
“I can take more.”
“Have you ever bottomed?” His voice is unsure, and I know that if I tell
him the truth, he’ll end this whole thing before it even starts. But despite the
hesitancy in his voice, that digit stays moving inside me, and it settles a
piece of me. It has my errant thoughts, my self-doubt going quiet, and I
fucking want that so badly. It’s addictive, that little sliver of peace.
He asked me a question, but instead of answering, I moan and hope that
it’s enough to distract him—to keep this going. But of course it isn’t.
 “Cade, have you—”
I push up onto my hands to glare at him over my shoulder. “We’re not
making love, asshole. If I wanted this pussy shit, I’d—ah!” I gasp, falling to
my forearms as he shoves enough inside me to actually stretch me open. I
think he skipped number two and just went straight to three. “Ow,” I say out
loud, my face burning as the taunting backfires.
“Yeah,” he chuckles darkly, leaning over me so that I hear his hushed
voice clearly. “That’s what I thought. Behave, little slut.”
I throw back an elbow, hear him grunt as it connects with his ribs. And
when his hand fists in my hair and forces my head down until my chest has
my arms trapped against the bed, I don’t have it in me to regret the hit.
“Do you want me to stop?” He fucks me with those fingers despite the
threat—no more slow and steady as he rushes through the prep—and the
only response I can manage is a frustrated grunt. It’s both too long and not
long enough when he finally pulls his fingers out, and as much as having
them in me hurts, the way my hole clenches around nothing so suddenly is
worse.
All the fight fizzles right out of me when I hear a soft crinkle of foil
behind me. I’m forced to listen over the pounding of my heart, the subtle
ringing in my ears as he gets himself ready, more wet sounds of lube, and
then he’s notched right at my entrance.
“You better be fucking sure that this is what you want, Cade.”
A shiver ripples through me—a little fear, a little excitement—and all I
do is nod. It’s going to hurt. I know it is, but the worry is far overshadowed
by all the lust coursing through my body. I’m fucking burning with it.
“Tell me you want it.” He tightens his grip on my scalp, and I hiss.
“Fuck off.” He knows I do.
“Come on.” He leans back over me, mouth right next to my ear as his
voice goes smooth. “Where’d that good little slut go, huh?” The very tip of
his dick pops through, and I choke on a startled gasp, this time not saying
the ow I feel. “I mean it.” His voice changes, no longer teasing. “I need a
yes, or this is over.” Like it’s that easy for him, doesn’t matter either way.
I shouldn’t be here, under him and so willing. But it seems that all my
self-respect has evaporated. Gone. And it’s his fault.
“Just… fucking do it.” I turn my face until it’s pressed hard against my
pillow to hide a whimper, head still trapped under his hold.
 He laughs again—always fucking laughing—and it’s all the warning I
get before I’m being ripped apart.
My scream is silent as all the air is forced out of my lungs, my mouth
open wide against the fabric of my pillowcase. It takes my mind a few
moments to come to, my whole being too wrapped up in the pain of it to be
aware of anything else. My ears are ringing loudly now, keeping me from
hearing the start of his moaning, the sound of Nic savoring the tightness
wrapped around his cock. That sound, muffled by all the blood rushing to
my ears, it helps. It keeps me from panicking too much, the evidence that
I’m making him feel good.
It’s a struggle for him to get all the way in. It takes several shallow
thrusts to fuck me open enough before he’s buried inside me. And then he
stays there, hips flush against my ass as he gives me time to get used to
him. My breaths are ragged, stammering out of me in shallow huffs.
But it… it’s okay. Good. Leaves my head empty and body full. It was
brutal, and now it’s calm. It’s still painful, but he’s inside me, and it’s
everything I wanted.
“Move.” It’s an order spoken in a voice that still doesn’t feel like mine,
sounds like my head is underwater as I listen to it. “Move,” I try again,
tongue lolling a bit. But he does it, drags his cock out in an agonizingly
slow pull, and I’m a moaning mess by the time all that’s left is his
cockhead. I see it coming, and my hands try to tighten the grip they have on
my sheet, but there’s no point—I’m already white-knuckling the cotton by
the time he’s forcing his way back in.
My body protests when I push back against him, impaling myself once
again and triggering another white-hot pang deep in my guts. But it’s worth
it, gets me what I want—more. He listens, stays moving, and starts fucking
his way in and out in violent thrusts. It’s not until his hand wraps around my
dripping cock and tugs that I realize I’m now achingly hard after having
gone soft. The pleasure of those strokes slithers around the pain, and I start
to float in it.
My head feels blissfully numb as he continues to fuck me, and I can’t
pinpoint when the hurt morphs into something so fucking good, but I know
that I’m completely lost in it.
He groans, a drawn-out noise that stutters with every thrust, and I have
to push a hand flat onto the headboard so I don’t move too much. I make
sure I stay right where I am so this never fucking ends.
 It hits me that it will end, disappear, and the very thought has a tortured
whine filling the air around us, getting mixed up in the continuous
masochistic pleasure assaulting my entire being. Nic eats it up—hums like
he’s basking in the sound of it, taking credit for it.
“God. You were made for this, Cade.” He moans, the sound starting
deep in his chest, and I can’t help but match it with one of my own. “Such a
good fucking toy,” he speaks softly, a filthy praise pressed right into the
shell of my ear, and I have to turn my head in a clumsy attempt to seek him
out, try and get a taste of those words. My every muscle pulls tight, a
delicious heat licking at the base of my spine every time his balls slap
against mine. “You’re so fucking tight, little brother.”
“Oh, god,” I mutter, opening my bleary eyes in more ways than one to
find him looking at me. How did I let something so monumental slip my
mind?
His hand curls around my balls, giving them a gentle roll that doesn’t
quite match the way his fat cock is pushing into me. “Shh,” he whispers, his
chest settling over me in a way that makes me feel safe. He feels so good,
smells so good pressed against me. “Don’t worry about that. Your whole
purpose is this—being nothing more than a tight hole for me. That’s all you
are right now.” He sits up, making it so I can’t see his face anymore, and
then I try to do what he says.
I groan, overcome with all the euphoria flooding my senses. This—it’s
everything. Exactly what I wanted. What I needed. No worries, no stress, no
feelings of worthlessness. It’s why I pushed him, pushed myself past the
blinding ache of those first thrusts. Just this. My entire existence simplified
into being nothing more than his to use. A toy. A hole.
His hand works me over in time with his hips, a single stroke paired
with every punch at my insides. The unbearable pleasure-pain of it all is
building. It’s more, more, more. Almost…
I cry out as my orgasm barrels through me, and all Nic does is fuck me
through it, hand fisted around my dick while my cum sprays onto the
mattress beneath us. When he finally stops his brutal fuck, both of us are
breathing heavily, panting noisily as our bodies struggle to settle.
“That was…” It’s too much effort to finish, the words too heavy. I’m
not sure I know what I would say, what the end of that sentence even is.
Amazing, so fucking good. Perfect.
A mistake.
 That’s what he probably thinks.
There’s a sheen of sweat blanketing my body, making it cold now that
my blood isn’t pumping quite so unyieldingly, and I’m left trembling
because of it. The adrenaline drop is hitting me hard. Or maybe it’s the
severity of what it is we just did. Either way, I don’t want him to ruin what
that was by being himself.
“Get off.” The words are grunted, hoarse.
I’m close to freaking out, have to turn my face again so that he can’t see
me. I’m waiting for a punishment of sorts—like he’s going to be pissed that
I got us here.
“Cade.” His voice is calm, almost cautious, and it makes everything
worse.
“Get off of me.” I hiss as he pulls out in a hurry, not expecting the burn
the emptiness triggers. He’s still holding my soft, oversensitive cock in his
warm palm—the touch gentle—and I move quickly to push his hand away.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I say again, almost sounding like I mean it. I might not be,
though. Not if he didn’t come. “I—did you…” I think he was still hard
when he broke the connection. It felt like I was still stretched wide around
him as he pulled out, which means he didn’t get anything out of it. He could
have. I wanted him to, almost wanted it more than my own pleasure. It’s
like last night all over again, only worse.
Nothing but a hole, and not even a good one.
“Maybe you—do you need a drink? Or…”
“What?” I look over my shoulder, find myself feeling awkward at the
position I’m still in. “No—”
“Cade, you wanted it.” He sounds mad.
I don’t argue. We went over that already. “And you didn’t?” I quip
back, but really, I’m not all that sure. My muscles protest as I begin to
move. I have to fight the urge to stretch out as I lay on my stomach, legs
splayed outward because he’s still behind me. I pretend I don’t feel the
cooling puddle of cum in my way. Or the throbbing in my ass.
“I clearly did.”
“But I wasn’t—” I clear my throat, stop myself from saying something
so embarrassing. “You didn’t come.” That’s not much better.
“You—”
 “You don’t want to?” I can take more. If he needs it—wants it—he can
have it. But he’s silent behind me for long enough that the sting of rejection
pisses me off.
“I don’t think—”
“Whatever.” I start to sit up, the feeling of nakedness pushing me into
shaky motion. I don’t want to hear the bullshit insult he’s got locked and
loaded. This was my fuck up, and I don’t need him to emphasize that.
“Move.” I start to push at him, my hand barely touching him before my
stare gets stuck, rudely focused on his thighs—on the scarring I never had a
chance to see before now.
It’s not what I expected. I assumed he cut himself because what else
would it have been? But those are not the kinds of scars you get from a
blade. They’re textured, raised high, and bumpy in some places and pulled
tight and concaved in others. Sort of shiny. I see them stretch as he stiffens,
but then he’s moving too.
“They’re burns,” I muse aloud when he stands up, regretting it as he
bends over and snatches his sweats off the ground. He tugs them on
hurriedly, only stopping to take the empty condom off.
He was hard, but he’s not now. I did that—killed his boner.
“Sorry,” I murmur, meaning it. But he ignores me. He drags a hand
through his hair right there in the middle of the room, sort of awkward
about it as his free hand grips the side of his leg, thumb digging until the
nail goes white. I wonder briefly if that hurts because of all that scarring…
does he feel it? What kind of damage do burns like that do?
I’ll most likely never know and never bring it up again. Not if it makes
him act like this. It’s like he has no clue what to do now. It makes me feel
like shit, which is stupid. He just wrecked my ass, the first person I ever let
do it, and he didn’t even have the courtesy to come.
It hits me that it’s a stupid thing to be mad at, and that only makes me
feel worse. More guilty. The guiltiest for some stupid fucking reason my
brain doesn’t want to clue me in on. This case of Dumb Dick isn’t a joke
anymore. I’m stupid with lust, literally. And all this post-sex haze is no
better. A symptom, because why should I feel bad for Nic?
But he leaves the room. Turns right around and walks out without even
looking at me.
I look down at the cum smeared on my abs and the world’s dumbest
dick and sigh.
OceanofPDF.com
 Eleven
Cade

“N
ic seems different.”
“I guess,” I grouse, but Liam ignores the tone. It’s been a
week since I made a fool out of myself and started ignoring Nic
altogether because of it, but it’s proving harder than I thought it’d be. He
demands attention just by existing. And it doesn’t help that we share a room
and bathroom. And we work together. I get small breaks, like now—another
trip to the gym with Liam—but when I go home, he’s there. I moved my
study sessions to the library, but no matter how much I linger, I always end
up at home. And he’ll just be there, laying in bed like the moody fucker he
is. Eerily silent.
“He’s kinda…”
I peep the small smile on Liam’s face and roll my eyes. My jaw tenses
with the words he lets hang in the air. He’s stupid hot, that’s what he’s not
saying. Nicolas Aldana is all sorts of sexy. But also… “He’s an asshole.”
Liam hums in thought. “Sure. But also—”
“I’m gonna tell your boyfriend if you finish that sentence.”
Liam cocks a brow at me before shrugging. “He has eyes, dude. Bash
would agree with me—Nic is model-level attractive. He could be the male
version of Winnie Harlow—that model with vitiligo.”
“Don’t care,” I snark. “Do you only like dickheads? People who are
straight fucking trash, that all that does it for you?”
That’s not really fair, but honestly, he’s my friend. Liam never liked Nic
when we were teens, and as my friend, it needs to stay that way. He needs
to be on my side. For my sanity. Nic isn’t gonna get any less hot, and I need
the people in my life to stop acknowledging it before I flip the fuck out.
 “Bash is not trash.” He looks genuinely offended, angry at my poor
choice of words.
“Sorry.” I hold my palms up, not touching that topic. Sebastian seems
like a good enough boyfriend, albeit hella possessive and protective. But
that’s… I get why Liam likes it—he seems to eat all the attention Sebastian
gives him, and I don’t blame him. “Nic is, though.”
“You guys haven’t been getting along?”
“What do you think?” I have to duck my head to hide the faint blush I
feel spreading on my face.
“Are you ready to go?” Sebastian walks up and stands aloof as he
intrudes. An apathetic robot ninety percent of the time. If you take Liam out
of that whole equation, Sebastian is nothing more than a quiet grump who
glares a lot. It’s not until Liam reaches for his hand that his browline
relaxes, and it’s odd how much that changes his face. From a slightly scary
man to… a guy letting his boyfriend kiss his face all over.
He allows it for a moment before trying to duck away, which clearly
only eggs Liam on.
“Awe. My widdle baby,” he coos, and my lips crack into a curious grin
as this spectacle unfolds. When Sebastian actually blushes, I have to laugh.
“Stop,” he grumbles, halfheartedly pushing at the hands Liam is trying
to cradle his face with. Liam presses a hard kiss onto his mouth and I have
to look away, feeling like I’m the one intruding all of a sudden, a subtle
ache in my chest as I listen.
I want that. Someone to kiss my face, to let me do the same. They’re so
publicly in love, and it makes me feel like I’m missing out. It’s gross.
When I don’t hear any more smooches, I return my focus to them and
catch it when Sebastian seems to realize that I’m still there. His face falls,
settles back into his signature scowl but not in a way that tells me he’s mad.
A little uncomfortable, maybe. Embarrassed.
I get it. It’s awkward for me too. I’m lucky that he’s cool enough to try
and be okay with me hanging around—especially when Liam pushes things
at times. Like now, as he asks if I want to come over to his and Sebastian’s
place.
I decline, telling him I have studying to do, which isn’t technically a lie.
We have finals coming up, but I’m pretty confident in most of my classes.
Avoiding the bane of my existence means that I’ve logged loads of studying
time.
 But I’ve hit enough books for the day, and I don’t feel like going at it
again in fear of brain rot. Most likely, I’m going to head home. Sit in the
living room for as long as I can until I have to go to bed. Next to Nic.
“Next time, then.” He smiles easily, not at all miffed at my avoidance
tactic. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Alright.” I hold back a love you as they walk away. Things are slowly
getting better between us—the three of us—but I don’t think that’s an okay
thing to say to Liam anymore. Sebastian made it clear that there are
boundaries I can’t cross. It doesn’t feel like the kind of love I was
suffocating in for a few years, not after that rejection, but he’s still the
closest thing I have to a brother, and I do love him.
I huff a laugh through my nose at the thought—I once again forgot that
Nic is technically my brother. I’m silently professing my brotherly love for
the guy I spent years attracted to. And now here I am, all kinds of fucked up
over the guy who is legally a part of my family.
The stepbrother who hates me. Doesn’t want me.
But he fucked me like he does. I felt the evidence of that for days
afterward, an ache to remind me of my fuck up in a way that made my groin
feel hot. It’s gone now, almost a week later. I kind of miss it, and that
thought pisses me off. It’s not even the first time I’ve had it.
I need to find somebody who… is not Nic. Move on to better, healthier
things.

∞∞∞

“D
o I know you?” I peer at his face and swear I’ve seen him before.
But as I look him over, my mind doesn’t connect the dots.
“I don’t think so. I’m Corby.” He grins as he holds his hand
out, and I frown at it. Who shakes hands at clubs? It makes me wish I’d just
gone home, because now that I’m here, at Class, it’s feeling like more work
than I wanted. I’m irritable and not in the mood for flirting. It’s throwing
the few people that have tried off.
I swear I’ve seen him before. It shouldn’t bother me, but then I see the
last person I want to walk up behind him and groan. That’s where I know
him from. He’s the skeevy guy Nic met on our last trip here.
“What are you doing here?” My stomach tightens in a warm knot as Nic
looks at me. There have been plenty of guys all over me since I showed up,
but I dodged all of them. None of them stirred any interest. I’ve been
chasing the feeling all night, but now that it’s here, I want to scream. Wrong
fucking guy, Dumb Dick.
I have to constantly remind myself of that. He’s the wrong guy, and it
needs to be that simple. He’s mean. He doesn’t like me. He’s my
stepbrother—that alone should be enough of a reason to stomp on the
massive brain boner he gives me. Except it’s not. And worse, I think that’s
part of what gives me all those real boners I’ve tried and failed to ignore
since last week.
“I’m guessing the same thing you are.” Nic shrugs coolly, looking
relaxed in a way that has me narrowing my eyes. A pissed-off Nic is the
usual lately. Or always. This? I don’t know what the fuck this is.
We haven’t talked to each other much—not since we… I straighten up,
square my shoulders as I try my best to look like a guy who is not thinking
about the time his stepbrother shoved his dick in him.
The same thing you are. “You’re looking for a hookup?”
There was no discernable reason for me to say that, and I wish I hadn’t,
but the sudden turmoil at the thought of him looking for someone to mess
around with forced it out of me. He’s not supposed to be here, at Class. He’s
a loner. He should be in his bed listening to Sleep Token or some shit.
He opens his mouth, but his buddy interrupts.
“Well, I’m here.”
“What?” I half-snap at Nic’s friend, irritated as I look at his face.
“You’re looking for a hookup, and—”
“No.” Nic couples the word with a slow shake of his head, looking at
me like he thinks he can tell me what to do.
Do I want to share an orgasm with a dude named Corby? Not really.
But, also, fuck you, Nic. “Sounds good to me,” I quip, reaching for Corby’s
arm. I make sure I shove past Nic as I step away from the bar. It doesn’t feel
right as I drag this guy—the wrong, wrong guy—behind me, and when Nic
catches up to us and rips my hand off of his friend, I’m mostly relieved.
Until I consider the why. Why is he so against me getting busy with his
buddy? Maybe he wants Corby all to himself. My eyes ping pong between
the two of them, between the angry look on Nic’s face to the subdued
humor on Corby’s and back. “I’m not doing this.”
I turn around. He can have him. He isn’t that good-looking anyway. I’m
for sure hotter than that guy. Corby. Plus, he has a stupid fucking name.
That is not the kind of name anyone wants to be screaming during sex.
Cade, on the other hand, is great for that.
Unless you’re Nic, I guess.
I make it about halfway into the crowd before I have to admit that I
have no clue what I’m doing. I’m being fueled by spite and quickly losing
fire. He’s here, and I should leave. That’s what common sense is telling me.
I went to a different club first. A club I know Nic has never been to,
where I danced with a girl for a bit before I decided that’s not what I
wanted. She was hot, smelled really good, and fruity, but everything about
her was too delicate. Apparently, I’m in the mood to be manhandled. So, I
came here. And now I’m regretting it.
But I came here to come, goddammit.
I feel unhinged. I wanted to avoid Nic—can’t do that if he’s here. I
wanted to come—despite him, I’m going to. He’s everywhere, in every part
of my life, and my last orgasm can’t belong to him.
Have a healthy, mutual jerk-off session with someone who actually
wants to touch me. That’s the mission.
Except, now all I can think about is Nic touching me. His hands on me.
Maybe not trying to kill me. The way he fucked me. Tried to be gentle
about it until I wouldn’t let him. The way he talked to me. How everything
he did made me feel so good when, really, it shouldn’t have.
I think of his scars and how I want to apologize for seeing them. It’s
pushed a wedge—another wedge—between us, and it’s driving me crazy.
Guilt and regret are poisoning me, making me feel sick anytime I let myself
think about it.
I think about how, despite all of that, I still want more.
A hand grips my forearm, and looking down to see it confirms what I
already knew. “Why are you really here?” Nic’s voice is hard to hear over
all the noise, but I know it’s him. I’m obsessed with his voice, with the little
scratch it has. I love how deep it gets in the morning, even when I’m saving
face by pretending I’m still mad at him. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I’m just
obsessed with him, period.
 I groan, exasperation prickling at my skin as he steps closer behind me.
Regret once again swarms my insides, making my chest feel tight. I was all
about getting Nic inside me. I had a goal and got what I wanted, but I was
not at all prepared for the after-effects. Whether I want to admit it or not, I
want him.
But he doesn’t feel the same.
My eyes find his hand again, still holding my arm. Why is he doing this
to me? He’s playing with me. Fucking with my head—has to be. Enjoying
the mind games because he hates me that much. But I don’t deserve that.
“Getting away from you,” I answer honestly, but I make sure he can’t
hear me.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twelve
Nic

H
e’s staring at my fingers, watching as they stay wrapped around his
arm. I’m both darker and paler than he is, my patchy hand an odd
contrast next to his flawless skin. “Cade.” I loosen my grip, but I
hate that and end up squeezing tighter, deciding not to let him go.
He’s sort of been avoiding me, and while I know it’s because of how I
left things after fucking him, there’s a part of me that wonders if there are
other reasons. He won’t look at me, hardly speaks to me—not even at work.
I know he wanted it, me and the things I did to him. He did, but maybe
seeing my skin like that… I don’t know. Maybe it grossed him out or
something.
“I told you!” He whips around—getting mad as I press the issue—
ripping his arm out of my hold. “I’m here for the same reason most people
come here.” He waves an arm out at the crowd, and it’s not hard to guess
what he means.
We’re surrounded on all sides by some real horny motherfuckers. Most
of them aren’t even subtle about it, and I’m struggling to rationalize why
I’m so bothered.
“Same as you, right?” He doesn’t do a very good job hiding the hurt,
which almost makes me want to laugh—not because this mess is funny,
though. It’s not. It’s frustrating as hell. It doesn’t make any sense.
This is why he irks the absolute fuck out of me, why I don’t understand
my own obsession. Cade came here to be his horny self, probably itching to
move on from his last hookup—with me—and he’s upset about me possibly
wanting the same thing?
“Go back to your—” He grits his teeth, getting visibly flustered at his
own anger. Such an easy book to read. “Corby,” he sneers, and I wonder
briefly if he’s been drinking or if he’s genuinely this much of a drama
queen. We get caught in a stare, and I see the moment he gives up. “Nic,
seriously.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping resignedly. “Go away.”
His cheeks are flushed, a sheen of sweat covering his face. It reminds
me a little of how he looked when we fucked. I’m pretty sure that was his
first time bottoming. Maybe his first time having penetrative sex with a
man, period, if anything Baby says can be believed. I should probably feel
bad about the way I handled him. I know I hurt him. At one point, I even
wanted to. And I guess, yeah, I do feel a little guilty for it.
But he literally asked for it. Begged—fucking moaned—for it.
Cade ate it up. Practically went mindless beneath me, and I just… I
should have had enough sense to stop myself. I thought about stopping
things a lot that night, but he just kept saying more. Egging me on until my
cock was forcing him open, and it unraveled him. Had him splitting wide
open in more ways than one. It turned him into a total slut for it—the pain.
Me.
That’s what his problem is. He just wants more of that and is too
stubborn to ask for it.
If I wanted to be fair, I’d be the one to give in this time. He was the one
who pushed the boundaries the last time—went against his own will and
asked me for it like the good little toy he was meant to be. I should relent. I
can do that—I want to do that—if it means a redo.
Only he opens his mouth and ruins it because that’s who he is.
“You weren’t exactly the good lay I thought you were gonna be, Nic.
Just leave me alone so I can find someone who is.”
The smug as fuck look on his face as he starts to turn has me reacting. I
reach out and grab him like he’s mine because, for a crazy second, it feels
like he is. What the fuck is wrong with him?
He’s impossible to talk to, and I expect him to fight me. Yell at me, look
at me like I disgust him, something. But he doesn’t do any of that. He lets
me dig my fingers into his wrist, and that compliance…
Fuck it.
I head toward the back of the crowded room, dragging him along with
me and ignoring his halfhearted complaints. When I feel his arm slipping
out of my grasp, I grip him tighter and pull until he’s close enough to touch
me.
“How does this whole thing work?” I look over my shoulder, having to
yell a bit to make sure he hears me just before we approach the entryway
being guarded by two men who are clearly bouncers.
“What?” Cade asks, playing dumb. But he can’t hide the want or the
embarrassment when he sneaks a glance at the hallway next to us. “The—
no.” He shakes his head, making his hair bounce a little. He needs a haircut.
This might be the longest I’ve ever seen it, and the last thing I need to be
thinking about is how much more grip the length could give me. “I’m not
going in there with you.”
I roll my eyes, squaring my shoulders to fight off the subtle sting those
words inflict. He came here, to this club, to fuck around with someone. In
there is exactly where he was planning on ending up.
“Yeah, you are.”
It’s me or nobody. Those are his options because there is no fucking
way I am letting him go to detention with someone else. I’m giving him
what he wants, what we both want. The least he can do is be grateful for it.
I know enough from what Baby and Corby have told me, so I don’t wait
for Cade’s rebuttal before I grab him once again and pull him with me down
the dark hall. It gets quieter, the thrumming of the crowd and music muffled
as we round a corner, and there’s another open entrance with a barely
visible red glow that I’m certain is our destination. Technically, this area
isn’t allowed. They say it’s a room to be used for peace and quiet, but in
reality, it’s where you go for quick hookups. Oftentimes anonymous.
A small part of me wishes this were anonymous—that he was some
stranger that I could come on or in and then never see again. But mostly,
I’m okay with this. I’m putting myself in this position because I crave it.
I don’t crave Cade. It’s the control he gives me. There’s just something
about it, something foreign and immensely satisfying about having that kind
of power over someone. There’s so much else in my life—everything, really
—that I have no control over. So, yeah. I crave it.
But he’s Cadence Howard. I’ve spent a lot of time hating him. He’s one
of the most annoying people I know. He is so entitled and full of himself,
and… it’s not him that I want. It’s like he said. This has nothing to do with
who we are and everything to do with getting off.
“I came here because I wanted literally anybody but you. I’m not going
—”
“You’re so full of shit.” We’re whispering, being quiet because that’s
the vibe back here. My heart is pounding louder than our voices, going
rampant as he keeps being himself and fights it.
 A few people slip in and out of the room before us as we stand off to the
side, but we ignore them. I’m not sure why I’m even letting him argue. I
can admit that the things he says bug me—that he likes to pretend he
doesn’t want me because the alternative is embarrassing to him—but I
know him pretty well. He’s too open with me—thinks he’s hiding behind an
attitude that really only ends up showing me everything most of the time.
I let his arm go before turning and walking in. He’ll follow me, I know
it. And if he doesn’t, I’ll get over it.
Maybe.
It will be harder than I want it to be, that’s for sure. I hate even thinking
about it and have to look to make sure he is still behind me—except he’s
not there. And now I’m the one embarrassed. I got a little too cocky. Sort of
look—and feel—stupid for it now. I stopped taking the very thing holding
my mental dam together for him. I told myself that he wasn’t the reason,
that I just wanted to come. But I wanted to come for him. I needed it, and
now he’s left me hanging.
I want to go back out there into the hallway and grab him. Take him and
drag him in here. But I don’t do that. He feels like mine, but that doesn’t
mean that he is.
My heart starts to pound harder, and I make myself stay still because I
have no clue what I would do with him in front of me right now. I’m so
angry, and it makes no sense. This really isn’t the place for all of this, either.
I can’t see anything but the red glow of the LED lights and silhouettes of
horny guys, hear the faint noises of people getting off, and the quiet music
playing over speakers being slowly drowned out by my heartbeat the louder
and louder it gets. I can smell the sex in the air. I shouldn’t be in here. My
eyes slip closed as I tighten my fists. They start to feel numb, and I try to
focus on staying calm no matter how much worse it all gets. I need to go to
my car, but my muscles are rigid, and moving doesn’t feel like a good idea.
But then my eyes are open, and he’s there. It’s infuriating how much of
a relief that is. I can’t see the details of his face, can’t see whatever posh
outfit he’s wearing tonight, but I know it’s him. He steps towards me, and
my stupid heart starts to slow. It goes from wild and erratic, something that
makes my skin vibrate, to something that soothes me instantly when it’s
clear he’s back in this.
I’m making all the wrong choices where he’s concerned. Looking for
him when I should be avoiding him. Trading shifts with coworkers so we
work together, even if it’s only an hour or two. Staying at home, in our
room all the time, hoping he’ll return like an idiot. Stopping the meds I
probably still need just so I can come without knowing for sure if he even
wants that from me anymore.
I am wrecking myself, and what’s worse is that I’m aware I’m doing it
and can’t fucking stop.
I blow out a breath as he moves closer, and I can’t think of a reply when
he says something snarky under his breath. I’m too relieved to match his
attitude as he’s moving us, walking me to a corner, and I let him. Do it
happily even. It almost feels like I popped a Xanax as I trail behind him.
Like my body is being flooded with a flurry of euphoria instead of all of
that oh-so-dramatic panic and disappointment from before.
We’re always trading places. I take a step on the ladder only for him to
take two, and it keeps on going that way. It’s an endless cycle where neither
of us is ever winning for very long. I dragged him here, yet he’s in control
now. Literally walking me like a dog to an empty spot amidst all the
hedonism in the room.
The realization instantly pisses me off in a way that only Cade can
manage. I trade places with him until his back hits the wall with a muted
thud, and he’s facing me. He doesn’t fight me at all. It takes so little effort
that it has my cock stirring.
I love this compliance—something I rarely see from him. From Cade,
the stepbrother who has looked at me with contempt since the day I met
him. His willingness to cede to my every whim in these moments turns me
the fuck on. It’s a heady thing. Undeserving in a way.
But that drugged feeling continues swirling, has everything awful inside
me slipping away, making me feel almost weightless. It feels better than
anything I’ve ever been prescribed. My heart is beating slower, and the air
I’m breathing is thicker, but it’s cozy and nice, and I fucking need it.
I’m not all that delicate with it as I push at his shoulder, forcing him to
his knees. He lets out a quiet, frustrated-sounding grunt as he grabs at my
hips to steady himself before I can feel him simply waiting—looking up at
me in the dark as I undo my jeans on autopilot. And then it’s like he can’t
wait anymore. It has bone-deep contentment settling into me, the way he
fumbles eagerly with my briefs, taking the time to tuck the hemline under
my balls.
 I fight a chill as he wraps his sweaty palm around me, ready for
whatever he’s willing to give me in this moment. He takes me into his
mouth, his velvety tongue flattening along the underside of my dick as he
sinks his lips almost down to the base, and I have to place a palm on the
wall above him just so I don’t keel over. Of course he’s good at sucking
cock—he’s good at fucking everything, better than me at every little thing
he does.
Only this time, as I hit the opening of his throat, I can’t find it in me to
be all that upset about it. I let my head fall forward with a soft groan as my
fingers slide through his hair—pure bliss and warmth spreading throughout
my groin.
I wish I could see him, watch as Cade’s mouth is stretched wide around
me, his eyes watering and spit dripping down his chin as he takes every
inch I give him greedily. He’s quietly moaning for it, trying to swallow me
down, and I’d give anything to see his face right now.
Fuck. He runs his tongue over the tip, coaxing out more precum before
his lips push at my foreskin, sliding it back until he can suck on the fully
exposed glans. He’s tasting and savoring, so fucking hungry for it that I
have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud. He pulls off with a slurp
only to mouth at my balls while he strokes me, giving us both the chance to
breathe. It’s good, but not what I want, and my resolve doesn’t last very
long before I’m taking myself in hand so I can feed him my cock once
again. My hips rock as I fuck myself deeper into his mouth, and it feels so
good that I do it again. Then again.
God, I go mindless with it, the feel of his skilled mouth wrapped around
me driving me almost mad. And he takes it all so well—happy to be used
by me. So fucking good at it that it makes me think of all the times he’s
done this before, maybe even right here in this very room. I force my eyes
shut, actively trying not to feed that train of thought anymore. But it can’t
be helped. I wonder how many guys Cade has been in this very position
with, and I know I have no right to be jealous—I don’t even understand
why I am. But as deeply as he can take me, I feel like the number must be
high. He’s every bit the slut he likes to prove himself as, and it’s equal parts
sexy and infuriating.
His hand covering mine where it’s tightened too much in his hair has
me opening my eyes again, and suddenly, I’m peering down at his darkened
silhouette—wishing again that I could see him clearly. I feel his eyes on me
and think about easing up on him, but then I decide that’s stupid. I don’t
know that this will ever happen again, that I’ll ever get it exactly how I
want it, so I’m definitely taking full advantage of it now. I move my hand
from beneath his so I can cup his skull, pulling him against me as I sink in
once again. I move slowly, make sure he has time to stop me and can’t help
but grin when he doesn’t. He continues letting me use him to my liking and
sits there patiently as I work my cock deep into his mouth, and it’s only
then, when my lips part to offer a filthy praise, that I remember everyone
else in the room.
His hands grab at my ass, pulling me into him so roughly that I grunt in
surprise. I can feel teeth almost at my base, his nose in my pubes, and the
slick tunnel of his throat starting to panic around me as I cut off his
breathing. And Cade, the boy I like to call my little brother, he fucking
loves it. Choking himself on my dick brings out a moan from deep inside
his chest, earning us some aggressive shhs from somewhere in the room.
My orgasm takes me by surprise, pulse after pulse climbing up my
length with every rope of cum being spilled down his throat. I’m vaguely
aware of his hands grabbing at my jeans, suffocation finally getting to be
too much for him, but I’m too busy experiencing raw ecstasy to do anything
but hold him in place. My very own little cock slut, so filthy and perfect.
“Fuck,” I mutter when I finally step back, listening to Cade noisily drag
in a deep breath and fight a cough. My eyes are mostly adjusted to the dim
lighting, but I can still hardly see him in the red glow. I almost feel bad,
watching his solid frame kneeling on the ground as he struggles to drag in
oxygen.
I reach for him, help him stand, and stay close as he wobbles. My hand
covers his bulge, thinking it only fair to return the favor, but there’s no
need. He’s wet. Soaked. He came in his jeans while he was choking on me.
I’m cozy and warm with all sorts of post-nut euphoria. And maybe a
little bit of that shitty clarity one can expect after things like this. I just
fucked Cadence Howard’s face. My limp, tired dick is still wet with his
saliva as it hangs there shamefully.
I tuck myself away as I take a step back. “We’re not doing this again,” I
say, making sure to speak clearly so he—and who knows how many others
—can hear me. And then I turn around and leave him there.

OceanofPDF.com
 Thirteen
Cade

“I
wouldn’t bother.”
I don’t remember this guy’s name, but I recognize him as
Sebastian’s annoying friend from when they came to the diner to rub
Sebastian’s first date with Liam in my face. I’ve only been to Liam’s new
place twice, and both times, I was quick to leave. I helped him move in and
made sure to do nothing more than set shit down and bounce. I’m not all
that sure why I even bothered coming here today.
“They’re probably fucking,” he continues. “They don’t answer the door
when that’s going on. Nothing more important than Liam’s ass.” He doesn’t
even look at me as he speaks—just stares down between his knees as he sits
in front of my best friend’s door on their doormat. “Horny bastards,” he
mutters.
“That’s—” but I don’t know what to say to that. I still can’t believe
Liam is a bottom. How does one go from straight jock to… dating a guy
who can kick my ass? “How long have you been here?” I don’t actually
care, but it feels awkward, so I’m pressured to say something that has
nothing to do with Liam being fucked.
“Who knows? I used to have a key, but they have so much sex it got
taken away.”
“Right.” I nod. “That makes sense.” Not really, but it’s none of my
business either way.
“Did Liam know you were coming?” He looks up at me finally, hope
softening his features.
I sigh. “Nope.” I was antsy. Needed to do something other than obsess
over Nic and figured coming here was the answer. It’s really just my luck
that Liam is busy.
 “Well, why are you here?” he has the audacity to ask.
“Because I can be.” My best friend lives here. I almost ask him why
he’s here, but I guess his best friend lives here too.
He rolls his eyes. “Forgot what a joy you are.” He goes back to looking
at the ground, and I simply don’t care enough to keep the conversation
going. I turn to leave, but his voice stops me. “Wait! Where are you going?”
I ignore him, go back to what I was doing, and try to think of
somewhere else I can go. Can’t go home. Nic isn’t there, and all I’ll be
doing is wondering where the fuck he is. If he’s avoiding me again. Maybe
with someone else stupid enough to pine over him. Like fucking Corby.
“Wait,” Sebastian’s buddy says again, but I don’t need to play nice with
my friend’s boyfriend’s friends. That’s not a thing, or at least I don’t want it
to be. It’s bad enough I have to be nice to the guy who broke my nose.
Whoever this guy is can fuck right off. “You’re Cade, right?”
I stop walking to gawk at him, wondering why he’s suddenly standing
next to me. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs a slim shoulder at me, definitely trying to
irritate me if the slight curve of his lips is any indication. “Following you.”
“No, you’re not.” Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
He snorts, tucking a few strands of dirty blonde hair behind his ears and
revealing a fresh, jagged cut at his hairline. “Well, clearly I am.”
I do my best to ignore the ugly bruise surrounding a smudge of crusty
blood, but I know he’s aware I saw it because he moves his hair over it once
more. I want to ask what caused it, but I don’t know him well enough to
ask. But I want to know. For some reason, it reminds me of Nic. His legs
and the scars he hates that I saw. I wish I hadn’t looked at them, been so
shocked to see the mess he made of his own legs. I wish I’d found out he
was doing that to himself sooner, that I’d cared enough to pay attention so I
could get him help sooner. I kind of wish I knew just how the hell he did it.
Mostly, I wish—
“Where are we going?”
I scoff, try to think of an answer, and then scoff again. I want to stop
thinking of Nic. He makes me feel actually crazy—the kind of nuts that
makes me enjoy using cock as a cork for my throat. I can feel all the
neurons in my worthless brain going feral when I think about him, and I
absolutely blame that—blame Nic—for why I cave to this sort of stranger
so easily.
 “I have no clue.”

∞∞∞

J
ax can fucking talk. His ramblings have been the only thing keeping me
occupied the past hour, so I’m almost grateful for it, but… holy hell, can
he yap.
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Swear to god.” He holds his palms up, but again, I call bullshit.
“That means nothing coming from an atheist.”
Which I only know he is because he told me. I might know too much
about this guy, really. He’s a certified yapper and went on about it for close
to fifteen minutes before he saw a quail on the sidewalk and segued into a
monologue about how they mate for life.
“Okay, well… yeah. I can see that. But I’m not lying! They have like a
whole dresser full of dil—”
I veer the car right, turning onto a busy road and cussing when Jax lets
his nachos slide off his lap. And then cuss again when someone honks at
me.
“What the fuck is your prob—”
“Shh!” There is zero chance that Nic can hear us, not from way up the
road. But still. I don’t need to listen to Jax’s barking as I carry out this
somewhat idiotic and very impulsive adventure right now.
“I am not cleaning that up.”
“Yes, you are. And be quiet.”
“Your car is gonna smell like cheese.”
“Stop. Talking.”
He goes silent for maybe two seconds before he brings up ants, and I
groan. I decide it’s best to give up, letting him spill every single thought
that runs through his mind. But I barely hear any of it as I continue
following the black car I saw. It’s a little hard to try and make sure I stay far
enough behind that Nic doesn’t see me but close enough that I don’t lose
him.
 I’m glad that Jax is too busy filling the silence to notice what I’m doing.
This shit is embarrassing.
I should stop. I could take this next left right here and stop following
him. I should definitely do that.
Ope, too late. Not that left, then. The next one.
But… where is he going? Not the diner, clearly. It’s minutes of being a
creepy stalker before I follow him onto a residential street, and then I have
to drive much slower.
“Cade?”
“Huh?”
“What are we doing?”
“Nothing.” I sit up straight, adjusting so I look more normal and not
like I’m trying to hide behind my dash. “Why are you here again?”
“You’re going ten under the speed limit. They can actually pull you
over for that. For going too slow. They might want to do a wellness check
on you—my grandma was pulled over for that once. She was super high on
pills, though, so I was pretty grateful.” He pauses to snort. “My mom had to
come to the police station and pick me up, but she was high too, so I ended
up going to this Puerto Rican woman’s house for a bit. Lotta people there,
and I had to sleep on the floor, but the food was so fucking good. I have
dreams about that lady’s dinners to this day. Whose house is this?”
“Jax.”
“What?”
“You talk a lot.” That’s really all I can think to say to all of that. Also, I
have no fucking clue whose house this is. Or whose house Nic just walked
into. Maybe it’s Corby’s. I don’t know that he has any other friends.
“Yeah. I get that a lot. But why are we here?”
“I genuinely have no clue why you’re here,” I whisper, giving in to the
urge to sink low in my seat. Just in case Nic looks out the window or
something. Not that it would do any good. He knows my car. I should not
have done this.
He huffs. “Whatever. I’m growing on you. I can tell.”
“Sure. Like a wart.”
“Whatever.”
“You already said that.”
“Who are we stalking?”
 “What?” I sit back up, try and fail to look like someone who isn’t
indeed a stalker.
“That car,” he says, pointing with his bony finger at Nic’s sedan.
“We’ve been following it for a while.”
Oh. He’s more attentive than I gave him credit for. “No, we haven’t,” I
lie.
“Now, who’s full of shit?” He reaches down to the floorboard and grabs
a chip. I have to stop him when he goes to put it in his mouth, shaking my
head at him until he drops it again. “Just seems like a waste of perfectly
good nachos.”
“We’ll get more,” I tell him. “And I’m not following anybody. I don’t
know who—down!” I duck, and when all Jax does is look around, I have to
yank on the collar of his shirt to pull him down with me, ignoring his
complaints. “Fuck. Do you think he saw us?”
“Who?”
“He’s going to be so pissed if he saw me.” I know he is.
“Which one is he?”
“What do you mean? How many are there? Who else—” I sit up, just
enough to peek out of my window, can’t help but do it because I want—
need—to know who he’s with, but I sink back down immediately. “Shit!” I
hiss. “He saw us. Don’t be weird—”
“Dude, you’re being weird.”
I shut my mouth when Jax, still leaning over his knees, looks up behind
me and waves.
“I get why we were stalking him.”
I sit up again. Try for nonchalance as I stare at the street in front of me
rather than look over at where Nic is beside my door. “I don’t know what to
do,” I admit. “Maybe I should—we’re just going to leave.” I nod my head
slowly, lips in a tight line as I wonder when I got so… like this.
“I don’t think that’s the right move, buddy. He looks pretty mad.”
But if anything, that just makes me want to leave even more. I’m not
sure what he’d do right now if I spoke to him. Tell him that I happened to
see him and followed him because, I don’t know, I just wanted to say hey?
The last time I talked to him, I ended up on my knees. Came in my
jeans just at the taste of his cock. I’ve got a case of Dumb Dick, but Nicolas
does not. His dick is… not dumb. Uncut. Fat and long. Big enough to
actually cut off my air supply. I couldn’t even breathe through my nose with
the way he was fucking my throat. And then he ruined it.
We’re not doing this again.
Yeah, fuck him. I can’t face him right now. More importantly, I don’t
want to. His knuckles rap against my window, but I’ve made up my mind.
I drive off, eyes ahead so I don’t look at his face.

∞∞∞

“W
hat the heck?” Liam stands there, blocking the entrance until Jax
shoves his way past him. “Did you guys come here together?”
He looks genuinely befuddled at the very possibility. I get it. I
doubt there are many who willingly hang out with Jax. I find it hard to
believe that Sebastian can tolerate him for very long.
“Sort of.” I shrug, not feeling up to explaining the story of how it is I
ended up hanging out with Jax. He’ll probably explain it all himself
anyway. “You gonna let me in?”
Liam steps aside just as my phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I
ignore it. Again. I know it’s Nic. He’s been calling and texting me ever
since he saw me. But I’m settled on ignoring it. Ignoring him.
Procrastinating, I suppose. I know I’ll have to deal with it eventually, but
that’s future Cade’s problem. Currently, all I’m going to do is spend an
awkward hour or two hanging out with Liam and his buff boyfriend.
Their dog starts immediately trying to climb up my leg, yapping in a
way that reminds me of Jax when I step over the threshold. So, Liam, his
buff boyfriend, and the two yappers. I’ve never been a super big fan of
dogs. Liam loves them. Used to talk about wanting one all the time when
we were younger. Liam being a dog person and finding himself a boyfriend
who is the kind of guy to bring stray dogs home makes sense. No wonder I
never had a chance.
In a way, it makes me feel better about the whole thing. The unrequited-
ness of it all. I’m not right for Liam, never was, but maybe he’s not right for
me either.
 “Okay. Down, girl.” I try to gently push her away with my foot, but she
just goes back to trying to climb up my leg. “Liam. Please control your
dog.”
“Rude.” But he picks her up, immediately cuddling her up against his
chest and cooing at her as he tries to dodge her yucky dog tongue. “So,
what are you up to?” he finally asks, leaving the dog-sized rodent to squirm
aimlessly in his arm.
“I’m… here.” I shrug.
“Okay.” He smiles. “What brings you here?”
It’s Jax who answers for me, who doesn’t shut up when he catches my
glare. “We were stalking his boyfriend, but we got caught.”
“His boyfriend?” Liam raises his eyebrows at me, mouth hiding in his
mutt’s fur.
“No. Not my boyfriend.”
“Okay.” He’s enjoying this a tad too much, more excited about the
prospect of me dating than even I would be. “Then who?” Liam asks, but
again, Jax doesn’t give me a chance to answer.
“Well, if he wasn’t your boyfriend, can he be my boyfriend? He’s hot as
hell. Like… I can’t actually think of anyone hot to compare him to, but he’s
gorgeous. It’s his skin thing, the vital something—whatever it’s called—
he’s almost ethereally hot.”
I look up at the ceiling and wait for Liam to get it.
“Wait. Vitiligo?”
I can hear the shocked smile in his voice. Kinda want to slap it off his
stupid, pretty face. Jax, just confirming what Liam already knows, has the
bastard cheesing.
“Huh. That reminds me of someone. But I mean, it couldn’t be. Cade
hates that guy.”
“I don’t think vitiligo is that common. Like, I can think of one person
I’ve seen with it in my life—and it’s Cade’s hottie. He is really… maybe I’ll
start stalking him.”
Liam laughs, and I can feel my jaw tighten, the sound of his dumb
chuckle making me irrationally angry that my supposed friend can find my
misery so amusing.
“He’s not—I wasn’t stalking him!” I glare at Jax, but that’s not wholly
fair. I expected him to blab. Should have left him at the gas station like I
wanted to. “I just—I wanted to see what he was doing. I was curious.” I
shrug. Kind of. I don’t really know what all that movement was, but it
doesn’t do a good job of convincing either of them that I’m not a freak all
sorts of hung up on his stepbrother.
Stepbrother! Fuck.
My eyes move to Liam, silently trying to beg him not to tell Jax that
detail. Sometimes, I forget that even is a detail. The plot of my life is now a
cheesy porno. Only with more drama than someone who wants to bust a nut
would be willing to sit through.

OceanofPDF.com
 Fourteen
Nic

“W
here the fuck have you been?” I cut Baby off the literal split
second Cade walks through the front door. Cade at least has the
decency to blush, look a touch embarrassed at whatever the hell
it was he was doing following me to Corby’s earlier. And then leaving with
some random guy without even talking to me. “Where have you been?” I
try again in a tone that has his blush disappearing, a sneer taking its place.
“I was at Liam’s. Not that it’s any of your business.”
It’s instant, the need to correct him. “Right. And me being at my
friend’s house, that is your business?”
“What friend?” He looks appalled that I might have one, that I would be
at anyone else’s place.
It genuinely baffles me how someone can show all their cards like that
at all times. There are no instances when I don’t have a pretty good idea of
what he’s feeling. He has the emotional maturity of a three-year-old. This?
This obsessive jealousy, like he has any fucking right, really just points out
how full of himself he is. Like he has any sort of claim on me.
He doesn’t. I can’t deny that he feels like mine at times, but I am not
and will never be something he can own. I’m not even something he wants,
not really. I wouldn’t give myself to someone as careless as him. I’m not
that stupid. And as far as my jealousy goes, at least I hide it. I’m not
humiliating myself by…
I scoff, getting flustered at my own reasoning. It feels like I’m lying to
myself. I’m just as bad as him. Maybe even worse.
“Why were you following me?” I’m not giving him an answer to his
question. He doesn’t need to know things like that. Things about me. Cade
is the last person I can see myself opening up to—about anything.
 “I’m not doing this.” He stalks off down the hall, and a few seconds
later, I can hear our door being slammed. That’s what he says when he can’t
think of anything to say to explain his shitty logic away.
I don’t want to follow him, but as soon as I can’t see him anymore, my
knee starts bouncing because fuck, I want to follow him. I want to demand
he tell me what he thought he was doing earlier. Why he disappeared like
that. Who he was with, and if he left without talking to me because he was
embarrassed by me.
That’s—I get it if he was. Between the scars, the vitiligo, the general
vibe of me—empty at the best times and sad and angry and broken at the
worst. I get being ashamed of wanting that. I do. But why even go after me
in the first place?
“You should…” Baby’s hand lands on my knee, willing it to stop
shaking and not continuing until it does just that. “Cade is a lot. We all
know that. He likes to… argue. And complain. So, I can understand it if you
don’t follow him, but I mean, it’s your room too.” He shrugs, pulling his
slim hand off my leg to turn his attention back to the TV. “And I think he
wants you to. Follow him, I mean. But maybe be quieter this time? I want
to go to bed soon.”
“You—” I relax in my seat, taking a breath when my muscles ease. He
heard us then, heard Cade being fucked. By me. I don’t know why that
settles me so much, but it’s oddly relieving to have it acknowledged like
this. That someone knows that Cade wants those things.
Someone else can see that he’s mine, even if Cade can’t.
And he’s right. It is my room.

∞∞∞

H
e’s in the shower, forcing me to wait for him. It feels very telling that
I am actually waiting for him. Like a dog. Shits embarrassing. Sitting
here motionless while he goes on like usual. I try to reason with it by
telling myself that all I’d be doing is this anyway.
It’s late, I have work in the morning, and my life is otherwise boring.
This is what I do most of the time: sit here looking at Cade’s bed.
 That’s where I took him, slammed into his ass until he was nearly
crying beneath me. And I didn’t even get to come.
My eyes trail to my sock drawer, where my meds are. I shouldn’t have
quit them like that. The Zoloft mainly. It makes it impossible to finish, but
then the lack of arousal makes that a nonissue anyway.
Until I moved in with Cade, and suddenly it was an issue. A big
problem. It’s not right being my age and not able to hit a climax. Not
normal. And I’m okay, mentally. I think. I feel okay. Not any more anxious
or sad than I already was. Maybe the pills weren’t even working. If I’m
going to feel all those things anyway, I might as well be able to shoot a load
into my stepbrother’s guts.
I lay down and roll over to stare at the wall to try and convince myself
that I’m not getting turned on at the sight of his messy bed. But a second
later I have to adjust myself, pull at my boxers where they’ve tightened. It’s
his fault. Nobody could live through that experience and not get all hot
thinking about it.
I want a redo. It’s sort of why I went cold turkey on my meds—a need
to empty my balls in his hole, leave him leaking. It’s made me reckless, it
seems. My old therapist would be very disappointed in me.
We’re not doing this again. I said that to him. For reals. What a joke.
I used to question what it is about Cade that has people so willing to
accept him, like him. It’s always been hard for me to see past the bullshit.
The smug aura surrounding him, the… I’m not a hundred percent sure what
it is about Cadence Howard. He just aggravates me.
Now look at me. Obsessing over thoughts of him wrapped around my
dick.
The bathroom door opening has me sitting up to face him immediately,
my impatience worn too thin as is.
“Who was that guy in your car?”
I can feel a subtle throbbing in my temple, regret for the question and
the way I asked it making it hard to sit still. I sound like him—childish and
incapable of handling my emotions.
“Why do you care?” He’s less flustered after his shower—he had some
time to calm down, whereas I’ve done the opposite.
He makes me want to pull my hair out. Yank it right off my scalp.
Guarantee I’d enjoy that feeling a lot more than this. Even better, I could
pull on his hair. If I wasn’t so sure he’d love it, I just might.
 “I just want to know who was following me, Cade. And why. I don’t go
around chasing you like a lost puppy, do I?”
“Isn’t that what you were doing last night?” he snarks. He’s always
gotta fight. Dealing with him is never easy—he makes sure of that. “I
walked away from you then, and you were the one who followed—chased
—me, Nic.”
That’s… he’s got me there. But I think I won that round. He’s the one
who ended up on his knees, and when I cock a self-assured brow at him, I
know he’s realized the same thing. I don’t want to give him time to reflect.
“Just tell me.”
“I—no.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said..” He drags his towel over his head, leaving me to
stare at his mostly naked form. His briefs are black, form-fitting but dark
enough that I can’t see much of anything. Not behind those anyway. I can
definitely see the rest of him—which I guarantee is what his conceited ass
wants.
“Cade...” I have to force myself to take a breath, to calm down. It’s
ridiculous that such a small thing has me so worked up. Maybe I should be
on a pill for that.
“I don’t get why it’s a big deal. You don’t care what I’m doing or who
I’m doing it with any other time.”
He’s wrong. I think about those very things pretty much anytime he’s
not around. I shouldn’t. The smart thing to do would be to drop it. I harp
about the way Cade can’t hide any of his thoughts all the time, but I’m
awfully close to behaving the exact same way on a regular basis.
“Yeah,” I say, my stomach tightening in discomfort as I settle on
making the right choice. “You’re right—I don’t care.” I lay down again, and
go back to looking at the wall. I can feel him behind me, still standing in the
same spot. Still shirtless with his nipples peaked. Hair a little damp and
dripping on shoulders. I can picture it all so well, just lying here with my
eyes screwed shut. An image engrained behind my eyelids, right there next
to all the other ones I have stored away of him. At this current moment, it
feels like I’ll never be rid of them. Of Cade.
I need to figure this life shit out. Move. Go back to pretending Cade
doesn’t exist. I’ve done fairly well letting go of most of the hate and disgust
I had for his mom and my dad, but I’ll never forgive them for the shit they
pulled. For breaking my mom and forcing a brother who I didn’t want on
me.
“It was—his name is Jax. We’re not, like, friends or anything. He was at
Liam’s when I went. I barely know him.”
I let the silence following his words fill the space between us for a
moment. It’s a relief. I don’t know if it’s because he actually told me, and
now I know, or if it’s his compliance that has me feeling so much better all
of a sudden.
“Whose house was that?”
I ignore that, smiling at the way he huffs when he realizes I’m not
telling him. “Why were you following me?” I stay where I am, unmoving as
I ask him again. As awful as picturing him is—his pecs and six pack, that
thin happy trail, all of it—seeing it is worse.
“I… have no fucking clue.” He sighs loudly, drawing it out dramatically
as he flops on his mattress. “I genuinely do not know.”
I mostly believe him. He can be impulsive. That’s not anything new, but
he has to have some idea. But the tension in the room has noticeably eased,
and the last thing I want to do is crank it back up by pressing the small shit.
“Well, why didn’t you say hi or something?”
“Why didn’t I—Nic.” He huffs an exasperated laugh, prompting me to
finally face him. “You get irrationally angry at pretty much anything I do. I
chose life.”
“It’s not irrational to be pissed that you followed me to my friend’s
house with some fucking guy I don’t know.” I mimic him and fall onto my
back so I don’t have to look at him when familiar feelings start to bubble up
again.
“You sound jealous.”
I scoff, but I don’t know what to say to negate that fact. It’s not
something I can believably deny, and saying less is probably the safest
option.
“Wait. Are you?”
“You’re delusional.”
“Holy shit.” He sounds awed, so pleased with himself that I have to flip
him off. He laughs, and I’m too tired to deal with him. But when I face the
wall again, he stops. “You don’t—Jax is nobody. I barely tolerate him. He’s
more annoying than you. Well, maybe not more annoying, but… you don’t
have to be jealous of Jax.”
 It’s tough being around Cade. So many contradictions, so much
confusion. I hate that he’s trying to reassure me, and I hate even more that
it’s working. I should have said no when Anton suggested this little setup.
Me moving here, I knew it was a bad idea—a horrible, life-altering idea,
and here I am anyway.
But in a weird way, even knowing all of the things I do now, I’m kind
of glad that I said yes.
“Nic?”
His voice sounds different. Almost like when I had him pinned against
his dresser. It has me turning around so that I can see the face paired with
such a quiet and soft sound.
“Whose house was that?” He’s picking at his fingers, refusing to look at
me.
I watch in real-time as the insecurity grows, seeps onto his face. My
chest tightens along with my hands that kind of want to reach for him. I’m
more willing to share now that he’s told me what I wanted to know first. “I
was at Corby’s.” If he’d paid attention and looked instead of hiding like the
world’s worst spy, he would have seen Corby walk out with me. I expect
the news to make him feel better, but if anything, I think it’s only made
things worse.
I knew he was jealous. Maybe hoped is a better word for it, but I didn’t
think it was of Corby specifically. He’s just a friend. In the same way that
Jax is Cade’s friend. Corby is the kind of guy who leaves a vague sense of
dislike simmering under your skin when he’s around, but all in all, he’s
okay. Not at all someone I want to fuck, though.
“Oh.”
I know that he wants me to tell him why I was there—tell him that
we’re just friends, but I can’t do that. I won’t give him that. That would put
us on the same level, and that’s not a good idea. Not safe.
I can give him something we both want, though.
“On your knees, little brother.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Fifteen
Nic

“I
’m in here!”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been in your ass, so it’s a little too late for
modesty, Cadence.” I have to look away when he pokes his shampoo-
topped head out from behind the shower curtain so he doesn’t see me smile.
He looks so… cute? It feels weird, but I think, yeah. Cade is fucking
cute. All soaped up and glaring at me. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt that
about him—about anyone—and I don’t know how to process it.
It’s gross. But luckily, it only happens sometimes. Mostly, I look at him
and either want to fuck him or… slap him. Not even having regular access
to his ass has gotten rid of that disdain. It’s lessened it, for sure—at least
sometimes—but it’s still there.
“Why are you even up so early? You don’t work today.”
“I have a final this morning.” He swipes at his brow as some suds try to
slide into his eye. “Get out.”
“No.” I actually do have to work today. I’ve learned to shower at night
since he never grew out of his habit of hogging the bathroom in the
morning, so all I need to do is wash my face and brush my teeth. Maybe
shave. My facial hair comes in white at my jawline and makes my vitiligo
more noticeable. Getting rid of it doesn’t exactly hide it, but it’s better than
giving people one more thing to notice. The comments get tiring.
“I don’t bother you when you’re showering.”
“That’s because I lock the door.”
“Nic—”
“Aren’t you supposed to be rinsing?”
He slides the shower curtain closed, grumbling about something that
gets lost in all the noise.
 A fully nude Cade being so close to me does make it hard to focus on
the task at hand, but I manage—only occasionally side-eyeing the curtain
and wishing it was transparent. Or maybe that I was in there with him.
Or, no. Not that. I’m not sure he’s seen me fully naked, not since the
last time. I don’t know if that’s a subconscious choice on my part or a very
conscious choice of his, but he has not seen my scars since then. We’ve had
sex a handful of times. He’s even taken me down his throat a few more
times, but when that happens, my pants stay on.
We don’t even look at each other. It’s either dark, or his back is to me.
Never face to face. He makes sure of it every single time.
So, that answers that—he’s the one who doesn’t want to see me. And
having a view of myself in the mirror kind of helps me understand the why.
It’s not that I look bad. I’ve spent time on my body and do what I can to
care for it. I grew up skinny and gauntly looking, and compared to then, I
know I look good. And a lot of people like my skin. They go out of their
way to tell me.
But a lot of people don’t. I hear that far less, but they will stare at me.
They ask me what it is. I get how it can be off-putting, I do, but it’s always
a bummer to have to answer the same damn questions over and over.
Cade confuses me. There’s a steady stream of contradictions where he’s
concerned. I feel how badly he wants me, but he doesn’t want to look at me
—how fucked is that?
His phone rings, his mom’s face taking over the screen where it’s
resting by the sink.
“It’s your mom.” My voice is flat, my insecurities making me moodier
than I was when I woke up. Plus, her. I can’t imagine how she’d react to
finding out her precious son was being defiled on the regular by me. Or how
Anton would take it. The fuck-up corrupting the golden child would not at
all go over well.
Cade gets out pretty quickly, not even bothering to dry off, as he steps
towards his phone. In a split second, I can see how it’ll play out. He’ll
answer it and walk away, talk where I can’t hear him, or more importantly,
so that she can’t hear me.
Something in me snaps, and I’m answering his phone for him before he
can get his hand on it.
“Nic!” he hisses, but I put it on speaker, and his mom’s voice makes
him go quiet just like that.
 “Cade?”
He tries to take it out of my hand again, but keeping it out of reach isn’t
difficult, not when he’s trying not to let his mommy know I’m right here.
Like she doesn’t already know we share a room.
“Hey! M-morning. Sorry.” His face is mildly panicked, and it kills any
joy I had. Not even his soaking wet body, all pressed up against me, can
keep the disappointment away.
I don’t know what this is or what’s happening between us, but I know it
won’t last long. It can’t. He has too much to lose, and I can’t be a dirty
secret. I’ve had too many of those in my life. Being one isn’t an option.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. No, I’m fine. I’m getting dressed.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry.” She goes on about how she wanted to catch him
before his test, and he doesn’t stop trying to get his phone from me in
between offering clipped replies for a couple of minutes. He does lose some
of the fight when she brings up winter break, letting his wet forehead rest
on my shoulder while she talks about whether or not he still plans on
spending it with them. I guess the topic is safe enough for me to hear.
It feels deliberately rude of them both—even though she doesn’t know
I’m listening. I’m not a part of the family, and hearing about what I’m sure
will be a happy holiday without me definitely cements that.
“So, you’ll come down and spend the whole break with us, right?”
“Not the whole break, but most of it. I should work for part of it. We’ll
probably leave next weekend. I don’t—”
“We? You and Nic?”
“Well… yeah?” He lifts his head, his face awfully close to mine as he
stares at my reflection in the mirror before us. He looks mildly hopeful, like
he wants me to go with him and is only just now wondering if I didn’t plan
on it.
But of course I didn’t plan on it. Nobody fucking told me anything
about it. And what does that even mean, that stupid look on his face?
There’s no way he wants to tell them about us and the mess we’ve
haphazardly thrown ourselves into. So, then, what? He’s so horny he can’t
handle a couple weeks without the easy access?
“I just didn’t think he’d want to come,” she speaks softly, clearly
tiptoeing around her feelings on the subject.
 It’s quiet and uncomfortable. His fingers make a move for the phone
again, but I’m not quite done. I’m proving a point. I know he thinks I’m the
bad guy where our parents are concerned, but he doesn’t see things from my
perspective. The deliberate way they’ve both excluded me from things—
even his precious mom.
I started a lot of it, but I was young. Younger and hurt. I was awful, but
I’ve tried to mend things to no avail.
“He’s coming.” He sounds sure but doesn’t look it.
There’s a question in his gaze, but I don’t know how to answer it. It
depends—on her and him. On Anton and how much I’m willing to subject
myself to—because do I really want to see them happy and whole while I
sit somewhere on the sidelines alone? Plus, Cade did say work is pretty
easygoing as far as college kids and their weird schedules go, but I just
started. Taking time off may not be an option.
“Oh. Okay. That’s good.” All pretense ends with an unhappy droll in
her next sentence. “I guess.”
It’s almost funny, the way Cade’s face twists in confusion.
“Are you sure he wants to? He—if he doesn’t want to come, don’t press
it, okay? I just got rid of him, and I really don’t want—”
“Mom!”
This time, I let him take the phone out of my hand and watch him in the
mirror as he leaves the bathroom. I should leave it, but I’m trailing after
him only seconds later. He’s still naked, standing there with his body on
display as he politely argues about whether or not I’m going to their place
for Christmas.
I don’t even want to go. I’m not big on holidays—I haven’t been since
that last good one my mom and I had. But I don’t know. It might be nice if
someone wanted me there.
And it sounds like Cade does. At least he’s trying to stand up for me.
Maybe. Feeling somewhat worried about where it is I’d go if not to my
dad’s house. Maybe. Fuck, I can’t really tell what the point of all this back
and forth is.
I’m not used to seeing this. Someone wanting me around—that doesn’t
happen. So I can’t be sure if it’s real or something I’m reading too much
into. It doesn’t seem likely, even as he tells her that we can share his room
—because while what was once my room is now full of her failed hobbies
and shit, he does still have one.
 “But Mom, he should be able to go to his dad’s house for Christmas.
Okay.” He scoffs, his broad shoulders tensing to match the frustration in his
voice. “What do you mean—vacation where?” He’s quiet while she
apparently tells him what the plans are—plans I don’t get to hear. “Well,
he’s coming, so…”
I don’t get it. My chest swells as he goes on, his voice getting quieter
the more annoyed he gets. It sounds like he really wants me to go, but I
don’t fucking get it.
Until suddenly, I do. Thinking over the past week, I can guess. In a
weird way—having to force the disappointment aside—it’s calming. At
least I’m not sinking in confusion anymore because, yeah, Cadence Howard
wants my dick around on his winter break, and I can definitely deal with
that.
I reach out to touch him, letting my hand barely skim over the swell of
his ass before he’s facing me in shock, stunned that I’d touch him while he’s
talking to his mom. I ignore their conversation and his panic as I reach for
his flaccid dick, putting all my focus on that as it starts to stiffen in my hand
even as he stutters through their talk.
“I don’t—” his fingers circle my wrist, a hard beam in his eyes that
makes me genuinely smile. He really is gorgeous—even when he looks at
me like he wants to punch me. I’ve always begrudgingly thought so, but
seeing him like this is next level. Cheeks rosy as his lips part on a silent
breath, lust and anger so clearly painted in the green of his eyes. He’s made
jokes about me and glow-ups, but Cade didn’t need to glow-up. “Mom, I
have to go.” But she keeps talking, and he keeps listening. She could be
telling him anything—droning on and on about how moody and mean I am.
It’s pure spite that has me sinking to my knees. Maybe it has a little to
do with me not wanting Cade to have words about how awful I am being
said in his ear, but mostly, it feels like spite. A big fuck you to Tracey in the
form of me dirtying up the family’s golden boy. Cade’s gasp as I swallow
him down, the way his hand curls in my hair, his hips bucking forward
instead of away from me—all of that’s just a bonus.
Cade wants me, and I’m pathetic for eating that up, but fuck. It feels
good. His cock, hot and heavy on my tongue for the first time, feels like
proof that there’s someone who wants me. I’m exaggerating things, but not
by much—lashes fluttering as I groan too loudly for his liking. But when he
tries to tug on my hair to shut me up, I respond by groaning louder. I don’t
like things as rough as he does, but I like this. I’m apparently starved for it,
being fueled by the throbbing in my groin and the look on his face as he
watches me.
I gag on him, finally earning me a moan loud enough for mommy
dearest to hear him, and he can’t hang up fast enough. “Mom, I have to go
—fuck, Nic.”
God. I love him telling her who it is that’s got him all flustered. Say my
name, lover boy.
“I’m sorry. Bye.”
I pull off him with a slurp, wiping at the spit dripping down my chin.
“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?”
“Not really.” I smile, feeling happy with the very subtle ache in my jaw.
“But I do think you should lay down.”
“I—no. I have an exam.”
“I’ll be quick.”
“Oh, well… as enticing as that is…”
“Why do we always have to do this? Play this little back-and-forth
before I fuck you every single time—isn’t it tiring by now? We both know
you’ll lay down for me, so let’s skip all that.”
“You—” His cheeks flush red in a renewed blush, his cock still bobbing
in my face. “You look good on your knees.”
“Yeah.” I nod, just briefly playing into his attempt to deflect. “I’d look
better inside you, though.”
He huffs, but one look at his bed has him caving. “Whatever. Just—
okay, but you do need to hurry.” He crawls up, giving me my favorite view.
“And not so much lube!”
We’ve had this argument a few times. I do go a little excessive on the
lube, but he won’t let me stretch him enough to make skimping an option.
I’ve bottomed, and I know how much it can fucking suck, so too bad. “I’ll
use as much as I need to.”
I have to use his bed to brace myself as I stand, suddenly grateful that
he’s given me his back so he doesn’t have to watch me struggle. He has his
hole on display just for me, and it’s enough that I can ignore the way the
band of my sweats feels on my legs.
I’ve thought about asking him if we can ditch the condoms, but I don’t
want to have that talk about exclusivity and shit. Especially not right now.
He’s never even looked at me while I’ve fucked him—if I didn’t make him
say name, I’d think he was imagining it was somebody else while I was
inside him.
That doesn’t have anything to do with condoms, but as I rush through
prepping his ass, I can’t help but think about it. It makes me mad wondering
why he doesn’t want to look at me, why he’s always so careful to make sure
I take him in this position only. He grunts as I move to three fingers, his
hole spasming around them as I take my anger out on his insides.
“That’s enough.” His hips jerk, pushing back against my hand as I
thrust inside him. “Nic, I’m ready,” he mutters impatiently.
I pull my sweats down enough to free my cock, moving on autopilot as
I slide the condom on and slather myself with lube.
“Nic,” he scolds, shooting me a long-suffering glare over his shoulder.
“That’s too much. Wipe some off.”
I ignore him and shove my fingers back inside him to try and get rid of
some of the excess gel on my hand, quietly laughing when he moans. As
soon as I’m notched right up against his loosened hole, he tries to push
himself back, too needy to wait for me.
“Wait.”
“No, hurry. Nic—”
“You should have a safeword.”
“What?” His voice changes drastically, cutting through the haze he was
sinking in. “No. That’s stupid.”
“You like shit rough, Cade. And you also like pretending you don’t
want me to rearrange your insides, all while moaning like a pornstar.” It has
nothing to do with me—but it’s me who makes him fall apart, and it’s my
name that he moans in those moments. Doesn’t stop him from telling me
that he wants nothing to do with me, though. “Having a word will make it
so I actually know when you mean no.”
“No.”
I snort. “That won’t work. Pick a word.”
“Nic, I don’t want to. Just because I like it to hurt a little, doesn’t mean
that—”
“Fine.” I sigh, digging around so I can think of a word myself. He’s so
damn stubborn. “Cherry. We’ll use cherry.”
“Ch—why? Where the hell did that come from?”
I shrug. “Cherry, because I was thinking about how I popped yours.” I
slide two fingers inside him, taking the time to rub more lube as deeply as I
can just because I can.
“You didn’t pop anything, asshole. I was not a virgin!”
“Hm.” I laugh. “Yeah, that’s true, but this ass wasn’t as ran through
before taking my dick, little slut.” I drag my fingers out, giving myself a
stroke as I watch his hole close. I don’t know why he won’t admit it, but I
know I’m right.
I don’t care if he is a slut or not because it doesn’t matter. He is one
when my cock is involved. He’s never once protested to me calling him
that, and if anything, he enjoys it. I’ve been called similar things, have even
let it happen, but it doesn’t do for me what it does for my greedy boy. But
having this safeword will let me know if I go too far.
“Also…” I want to see him. More than that, I want him to see me. If
I’m not letting him pretend he doesn’t want me anymore, then that should
include him having to watch me as I fuck him. “Turn around,” I tell him,
forcing some authority in my voice. It’s usually easy to come by with him,
not at all something that needs effort. He’s just so needy and hard up that
he’s more than willing to be bossed around when he’s on his knees, but this
command feels like a big deal. And the silence that fills the room tells me I
was right to be wary. But I want him on his back. I fucking want him to
look at me.
“Come on. On your back.” I pat his hip, moving back so he can roll
over.
“Why? We can—”
“You happily let me wreck your ass on a regular basis, but you don’t
want to look at me?” I scoff. “Turn around, Cade.”
“What are you talking ab—”
I cut him off as I move him into place, pushing until he’s on his back
and I’m able to fit between his legs.
“Dick,” he breathes when I’ve got him positioned how I want. “Okay,
damn. I didn’t know you wanted th—oh,” he groans, head falling back with
a wince as I finally sink inside him. He grabs his thighs, pulling his knees to
his chest to open himself up for me before I’m even all the way in. “Fuck,”
he whispers.
All the pleasure on his face almost surprises me. I don’t give him time
to adjust, going straight to fucking in and out of him after that first slow
thrust. It’s how he likes it, and I know that, but I assumed it would hurt him.
And maybe it does, maybe that’s the appeal. His jaw goes slack as I slow
down a bit, watching myself in a daze as I disappear over and over inside
the perfect heat surrounding me.
It’s a struggle not to watch his face. I just can’t believe that it’s him
beneath me—moaning on my cock. He bites his lips to hide a whimper, our
eyes getting caught on one another as I slam into him harder and harder.
“Stop staring.” He moves a hand to the headboard to stop his head from
hitting it, and I have to laugh.
“Can’t help it. You’re such a pretty little whore,” I tease, aiming for that
spot inside him that makes him sing.
“Fuck,” he moans, reaching for his dick and sliding his precum down
its length.
“Gonna cum on your big brother’s cock, Cade?”
“Ah!” he cries out, his legs wrapping around me in an attempt to pull
me in deeper. He loves it when I talk like that—gets off on the taboo despite
denying it any other time. “Oh, god.”
“Not God.” I lean in, moving my lips to his ear. “Tell God who it is
making you feel this good, little brother.”
“You—oh, fuck.”
“Who?” I thrust in hard enough to make him hiss, my balls slapping
against his skin.
“Nic!” His fingertips dig into the tops of my shoulders just as his ass
squeezes around my cock with an impossibly tight contraction until I’m
moaning into the bend of his neck. “So fucking good.” His breathing picks
up, coming out in a higher pitch as he gets closer. “Nic,” he whines,
sounding wrecked. “More. Again.”
I have to prop one of his legs up, move it over my shoulder so I can
give him the violent thrusts he wants. The kind that make the bed move and
tears swell in his eyes. He’s so close he can hardly handle his own dick. I
take over for him, stroking him in sync with the movements of my hips as I
let my face hover above his. It’s not much longer before I’m watching in
awe as he throws his head back, cum spilling over his torso while he makes
the ugliest face I’ve ever seen.
It looks so stupid it’s almost endearing. I hate it.
I stop moving as soon as he’s done, leaving him a boneless, sweaty
heap beneath me. The apples of his cheeks are bright pink, his hair a
mixture of frizz and damp. It’s wild that he can go back to being so sexy
after making that awful O face.
 “Please.”
I know what he wants instantly. Cade hates it when he finishes first. He
wants me to come—wants proof that he makes me feel good too—but he
gets too sensitive pretty much the second his balls unload. Even now, he’s
fighting a cringe as I pull out.
“Nic, please.”
I could tease him about this. I don’t know why he’s always so hung up
on me coming, but he really is. Gets sad and needy for it until I do. That
first time we fooled around, I didn’t, and I think that bothered him—which I
can sort of understand. So, I don’t make fun of him for it. “Shh.” I rub his
thigh, trying to soothe him as I take the empty condom off. “I’m gonna
come, Cade.” I don’t bother with more lube, choosing instead to run my
hand through the mess he made on his abs so that I can stroke myself with
his cum. He watches my movements hungrily, body writhing like it’s his
cock I’m touching.
“Your body is unreal.”
I check his face, looking to see if he’s telling the truth, and find him
staring at me like he could go for round two right this second.
“Honestly.” He gives me a sleepy smile as he trails a hungry look over
my torso. “Fucking gorgeous. It’s hard to believe you’re that little emo boy
I met all those years ago.”
Leave it to him to ruin the moment.
“You’re still kind of emo, I guess. Broody little shit. You—”
“Do you want me to come or not?”
“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs, not at all apologetic. “Stroke that big dick,
emo boy.”
“Cade.” I stop all movements and stare up at the ceiling as he laughs.
“Okay, okay. Here, just…” He moves over, shoving his comforter off to
the side. “Lay down.”
I do as he says, letting him be the bossy one for once. I don’t expect
him to straddle me, but the way he gathers more cum off his body and grips
me in a firm hold has me biting back any complaints. His hand is warm, a
firm hold as he works my foreskin like a sleeve. It’s not as good as being
inside him, but his eyes fixed intently on me makes it worth it.
I try not to react too much when he starts singing me praises, but I love
it. Eat it up as much as he does my attention because I think I need it in the
same way he needs the things I give him. But I can’t let him know that, so I
keep quiet. Just enjoy it and commit it all to memory.
I don’t last long, his focused touch pushing me back to the edge in just a
few minutes. He makes sure my cum lands on him, painting his torso with
the orgasm he’s claimed—going as far as arching his back with a soft moan.
He really is a bit of a cumslut. It’s kind of… sweet, in a sick way.
“Damn.” He lays down beside me, aggressively shoving hair off his
forehead. “You look stupid when you come.”
I watch him run his fingertips through the mess splattered across his
six-pack, feeling all sorts of comfortable lying next to him.
“Well, you look beautiful when you come.” He looks crazy in that
moment—actually demented or dying—but it doesn’t feel like a lie to tell
him differently. He is beautiful. Always.

OceanofPDF.com
 Sixteen
Cade

“D
ude. You said you were going to come right at eight. That’s the
whole reason I showed up so early.”
I don’t tell him that the reason we agreed to come early is
because he needed the extra time—there’s no point in lecturing Liam about
school. He does okay. He tries just enough to pass everything, but he’s also
been studying for a degree he has zero interest in, and that definitely shows.
And I definitely don’t tell him why I was late. That’s none of his
business. He has an idea, has asked me how things are with Nic a few too
many times to make me paranoid, but he doesn’t know. And Nic might
actually murder me if I blabbed.
“I still finished before you did.” I finished early enough to see the
messages from my mom and argue some more. I can’t believe her. Nic is
her stepson, and I know—I, of all people fucking know—how difficult he
can be, but he’s grown up some. He’s not the same brat he was years ago.
And he had his reasons to be mad—I may not know all of them, but I’m
sure watching your dad fall out of love with your mom is tough.
Or maybe I’m blinded by all the orgasms. I do understand why my
mom wouldn’t be excited for him to come along—he doesn’t like her, but
still. Anton is his dad, and it’s been years since he spent Christmas with us.
He usually goes to his mom’s, but he’s already told me he has no plans this
year—which our parents know. I didn’t ask why, but I know that it’s a big
deal.
She’s probably still blowing up my phone, but I do not care. I meant
what I said. She sent me screenshots and links to a hotel in fucking Sedona
and told me she and Anton booked three flights. Three! Why would Anton
be okay with that?
 This impromptu vacation is a big deal. I thought they were saving for a
wedding, but apparently, she has the gist of that worked out. They’re having
the ceremony at a church near the end of winter break and were hoping for
this to be their version of a honeymoon since they’ll be working after the
wedding. Most people would do it on their anniversary, but my mom is very
excited. She secured the earliest date at the chapel she wanted.
I told her I would walk her down the aisle and that I was happy she was
getting the wedding she wanted, but why do I need to come on their
impromptu honeymoon? She can jazz it up as a family vacation as much as
she wants—I told her I wasn’t going unless Nic goes.
She must think that I’m bluffing, but I’m not. That’s why my phone is
on silent. I don’t care how much money they spent on the tickets, that’s
their problem. Not Nic’s.
“Okay.” Liam scoffs. “Fuckin’ nerd.”
I push the drama aside for the time being, deciding to live in the
moment with Liam. I’ve missed this. It’s not always this easy to be around
him anymore, so I have to enjoy it when it is. “What are we doing now?”
“Well, I actually got a—ugh. Look at him in his slutty ass pants.”
I follow Liam’s glare to find Sebastian next to his Jeep—standing there
in what we’ve both always dubbed some slutty ass pants. Well, they’re just
grey sweatpants, but everyone knows the deal with those. It reminds me of
Nic—those are all he wears when he’s at home. And I’m a simple bisexual
man—I see grey sweats, and my eyes are involuntarily searching for a dick
print. Like right now.
“Damn. For your butt’s sake, I hope he’s more of a shower than a
grower.”
“Shut up.” Liam pushes at my shoulder, but it doesn’t keep me from
seeing the blush on his cheeks. “Don’t look at his dick.”
“It’s kind of hard not to, Liam.”
“Just—don’t!” We get close enough for Sebastian to reach an arm out
for Liam, and even though he moves in for the touch, eagerly pressing into
Sebastian’s side, he also turns his head to dodge a kiss. “I really wish you’d
changed.”
“Liam,” he groans quietly, tossing his head back like someone who has
for sure already had this argument. “They’re just sweats!”
“Exactly! Even Cade said he can see your dick.”
 “That’s—what? No, I was just—” I look around, trying and failing not
to sneak another peak at Sebastian’s crotch. It really is the pants. It’s almost
as bad as when Nic wears them. But Liam’s bottoms aren’t much better.
“What about you, huh? You’re wearing booty shorts in the middle of
December.” It doesn’t snow here, but it’s not exactly short-short weather
either.
“Well, yeah, but—” He looks down at the khaki shorts stretched to the
max across his thighs and shrugs. “I only wore these because of him. I
would have changed if he had.”
“We’re not getting into this again.” Sebastian even removes his arm
from around Liam’s waist, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do.
They’re a very touchy couple—they don’t pull away.
“I just don’t think you need to hang out with Jax in pants like this,
Bash. We all know he—”
“I don’t want your stupid boyfriend!” Jax’s head pops out of the
passenger window, sneaking up on me in a way I wouldn’t expect a yapper
of his caliper to be able to. “He’s like a brother to me, Liam—I’ve told you
this. I joke and shit, but I do not want your boyfriend’s stupid pierced dick!”
“A brother who you’ve fucked,” Liam grumbles, tucking his face into
his boyfriend’s neck. Sebastian whispers something to him that has his neck
flushing pink, and it feels a bit like I’m intruding all of a sudden. I don’t
know if it’s the view or the topic of brothers fucking and pierced penises,
but I’m very much uncomfortable. “Okay, well…” He finally comes up for
air to speak directly to me. “We got to go. I have work soon, and I should
probably change.”
“Work?” This is news to me. Liam has never been a spoiled kid, but he
does come from the kind of money that’s ensured he’s never had to work.
“Since when? Where?”
“It’s a secret.” It’s Jax who answers, his head still hanging out of the
car.
“Why?”
But Jax is right. Liam doesn’t want to tell me—even dodging the
question has him once again blushing.
“Okay…” I shrug, feigning indifference. “I don’t even want to know.” I
do, though. It bugs me that we’re the kind of friends who have secrets. I
know I’m not one to talk—having hidden a pretty colossal secret from Liam
for years—but still. Why is his pampered ass working, and why would he
be too embarrassed to tell me?
“Yeah, me either.” Jax gets out of the Jeep so Liam can take his spot in
the passenger seat. It’s not until Sebastian gets in and starts the car that Jax
lets us all know his plans. “And I don’t want to go back to your place just so
you can leave me with your little rat-dog while you diddle each other’s
peens. I’m going with Cade.”
“Ugh,” I whisper, but he doesn’t believe in personal space and hears
me.
“Oh, come on. You know you love me.” He doesn’t even ask me if I’m
okay with lugging his ass around before he’s heading for my car.
“I guess I’m hanging out with Jax.”
“Sorry.” But Liam’s grinning like he’s not at all sorry and maybe even
happy that Jax isn’t his problem for the time being. “He’s not so bad. Just…
keep him busy.”

∞∞∞

“S
o, what do you want to do?”
“Take you home,” I answer honestly, but he only rolls his eyes
in response. I didn’t actually think that would work anyway.
“We could hang around Seb’s and follow Liam to work. I don’t know
why he’s being so sketchy about that, but I’ve been meaning to follow him
for a while now anyway.”
“What—no. That’s creepy, Jax.”
“Oh, so stalking is only okay when it’s your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I leave it at that, simply not in the mood to
elaborate.
“Okay, so your fuck buddy or whatever else you want to call him. Why
can we stalk him but not Liam?”
“Jax, we’re not following Liam to work. And we did not stalk Nic!” I
really wish people would stop saying that.
“Well… do you want to stalk Nic?”
 I stare at him for all of two seconds with my jaw agape before I throw
my car in drive—the decision to drive to the diner fully formed. It’s a bad
idea, but it’s too tempting, especially since I know where he is. I imagine
it’d be hard to stay away from him, having that knowledge locked and
loaded in my one-track mind. My thoughts are pretty consumed by Nicolas
Aldana these days.
A part of me thought that getting his dick would cure me from this
whole Dumb Dick disease I’ve got going on, but I was wrong. I was way
wrong. If anything, my symptoms are worse. I pretty much think in terms of
my broody emo boy these days. If I had ended up doing anything else, I still
would have obsessively counted the hours until he was off.
“This is fun.”
“No, it isn’t.” Honestly, it is. I feel a little giddy as we pull into the
diner’s parking lot. I know it’s not a good idea, that he’s going to be mad as
soon as he sees me, but I don’t know. I kind of like it when Nic is mad at
me. It gets my heart pounding in a way that I can usually feel in my dick.
I don’t know if Jax can handle that, though. A pissed-off Nic with Jax in
reaching distance—it could be bad if I let Jax be all… himself.
“Hey, maybe don’t talk to him. At all.”
“Why?” He pouts, acting like he genuinely doesn’t understand why I
don’t want him speaking to Nic.
“Just… don’t.”
“Don’t you work here?”
“Yeah.” I park in my usual spot right next to Nic’s car. “So does Nic.”
“Well… I’ll have to talk to him to order my food. We are getting food,
right?”
I didn’t think about it before I brought us here, but that does seem like
the most obvious choice—this being a restaurant and everything. It gives
me an excuse to be here.
“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll order for you.”
“That seems unnecessary, but okay.”
It’s for sure necessary. I don’t see a world where Nic can tolerate Jax.
It’s not until we get inside that I start to feel nervous. I do like it when
he looks at me like he wants to kill me—especially now that I’ve come to
associate that look with his cock ripping my ass apart—but I don’t know for
sure how he’s going to react to having to wait on me. Our hostess seats us in
what I know to be his section, and he sees us as soon as we sit. I can tell
because he immediately looks like he just stepped in some dog shit. The
squishy kind. While barefoot.
Why do I like him so fucking much?
“He did not look happy to see you.”
I glare at Jax, but he’s too busy playing with the sugar packets on the
table to notice. It’s not until Nic walks over that he finally stops his
fidgeting just to smile at my stepbrother. And if Nic is unhappy to see me,
he sure as fuck isn’t all that tickled to see Jax.
“What are you doing here?”
“I—” I shrug, feeling too exposed now that he’s got his attention on me.
I underestimated how this would play out. Things aren’t anywhere near
lovey-dovey between us, but they’re not quite this icy, either. I don’t know
how to play it now that I’m out of practice.
“Cade. Why are you here?”
“We wanted…” I don’t know why I’m here. Or I do, but I can’t tell him
that. I just wanted to see you. That sounds like something I’d say post-
lobotomy. I can’t tell him that.
“Food,” Jax cuts in and mouths a silent and very unsubtle sorry when I
overreact to his voice. I probably needed the help, but I gave him very
specific instructions.
“You could have gone literally anywhere else,” Nic states the obvious,
refusing to acknowledge Jax.
“But we didn’t.” I sit up straighter, deciding not to be a coward while he
looks daggers at me. “Why does it even matter?” Honestly. Is Nic an
asshole? Absolutely, but I don’t see why he should be this pissed at me.
He stares at me for a beat before pretending that whole conversation
didn’t happen. He goes right into treating me like a regular customer—
asking me what I want like he doesn’t know I get the same thing here every
day that I work when I’m on break. He even politely—sort of—asks Jax
what he wants, but he didn’t get a chance to tell me, so he ends up ordering
for himself. The only difference between how he’s acting now and how he
treats the diners is that he usually fakes some smiles for them.
“Buddy, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Jax starts as soon as Nic has
left the table, and I already know he’s going to say some bullshit. “But your
boyfriend hates you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I feel those words in my chest, feel them
squeeze uncomfortably tight around whatever dumb organ is in there.
 “You know what? I believe you. We probably should have gone
somewhere else. All the servers here are rude as hell.”
The last time he was here, I was the one who waited on him and
Sebastian. They were trying to ask me for ideas on where to take Liam for a
date, and I was a little shitty to them. But so was he.
I can’t get my mind off Nic—because of course I can’t—so I get up.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“The bathroom,” I lie, walking away quickly with hopes that he isn’t
someone who likes to join people on bathroom trips. I find Nic by the drink
station and don’t think before I’m letting a flat hand shove into his shoulder
blade—not hard, but enough that he spills some of the drink in his hand.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He’s not in the mood, might even be planning on trying to ignore me,
but just as I’m about to really lose my shit, he turns around. “We’re done.”
“I—” My face falls, everything inside me following suit. I can feel my
guts sinking right to the floor, that idiot heart of mine pounding on its way
down. “Why? What do you mean? I—”
“I don’t want to fuck you anymore, not if you’re going to be running
around with whoever the fuck that is. We spent this morning in your bed,
Cade, and now you’re here with some other guy? I don’t know who the
fuck you—”
“No! I’m not—no. Nic, Jax is just… he’s not even a friend. I told you
that! He’s just…” I stop talking, let myself catch my breath so that I can fix
this. “Why would I bring a date or—”
It hits me that he’s jealous right then, and the realization has my body
short-circuiting. He’s still fucking jealous of Jax—it’s so ridiculous I almost
want to laugh. If I weren’t still reeling from him trying to end things, I
might. Yeah, I can totally fix this.
“I’m not sleeping with Jax. I wouldn’t bring a hookup to the place I
work, Nic. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know—because you’re a dick? I work here too, and you
wanted me to see you with—”
“No.” This guy. He’s just as clueless as the rest of us. “Nic, I swear. Jax
is nothing.” I feel a little bad saying that—Jax is okay—but I have to
convince Nic that he’s not his competition. There is no competing with Nic.
“Why else come here?”
 The look on his face isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen, at least not on
him. It reminds me of myself—of all the times I’ve felt vulnerable or
insecure, only it’s worse. It’s so much worse seeing it on him. It makes me
want to do something crazy.
Pretty sure it’s given me that lobotomy I was dreading.
“I wanted to see you.”
His brows raise, surprise wiping that sad look off his face. I’m glad. It’s
worth the humiliation just to see him no longer looking at me like that.
He doesn’t know what to say. I don’t either, but I’m glad I was able to
clear things up. He’s not mad at me anymore and still standing close enough
to me that I can feel his body heat.
I don’t know which of us goes in first, but I’m so fucking ready to feel
his mouth on mine. I hold my breath, don’t even take the time to wet my
lips, and begin feeling lightheaded just from the anticipation of it.
I’m going to kiss Nic.
There’s so much excitement and eagerness bubbling inside me that I
don’t even realize he’s not leaning in anymore.

OceanofPDF.com
 Seventeen
Nic

“G
uess what?”
“What?” I set my phone down beside me on the bed to enjoy
the show. The first thing he does when he comes home from
school is get naked. Well, he changes into more comfortable clothes, but
getting naked is a step in that whole process—and it’s one I usually
appreciate.
“I said guess!”
“You… oh.” I sit up fully, a little more proud of myself than I should be
that I remembered. “You took your last final today.”
He smiles at me, clearly also surprised that I remembered. “Yup. I am
officially done with this semester. We have work tomorrow, and then we go
up to San Jose—”
“You go up to San Jose.”
He pauses with his shirt half off for a second before quickly ripping it
off. “Nic—”
“Cade, I don’t want to go. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
I’m tired of being around people who make it obvious I’m not wanted there.
And I haven’t been to their house for the holidays in years. It’s just been me
and my mom, sometimes Paulina. It would feel weird to spend the day with
my dad just because I can’t spend it with her. And Tracey just got rid of me.
“You said you didn’t want to spend Christmas with our parents, but they
won’t be there.”
I sigh, not bothering to get into this again. I did forget about that, but
still. It’s weird. And he can lie as much as he wants—I know this whole
vacation business is only a thing because I’m in the mix.
“Nic, why don’t you want to go with me?”
 Truthfully, I do want to go with him. Thinking about what else I could
do and who I could spend that day with, I always end up coming back to my
mom or Cade—and only one of those is an actual possibility. He’s it. All
I’ve got. But I’ve learned a few too many lessons in life. If something
sounds too good to be true, it usually is.
“I have to work. I need to save as much as I can before the spring
semester starts.” It’s not even a lie—not a total lie. I have enough that I
could afford to get in a place, but it wouldn’t hurt to have more. A squirrel
fund to keep me afloat when I no longer have roommates to help lighten the
load—when it’s up to me alone. So, yeah, if I want to move out of Cade’s
room, then I’ll need more money. Maybe he wouldn’t be trying so hard to
convince me to go if I told him that, but a part of me doesn’t want to see
him get excited to be rid of me. Not yet.
“Actually…”
“What?”
He’s looking at me with barely veiled caution, sliding his jeans over his
hips slowly as he watches my face.
“You’re gonna be mad at me.”
“I’m always mad at you.”
He snorts, kicking his pants off the rest of the way before moving closer
to my bed. “I requested time off for you.”
“You—how? Is that even allowed?” Pretty sure there are laws about
that kind of thing. Plus, I saw the schedule a few days ago. I’m on it.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, fidgeting with the edge of my bed as he
stands there in his briefs. “I just told him we both needed the time off, and
he gave it to us.”
“I… I’ll tell him my plans changed and that I can work.”
“No!” My bed bounces under his weight as he flops down. “I don’t
want to go alone, Nic.”
I didn’t even think about that. I don’t get Anton and Tracey. He’s
supposed to be the favorite, so why didn’t he get an invite to their fancy
destination vacation? And why am I letting it be my problem? “What about
Liam?”
“He’ll be with his boyfriend this year.”
“Cade… you don’t want to spend your Christmas with me.”
“Clearly, I do!” He stands up again, his dumb muscles tensing with his
frustration. “Why else would I ask a million times?”
 He has asked a lot, that’s true. He’s asked so much I’m pretty sure both
of us are tired of it. But it’s not because he actually wants me to go. He just
feels bad for me.
“Whatever. Fuck you. I’ll… see what Jax is doing, I guess.”
I roll my eyes. He’s only saying that to piss me off—I know this, but if
anything, I’m more mad that it works. I don’t know that guy, but I’m tired
of seeing him and Cade together.
“Okay.” I’m calling his bluff. He’s done his best to convince me that
he’s barely even friends with Jax, and after everything he’s told me, I do
believe it. Which means he’s full of shit right now.
It’s not the reaction he wanted.
“I will.”
“Okay.” This time, I smile a little—can’t help myself. He’s just cute
sometimes.
“Okay,” he parrots me, his cheeks getting hot the longer he takes trying
to come up with his next move. “I’m gonna call him. Right now.”
“Tell him I said hi.”
He grabs his phone off the dresser, and a few taps later, he’s actually
fucking calling him.
“Hang up.” I move a foot to the floor, getting ready to do—something, I
don’t know.
“No. Hey! Um, no thanks. I just wanted to see if—”
We both stare at his phone where it lands on the ground—having been
smacked out of his hand.
“It was Domino’s.”
“What?”
“I don’t actually have Jax’s number.” He grins like he’s proud of
himself, and I can do nothing but stand here like an idiot. “So I called
Domino’s.”
“Oh.”
He wants to laugh at me but smartly decides not to. “Nic, please come
with me.”
My temple twitches as I stare at his pleading face. “You’re giving me a
headache. I don’t want to.”
He looks pained, like me actually rejecting his pity offer has hurt his
feelings. I don’t get it—truly do feel the beginnings of a headache.
“I’m not having sex with you anymore unless you go.”
 He’s full of shit. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You’re lying.” I shrug.
“No, I’m not. Even if you say yes, I’m not letting you fuck me until we
get there.”
“You’re—”
“I’m not kidding, Nic! No more ass for you.”
This time, I’m less inclined to call his bluff. He might be serious. Sex
benefits him just as much as me—more than me, probably. He initiates way
more than I do, so I don’t really see how denying me his ass is a
punishment for me alone.
Unless he actually does want me to go. At the diner, he told me that he
was stalking me because he wanted to see me, but I’m still not sure that I
can believe that. And even if he did mean it, I rejected his kiss just a minute
after that—which seems like the kind of thing that would make someone
regret pouring their heart out like that. But now this…
It feels risky to agree—feels like I’m potentially going to embarrass
myself. But how bad could it be?
Worst-case scenario, I’m not alone for Christmas. Best case…
I swallow back my nerves—along with all the self-doubt that makes it
impossible to believe him—and do something for myself. “Okay, Cade.”
My stomach tightens—whether with excitement or regret, I don’t know—
and his face lights up, making it so much easier to deal with. “I’ll go with
you—if…” I take a step closer and put a hand on his hip in a soft touch,
reveling in how right it feels when he leans in, his chest against mine. “We
fuck right now.”
Cade hisses, baring his teeth as he shakes his head at me. “That wasn’t
the deal, emo boy. No ass for you until—”
I flip us, rearrange our bodies so that I’m able to shove him on the bed
closest to us. He lands on his back with a full belly laugh, head thrown back
as he props himself up on his elbows.
It has me pausing—standing and staring at him just so I can commit the
image to memory. He looks so happy, and every part of me perks up—starts
chanting the word mine over and over as it takes credit for the scene before
me.
 ∞∞∞

“D
id you bring lube?”
He gives me a side eye that tells me I was stupid to ask such a
thing. “Of course.”
“And they’re not going to be there?” I’ve asked maybe three or four
times just since we got in the car, but I have plans—plans that would play
out disastrously if our parents ended up being home.
“They’re in Arizona.” He has more attitude when he says it this time
around, but I have to make sure. He’ll understand later. See that it was
worth it to humor me.
I hope he thinks it was worth it. I feel like I know him relatively well by
now, so I really do think that he will. My palms are a little sweaty—or a lot
sweaty—but I’m going for it.
“Tired of the blue balls, huh?”
I don’t give the cheeky bastard the satisfaction of a response—he’s been
way too proud of himself the past few days. I honestly didn’t think he had it
in him. If anyone else had told me my greedy little cumslut could go a
whole week without coming, I’d have laughed in their face—but here we
are, both of us experiencing new levels of horny. I really underestimated
just how spiteful he could be—a mistake I will never make again.
And I am tired of the blue balls. It’s what inspired the pervy idea that
I’m beyond excited and nervous for. It’s pretty much the only thing keeping
my mind off missing my mom too much.
“Are you upset you didn’t get to go to Sedona?” I might be if I were
him. He’s not used to being excluded from things. A tiny part of me is mad
at them on his behalf, but most of me is happy with how things worked out
—that it’s just me and him.
“Nah. If I had a choice—red rocks or having my stepbrother come in
my ass—I’d definitely choose the cum in my ass.”
I don’t know what to say—mostly because I know he’s joking and wish
he wasn’t. I know he said he would choose cum, and that’s not anything to
feel special about, but it almost sounds like he’d choose me. I can’t think of
anyone ever choosing me before. Not once, not when it mattered.
 But I don’t let myself feel too important—he’s just looking forward to
ditching condoms. He was the one to bring it up. We had a brief and only
mildly awkward discussion about STI screenings and PrEP—which he
apparently is on—and agreed that we were good to go.
“Are you okay?”
The question catches me off guard, but it’s instinct to tell him that I’m
fine. He’s not the only one who’s been asking me that lately. I think he’s
probably asked the least—and since I spend most of my time with him, I
figure that it’s a good indicator that there’s nothing to worry about. I’m
feeling a little down, but I miss my mom, and that’s normal. So, I stick with
fine.
“Okay.” He says it like he doesn’t believe me and with the same look
my old therapist used to give me when I’d tell her the same thing. But I am
fine.
“I’m just tired.” I’ve been feeling tired a lot lately, but it’s to be
expected. I have anxiety. Nothing major anymore, but I quit taking my pills,
and I expected some drawbacks. Feeling anxious after going through a
period of being somewhat decently well-adjusted is taking some getting
used to. And things are more than manageable when it’s just Cade and I.
We have less than an hour to go when I pull over at a rest stop. It’s more
time than a guy who prefers minimal prep needs, but he doesn’t usually
stretch himself and I want him to play a part in choosing how this whole
thing will play out.
“Why’d you stop? We’re almost there.”
“You have thirty-two miles to get your ass ready for me.”
“What?”
“Finger fuck yourself until you think you can handle me because as
soon as we pull into the driveway, I’m going to give you a thirty-second
head start, and then I’m coming for you.”
“I—are you serious?”
If it weren’t for the excited little gleam in his eyes, I’d backtrack, but I
know him. I know how to make him feel good. He wants it rough, wants to
be taken. Fucked to the point of pain, but only if it’s mixed with pleasure.
He asks for more every single time I’m inside him, but I hold back. I always
give him just enough.
This is a promise for some of that more he craves.
 “You’ve made me wait days, little brother. I’m going to fuck you
whether you’re ready for me or not.” It’s not true. I’d never do that, but I
keep a straight enough face that he licks his lips before swallowing, liking
the idea more than I’d like. I almost regret even saying that, giving him
ideas.
He’s quick to get out of the car, moving even faster to round the trunk. I
pop it for him, and a few seconds later he’s getting in the back seat.
“Other side.” I want to be able to see his face, watch him as he works
himself open for me.
“What if someone sees me?”
“Cade, the first time you choked on my dick, we were in a room filled
with people.”
“That’s—” He purses his lips. “Different. That was different. Those
people were doing nasty shit in a dark room. These people—” He motions
towards the road with a jerk of his head. “They’re not expecting to look
over and see a guy with his fingers up his ass.”
I laugh at that. Nobody’s gonna see that, but I shrug anyway. “Oh well.”
I’m showing more confidence than I feel, but he’s eating it up. Loving the
risks involved and playing into it perfectly. It makes me wonder what kinds
of people he hooked up with before me. Mostly girls, I’m sure. Did he act
like this with them?
I hope not. I like thinking it’s me. Being the one to open new doors for
him—forcefully shove him over the threshold—makes me feel like I have a
claim over this part of him. I may not have all of him, but the part of him
that’s dying to be fucked and ravaged is all mine.
I can hear him undo his zipper, the faint sounds of him shoving his
pants down enough to give himself the room he needs. I can see him in the
mirror, looking lost as he eyes his lap.
“Spread your legs, Cade. Put a foot on the center console.”
He blows out a breath, a charming mix of nerves and relief on his face
as he pulls his pants down more so he can do as I said. The snick of a cap
sounds while I watch the road, and a quiet “Shit” follows. “I got a little lube
on the floorboard. Or—it might be a lot.” He gives me an apologetic grin
and shrugs. “But you know, it could be worse. It could be nachos. My car
still smells like fucking cheese.” He tries to chuckle, but it comes out
awkwardly.
 “Cade, put a finger up your ass and shut up.” The way his brows fall
and settle in a little glare makes me smile. He’s nervous, but it can’t be any
worse than when I prep him. Nine times out of ten, he rushes me and
demands that I start with two fingers so he feels the stretch the way he likes.
“I believe in you,” I tease.
The next view I get in the rearview mirror is his eyes closed in a subtle
cringe, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. I have to balance between
watching his face and the traffic, but I get to see it when his mouth opens in
a soft gasp. If it were my fingers, he’d be a lot louder. He’d already be
working his hips against my prodding, eager for me to hit that spot inside
him.
“Tell me how it feels.”
His eyes open, cheeks painted a pretty shade of pink as he takes a
breath. “Um…” His voice wavers, a sweet hint of those nerves that makes
me wish I was back there to help him. “It’s better when you do it.” But a
second later he’s tilting his head back, still not quite moaning for me but
definitely enjoying it. I have to adjust in my seat to try and alleviate the
pressure on my growing erection. “Nic, I—you won’t stop, right? You—”
The word catches on the first audible sound of pleasure—a delicate groan
that I feel in my groin. “I want you to fuck me, even if I say no.”
This isn’t some big surprise. “You want me to force my cock into you,
make you take it.” It wasn’t a question, but he nods anyway. I have to push
the heel of my palm into my groin to give myself some relief. “That’s what
I had planned—and you have a safeword.”
“Ugh. Don’t ruin it.”
I laugh. He still very much resents me giving him one. It breaks the
fourth wall of these little games we play to remind him that his no’s don’t
mean anything, but that’s too bad. I’ll hurt him as much as he wants, but I
won’t do anything to push his boundaries.
Nearly twenty minutes of playing with himself has his breathing
picking up, louder than the radio as he pants behind me. He’s having too
much fun, making it real fucking difficult to sit still. My dick is hard
enough that it hurts. I may be speeding, but it’s a necessity at this point.
I have to step hard on the brakes when I get boxed in, making him gasp
as he’s forced forward in his seat.
“Fuck, Nic. Don’t do that.”
 “You need to stop.” He’s had enough time, and I’m not sure I can drive
like this for much longer. I might end up just pulling over on the side of the
road to fuck him now. “We’re almost there,” I say it for myself, a reminder
that my suffering is nearly over.

OceanofPDF.com
 Eighteen
Cade

I
don’t listen to him, feeling too good to stop touching myself. Plus, I
don’t know. Maybe he’ll get mad at me.
I hope he means it—that he’ll force me. Chase me and hunt me
down. I have no clue what’s wrong with me, why I crave the things I do but
I have a hard time not blaming Nic.
He’s just sexy. He’s extra sexy when he’s pissed and when he’s fucking
me? I’ve technically only gotten to see it once—when he made me lay on
my back—but he straight up wrecks me. The fucker glares when he comes
—how hot is that? The answer is very. And he’s rough and bossy and pretty
much everything me and my Dumb Dick could ask for.
I read Twilight in high school—a secret I’ll take to the grave—and I’ve
been thinking about that sparkly bastard a lot lately. Specifically when he
said that he was an addict and Bella was his own personal brand of heroin. I
feel that shit in my bones. Only instead of a pretty Mormom-coded emo
girl, my addiction is a pretty Eeyore-coded emo boy who can’t stand me
half the time.
I let out a moan that has him groaning through gritted teeth.
“Cade,” he warns, but the sound of his voice only makes me hotter.
I have to wrap my hand around my dick again to give myself a few
relieving strokes before letting go once more. I don’t want to come until
he’s the one making me.
The only reason I do stop is because we’re pulling off the interstate,
finally taking the exit that leads to my mom’s. I had to basically undress,
leaving me looking stupid in just my shirt and socks—not that it wasn’t
worth it. I’m pretty excited, tucking my cock away with a familiar giddiness
swirling in my guts that I can’t shake. I pat my pocket to make sure my
keys are where I need them, specifically feeling for my old house key.
“What if I don’t get the door unlocked in time?”
“Then I guess we’ll be giving the neighbors a show.”
I can’t decide if I believe him or not. I don’t even hate the idea of it—if
I wasn’t sure it was against the law or, worse, that it would get back to our
parents, then I might go for it. It’s my kind of crazy—the kind that makes
my blood pump straight to my cock. The same kind of crazy Nic is.
I watch those white strands of hair on the back of his head as we drive
down the street, now only seconds away from parking. He’s so…
everything. Infuriating and soothing, all wrapped up in a beautifully
damaged package.
I want to kiss him. I don’t know why he’s so against it, but I need it. I
want it so badly I’ve even dreamed about it a few times. His lips on mine,
the way we’d fight for control until he’d grab me and forcefully take it—I
want that.
“Nic?”
As soon as he looks at me with those grey eyes of his I lose the courage
to ask him about it. He waits patiently for me to say something, cocking
that half-white brow in a silent question, but I struggle with finding the
words. By the time I think of something to tell him, we’re already pulling
into the driveway.
“Make it hurt.” I throw the door open, slipping a bit on all the lube I
spilled as I step out of the car and just book it for the door. I don’t know if
he meant it when he said he’d fuck me wherever he caught me, but it rings
in the back of my mind loud enough that I decide the back door is the safest
option.
The more distance I put between us, the more afraid I begin to feel. My
focus is so zeroed in on what I’m doing that everything feels both sharp and
hazy at once, and the second I begin to grapple with the lock, it only gets
worse. That excitement is still there, sitting just above my groin and
pushing me to move faster, but the very real threat of my stepbrother’s dick
is more prominent.
I hear the car door slam and let out a panicked whimper, the stupid key
finally turning being my only saving grace. The gravel on the side of the
house is crunching under his shoes just as I bolt through the door.
 I run through the kitchen to get to the stairs, happy when I make it
without hearing him behind me. It feels like there are more steps than I
remember there being as I take them two or three at a time, but I’m almost
there. My room is—
“Fuck!” It’s the only word I manage before the air is knocked out of my
lungs, my chest hitting the edge of the top step making it impossible to
breathe—to do much of anything, really. There’s a buzzing sound in my
ears as my body tries to recover, and the next thing I’m aware of outside of
that noise is my jeans being dragged over my hips. I try to kick behind me
only to end up with my knee pressed roughly against the wood with a thud.
“Nic—” My voice is raspy, and somehow, amidst all the fog, it reminds
me of him choking me—of how good that shit feels, how empty it makes
my head. “Nic,” I try again, this time clearer, more desperate.
“My name sounds so fucking good on your lips, little brother.”
I whimper, reaching for the rug lying in the middle of the hallway and
not quite able to touch it. He has more leverage—on top of me while I
struggle helplessly beneath him. It feels like I’m in danger, but just below
all of that—the panic and distress—I know that I’m okay. That I’m safe.
Nic only hurts me because I like it—most of the time. I trust him more than
I ever thought possible, and I know he’ll take care of me.
But the adrenaline is real.
“Tell me you want it, and I’ll go easy on you.”
“No!” I don’t mean to sound so whiny, but no. He promised me some
things, and I’m holding him to it. I don’t want easy. The way he jerks my
hips back, putting me in position for easy access right here on the staircase
—that’s what I want. I want Nic. I want—
Oh, fuck. I lay my sweaty forehead flat on the ground, unable to process
anything but pain. I almost regret not going past two fingers and pouring
more lube on Nic’s floorboard than on my fingers. There’s no getting used
to this, that first punishing thrust—it always takes my breath. There’s no
time to get used to the invasion, just an instant state of being fucked. It feels
hot, like he’s searing my insides with every thrust he gives me.
And then it’s not just pain. It’s everything. It’s me and Nic. Our moans
are all wrapped around each other, literal music to my ears as he wraps his
hand around me.
“More,” I beg. I don’t even know what more I could want—I just know
I need it. More of him, of his dark little laugh he’s breathing into my ear.
It’s all so, so fucking good.
“My greedy little whore.” His voice is saturated in devotion—so much
care and adoration in those words. His greedy little whore—fuck. I love
that, him claiming me. His teeth graze my earlobe, forcing a needy whimper
out of my mouth. “Turn around.”
He pulls out too fast, a move that has me crying out the split second I
feel his absence. I try to do as he says, but my body is too stiff to cooperate
—I need his help. He’s aggressive as he gets me how he wants me—pulling
my shoes and pants off all the way so he can fit where he’s needed. My
back hurts in this position, but he’s lining up and sinking back into me, and
it’s all worth it. He holds my legs apart, a hand under each knee as he rocks
inside me without mercy.
I think the word at times, those first few moments are borderline
unbearable sometimes, but it always gets better. I’ll never utter that stupid
safeword he forced me to have. I can’t imagine saying no to him and
meaning it, not in these situations. I need him too much.
It feels like a small forever of this. It’s brutal. Uncomfortable and
painful but so, so good.
“I’m close, Cade,” he groans, the tendons in his neck pulled tight as he
strains, his pale grey eyes already fixed in that glare I’m so fucking gone
for.
I reach for myself with a clumsy hand, but I’m closer than I thought,
spraying endless ropes of cum after just a few tugs. The arm propping me
up falters, making me slip down a step and forcing his cock deeper. He says
something that I can’t hear over my own cries of ecstasy, and I don’t have
the mental capacity to worry about it. It feels too good to stress about all the
many bruises I’m for sure sporting, all the bullshit going on in my everyday
life. Unrequited feelings, parents, Nic’s moods.
Those are all things to dwell on later.
Right now I just want to feel good. Hollow in a freshly washed sort of
way. Almost weightless. Almost perfect.
“Nic?” My head feels heavy as I lift it to look at him.
“I know, baby.” He starts to ease out, being gentle with it now that I’ve
finished, but that’s not how I need this to work. I manage to hook one leg
loosely around him, hoping he gets the message. “I’m gonna come, Cade. I
have to, but let’s go to your room. I—”
 “No, now. In me.” There’s a very real chance that I’ll be mortified by
this later, but at the moment, nothing else matters. “Come inside me.”
He stares at me for a moment and waits until I’m close to begging again
before he starts moving—this time slowly. Grinding his hips into me in
steady rolls as he stays watching my face.
“Nic?” I bite my lip to hide a wince, oversensitive and uncomfortable
despite all the tenderness.
He leans over me, his forehead pressed against mine, and it’s exactly
right for what I want.
“Please?” I whisper, too afraid to speak louder.
I feel his breath on my lips and see the indecision on his face as he
realizes what I’m asking for. My arm slips under his so I can grab him, grip
his shoulder in a fit of desperation. Please. Please just kiss me.
But he doesn’t. He holds back, and it’s awful. It ruins every bit of
perfect the rest of today was. Absolutely shatters it. I’m so disappointed,
and all I can do is let my head fall back and close my eyes. I won’t cry, but I
could.
His hand cups the nape of my neck, and maybe he wants me to look at
him again, but the moment has passed. Rejection stings, but it’s worse
coming from him. I knew better, and still let myself hope. I feel so stupid.
And then his lips are on mine. They’re chapped and timid and not at all
like what I imagined. But he’s kissing me, pressing his entire body on mine
on what is easily the worst thing I’ve ever had sex on. There’s no meeting
of tongues. It’s just his lips slowly moving against mine, and I’m so fucking
in love with the feel of it that it hurts.
His orgasm is what breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t go anywhere. Grunts
a soft “Fuck,” against my lips before going still. I run my fingers through
his hair and grin, forcing myself to hold in my gratitude. It feels like a
moment of silence, a short time to process everything is needed, but he’s
moving out and off of me only seconds later.
It’s for the best. My body has been through it. He helps me stand up,
makes sure that I make it up the remaining steps, and still doesn’t back
away. He just lets me use him for support and leads me to my old bedroom.
It’s not until he tugs the comforter on my bed back that I recognize this
behavior as something unlike him.
But I’m not complaining.
 He’s very gentle with me as he helps me out of my shirt—stopping to
examine the bruises I’m very proud to wear. He asks if they hurt, but they
don’t. It’s an ache, a dull soreness that I’ll miss when it’s gone.
When he disappears, leaving me lying on my stomach fully naked, I try
not to be sad. But it feels a bit like I’m slipping. With my drug of choice
gone, I’m left dealing with the comedown all by myself.
I flinch when something warm and wet is pressed over my hole.
“Are you okay?”
I feel silly for thinking he left me after all of that, but I am okay. Now I
am. I nod my head to let him know and give him a tired smile to really
convince him. I’m so much better than okay.
“I just need to grab our things. I’ll be right back, okay?”
I make myself nod again—shove the clingy part of me that wants to tell
him not to leave me away. I can still feel the withdrawal. It’s not as bad as it
was, but I hope he hurries.

∞∞∞

T
here’s a gentle prodding at my entrance, something cold being rubbed
into my skin.
“Better?” It’s Nic’s voice, his fingers working something soothing
inside me.
I give him a drowsy moan, trying hard not to doze off again. He took
longer than I expected. Either that, or I’ve been out for longer than it seems.
“It feels nice,” I murmur, trying to open my eyes only to fail completely.
“It should help with the pain.”
“You’ll sleep here, right—with me? You’ll stay?”
“I—yeah. If you want me to.”
I sigh dreamily, burrowing into the pillow under my face just as he
drags his fingers out of me. He’s rubbing more in random spots on my back
and legs—areas that I assume are bruised. “Thank you.”
I hear him huff a quiet laugh, his palm skimming over the back of my
thigh. “You wouldn’t even need it if it weren’t for me.”
 “No, not—I mean, thanks for coming with me.” I yawn, cozy enough
that I know I won’t have any trouble passing out. “I’m glad you’re here,
Nic.” This time, I manage to peel my eyes open enough to look at him over
my shoulder, but it’s difficult. My head is heavy, and leaving it on the
pillow is too comfortable. But I want him to know I mean it, so I reach with
my hand, feel until I find his, and give him a squeeze. “Thanks.”
His lips press against mine, a short and sweet little peck that has my
mouth tugging into a sleepy smile. “Thank you.”
It’s the last thing I hear before I fall back to sleep.

OceanofPDF.com
 Nineteen
Nic

N
o amount of lidocaine cream is helping the burn in my thigh. The
shower didn’t help no matter what temp the water was, and I’m not
sure if massaging it is doing anything. I’m dreading standing up.
Between the car ride and hunting Cade down, my legs are fucking tired.
I don’t want to wake him up. I know that I do sometimes when this
happens back at the apartment, but it’s not because I want to. The bathroom
door being in our room makes it hard not to disturb him, but my scars are
off-limits, so he never says anything. We both know they’re here, that
they’re ugly, and they hurt me, but we don’t acknowledge it.
That’s okay. I don’t want him bringing it up, looking at them like he did
the first and only time he saw them.
I wish, for close to the millionth time, that I hadn’t fucked myself up.
But there’s no point in wishing for things that aren’t possible. I’m
probably going to sleep—try to sleep—on the couch downstairs. Or in the
family room. I typically avoid that room because of Tracey, but she’s not
here. She’s not at home with her son for the holiday, and I’m pretty sure that
I’m the reason.
Or maybe I’m back to wishing for the impossible. Cade picking me—
choosing to spend time with me over them—doesn’t seem likely. I’m more
of a last-resort kind of guy.
A wince has me giving up—digging the heel of my hand in my leg is
doing fuck all for the pain anyway. I need some sleep. First, I have to get up
and then get dressed. Walk down the hall past Cade’s room where he’s lying
all bruised and battered and happy about it—like the pain slut he is. Right
there in the same spot he was when he asked me to stay with him. It all
seems like too much. Every step on the list requires so much effort—
especially walking past Cade.
I don’t expect him to barge in, especially since I thought I turned the
lock, but there he is—with his bed head and bloodshot eyes and absolutely
no decency. He’s standing there in his birthday suit while I pull my towel
off the ground to cover my lap. I’m still sitting on the edge of the tub, not a
shred of dignity in sight.
“You said you’d stay.”
The little frown on his lips has my chest pinching, something eerily
close to affection warming my insides. “I’m in the bathroom, Cade.”
“Well…” He shuffles on his feet, averting his eyes now that he’s
noticed my nakedness. “Are you okay?”
I can say I’m fine, almost do, but he won’t believe me and I don’t want
to see the skepticism on his face. So, I say nothing.
“Wait here.”
It doesn’t occur to me that I didn’t have to listen to him until I’m
watching his flaccid dick bounce with his every step. It makes me laugh.
“You could have put some shorts on.”
“And deprive you of this view?”
“Looks like a dead fish.”
“Tsk. You just wore him out.” He holds up a round container wrapped in
a black label for me to take. “It’s my mom’s. She gets it from the
dispensary.”
“CBD creams don’t do much for me.” Plus, it’s hers. I highly doubt
she’d be okay with me using it.
“It has CBD and THC. And it’s the good shit that you can only get with
a medical card.”
I’m not convinced, and the look on my face tells him so.
“Just try it.” He twists the cap off and shoves his fingers in the jar,
scooping out a big glob and immediately sinking to his knees in front of me.
“I can do—Cade.”
He ignores me, doesn’t even ask which leg it is that’s bothering me
before he starts rubbing the cool ointment right into my scars. “How’d you
do this? They’re mostly uniform—like grill marks almost. Except this one.
This is the one that hurts all the time, huh?” He looks up at me under his
lashes, giving me a very brief view of his green irises. I used to tell myself
his eyes were ugly. Compare them to muddy swamps or whatever else I
could think of to try and convince myself that Cade isn’t stunning. But lying
to myself didn’t change reality.
He pays more attention to me than I’d have guessed. Or maybe I don’t
hide shit as well as I think because how does he know this is my problem
leg?
“Ah—” I go to grab his wrist as he digs his thumbs deeper into my
mangled flesh, but hold back.
“Sorry. It should help, though.”
“They were craft bars,” I say after a moment of quiet, this time avoiding
his eyes when he looks up at me. “My mom had these little brass rods, and
I…” I shrug. There’s no need to state the obvious. I’d take a lighter and wait
until they were hot, and then brand myself—the evidence is right in front of
us. Right where it always is, where I’ll never be able to forget about them.
I don’t know why I did it that way. I could have cut myself like a
normal person. Hit myself and ended up with no scars. I don’t know why I
chose to burn my skin, but I know that it made me feel better. Sitting down,
walking, doing anything that stretched the skin while I was simply
struggling through my days also helped. It grounded me and gave me
something to focus on other than how bad things were getting. Until I went
too far. “This one got infected. That’s why it’s so much worse than the rest.”
It even needed a skin graft.
He hums his acknowledgment, going silent as he finishes rubbing the
cream in. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now. If he thinks I’m an
idiot for burning myself, he’s not showing it. He seems focused, working
my muscles with skilled fingers and saying nothing. He also doesn’t look
grossed out, so that’s good. He wasn’t at all bothered to touch me.
And when he’s done, he smiles like a dope, jumping right into character
like the perv he is. “You know what else is good for pain management?” He
waggles his brows, and just in case that isn’t enough of a hint, he pokes my
dick.
“That’s the sexiest way I’ve ever been propositioned for a blowjob in
my life.”
“Whatever.” He scoots closer, taking me in hand and giving me a self-
satisfied smirk when I start to stiffen. “It’s not supposed to be sexy. It’s for
medicinal reasons.”
I don’t tell him that I already feel better, that just him being here has
helped take my mind off of the pain. It’s a selfish thing, letting him work
me over like this, but I want it. It seems that I’m as starved for attention as
he is.
He watches his movements closely, his bottom lip trapped between his
teeth until I’m heavy in his palm. As soon as he decides I’m ready, he leans
forward only to stop altogether.
“Hold on.” He moves to get up, but I grab his shoulder to stop him,
brow cocked in a silent question. “I need—” A nod at the sink clues me in.
“My mouth is dry.”
I don’t think too hard about it before I cup his cheek, letting my thumb
smooth over the stubble along his jaw and urging his face closer to mine.
No words are needed as I lean down. If he were someone else, I might ask
permission. But with Cade, there’s no need. My stepbrother is always ready
for whatever I want to give him.
He opens his mouth eagerly, the word cherry nowhere on his mind as
his tongue extends over that pouty bottom lip of his. I can’t help but lick, a
swift run of my tongue over his—just to try it out—before I’m spitting in
his mouth and listening to the faintest moan he’s ever given me, so quiet I’d
have missed it if I weren’t so close to him.
He always starts by licking around the head, coaxing the foreskin back
just enough so that he can fit the tip of his tongue beneath it. It’s an intense
feeling, one that makes my hips flex as I fight the urge to thrust. His eyes
are closed as he sucks me into his mouth, swift little circles being smoothed
over my frenulum driving me crazy—such a contrast to the otherwise
gentleness.
He takes his time, massaging my balls as he slowly bobs his head lower
and lower. Cade enjoys giving head. He approaches it like it’s a gift—one
he’s always wanted. He hollows his cheeks eagerly, looking up at me as he
sucks hard enough that I can’t hold back. I thrust, the movement almost
involuntary, but he deosn’t seem to mind. Of course he doesn’t. He wants to
be used, wants to please.
“Greedy boy,” I murmur the words softly, sifting my fingers through his
hair as a pleasant warmth spreads throughout my chest. I adore him. He’s
annoying and immature and the only part of my days that I enjoy all at
once.
I have to look away, look at the ceiling as I moan so I don’t get too
carried away with all this affection poisoning me. “Fuck.” It’s
overwhelming. Too fucking good. “Cade…”
 He pulls off with a slurp, stroking me to soothe the absence of his
mouth—one hand wrapped around me and the other gently kneading my
sac. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“Cade,” I start to complain, but he’s already standing up, literally
dragging me by the balls and giving me no choice but to follow him.
There’s some bruising along his lower back, a thick reddish-purple line that
fans out and fades along the edges. Probably from the stairs. There’s a few
more, smaller and darker on his hip that I have to assume are from my
fingers.
I feel a sick sense of pride as I take inventory of all the imperfections
I’ve painted across his flawless skin. Discolored patches that remind me of
my own, only prettier.
He should always be covered in my marks.
I don’t ask as he leads me to the bed. It’s usually him on his back or
knees, but I make myself comfortable and wait for him as he grabs lube
from where I placed it in his pack after he fell asleep. It’s not until he’s
positioning himself over me, his solid frame straddling me, that I realize
what he’s doing.
“Cade, stop.”
“I know, I know.” He uncaps the lube and pours some directly on my
cock, coating me in enough that I know he’s doing it for my benefit because
it’s much more than he’d prefer. He’s awkward with it as he attempts to line
us up, but I’m stopping him again. “I’m good, Nic. Promise.”
I let him sink down and have to grit my teeth as he does it. I love his
mouth, the view, and the perfect wet heat—I fucking love it. But this is ten
times better. His ass wrapped so tightly around me, his thick thighs pressed
along the outside of mine.
“God, Nic. You feel—” he gasps, his hips stuttering as he drops back
down. “Why is it always so good?”
I wish I knew. It’s rare that he’s vocal, but when he is, he’s usually
singing me little praises. Thanking me for the good dick or telling me how
hot I am. I’ve never been praised, never had anyone so lost in the pleasure
that I give them that they can’t help but be grateful for it. It’s a heady thing,
being able to make this specific boy enjoy me so much.
He has to lean back so he can brace himself on the mattress, riding me
faster until his breathing picks up in pitch.
 “I’m close,” I warn him, reaching out to stroke the dick bouncing in
time with his hips to hopefully bring him over the edge with me. He sits
down, pins me with all his weight so he can roll his body over mine, and
thrust his cock through my fist.
“Come on,” he demands, getting desperate the closer he gets.
He’s a big guy, but I’m able to lift him, roll him under me so that I can
finish us off. He’s too distracted to react—simply wraps his legs around me
and tells me to fuck him, to fill him up. That sizzling heat is spreading,
climbing up my spine and urging me to move faster, harder. I can feel his
fingers digging into my back, grating over my shoulder blades with every
thrust I give him.
It’s a struggle to grip his cock between us, but I’m too close. I need him
to come first, stroke him with a goal in mind, and immediately breathe out
in relief when cum finally spills from his tip. My dick twitches in sync with
his, and it feels like my heart starts to beat slower as my entire world zeroes
in on us. It’s just me and Cade, our pleasure and pains. His arms are still
wrapped around me, his fingertips now just gently trailing soft touches
along the scratches he’s etched into my back. It feels like I could fall asleep
like this, using his shoulder as my pillow.
“Nic?”
I’m still inside him, can feel myself throbbing as I push up enough to
look at him. This time he doesn’t ask, just leans up and presses his lips
against mine. It’s sweet and innocent—so unlike everything else we do. It’s
hard to think as he does it, but it’s over quickly. Like he knows I’m nervous
about it.
I’ve kissed, been kissed. I’m just not good at it. It’s only happened
once, and I know it’s a stupid reason to hold back, but embarrassing myself
in front of Cade isn’t something I handle very well. And I’m so good at
making him come that having him tell me my kisses suck would have
been… I’m grateful that he’s kept it innocent.
“Leg still hurt?”
I huff a laugh against his face and go back to laying on his shoulder.
“No.” It does a little, but that’s okay.
“Orgasms as pain management. McDreamy knew what he was talking
about. Though, I don’t remember if that guy actually jerked off or if he just
watched porn, but—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
 “Grey’s Anatomy.”
“What?”
“It’s a show. You’ve never seen it?”
I snort, burying my face deeper into his neck so he can feel me shake
my head. Obviously, I’ve heard of it. I’m sure I’ve seen parts of episodes
and clips, but why is this being discussed right now of all times? He’s so
random.
“No way. We gotta remedy that shit right now. Move.” He taps my ribs,
but I don’t budge. “Let me get my iPad.”
“No.” I stay right where I am, breathing him in as the cum on his abs
works to glue us together. It’s too comfortable. Makes me wish we’d been
sleeping—actually sleeping—together this whole time. Makes me wish we
could do it forever.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty
Nic

M
y last good Christmas involved homemade reindeer food and traps
for elves that I knew didn’t exist. I was too old for the kinds of shit
my mom liked doing, but it made her happy. The Christmas after
that, I was forced to spend time with my dad and his new family—my first
holiday with Tracey and Cade.
Seeing my dad happy had the exact opposite effect that seeing my mom
happy did. It made me sick—physically ill. I didn’t understand why my
mom was suffering while he was living life exactly the same as always—
the only difference was that it wasn’t with us. He had a new wife, one who
wasn’t prone to major depressive episodes, and a son who didn’t resent him.
It felt like an injustice.
I can hear Cade downstairs in the kitchen. I don’t know what he’s
doing, but all the noise is stressing me out. I don’t want him to try and make
today special. I don’t want to have to hurt his feelings when I end up not
being able to muster up any fake smiles.
Things are different between us. Sex and isolation will do that, but I can
see through it—the bullshit. I know that things have an expiration date.
Riding my dick doesn’t change that. Playing doctor with my fucked up legs
definitely doesn’t change it, but I don’t know if he realizes that.
There’s this constant undercurrent of dread threatening me no matter
how good things feel with Cade. We can be binging his favorite shows,
laughing and touching, and it means nothing. Not when I know that it’ll
end. It’ll end up being like all the good times with my mom—nothing but
memories.
I kind of want to leave. We came in my car, so it’s not like I don’t have
the option. I don’t know what I would do or where I would go, but at least I
wouldn’t be so antsy. I could go see my mom—I should go see my mom. I
was going to in a week anyway.
But I don’t want to get up.
“Nic?”
I open my eyes but can’t seem to bring myself to do anything more. I
listen to the sounds of him walking further into the room and still can’t be
bothered to turn around. It seems like too much work to roll over and look
at him. And I’m not sure I could handle it if I did. I’m a bundle of nerves
and don’t even know why. My heart is trying to hammer itself into an upset,
beating faster for no reason.
“Are you hungry?”
He doesn’t give me the chance to ignore him, climbs in bed with me,
and hooks a leg over my hip so that I have no choice but to acknowledge
him. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck just as his hand slips
under my shirt, his fingers warm as they fan out over my abs.
“I’m good.” I can’t help but lean back and press my body into his. It
helps, having him all over me like this. It’s calming—like my own living,
breathing Xanax. With his body heat keeping me warm, I don’t have to
wonder if he wants me here or if he’s sad that he’s stuck with me on today
of all days. It allows me to take a deep breath, almost a sigh of relief.
How pathetic.
He doesn’t know how to deal with me like this. We’ve gotten cozy
together. We share a room and have the same job, and for the past few days,
we’ve spent every single hour together. I can feel myself shutting down,
sinking into the beginnings of misery, and he’s noticing. He’s tried to get
me up a few times to no avail. He doesn’t know that it’s just the day—my
mom and the fact that once again my dad doesn’t want me here—and he
wouldn’t understand.
His fingertips slip under the band of my sweats, his palm smoothing
over my happy trail as his hand slides lower. I expect him to do more, go
for my dick like a normal person, but he just keeps gently caressing my
groin.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He snickers behind me, pulling his hand out of my pants and rolling
over me with a grunt. “What, I can’t cop a feel?”
“Of my pubes?” I cock a brow at him, matching the little half-assed grin
he gives me.
 “Let’s do something.”
I sigh. “I was doing something.”
“Yeah, as cool as sleeping the day away is, I think we should do
something else. Like get up.”
I want to protest, tell him that I hate Christmas and I don’t want to
celebrate. But he is stuck with me, and I feel a little guilty for it. Maybe
even more than a little.
“What do you want to do?”
His smile grows, deepening that divot in his chin. It’s on impulse that I
touch him, plant my thumb right there over the scruff he hasn’t shaved once
since we got here. I didn’t realize he even had to shave so much, but he
must. I’m pretty sure he shaves more than I do.
“We can hang in the treehouse.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t that.
“We can bring a bunch of blankets and my iPad and watch movies. Or
more Grey’s.”
I let my thumb slide across his lips, feeling my chest tighten as he waits
for my answer. It feels like he deliberately chose something not at all
Christmas-like for me.
“Hm, I would—” I purse my lips, teasing him as I remember something
from forever ago. “But I’m not allowed in the treehouse.”
He rolls his eyes, but to be fair, it’s true. He banned me himself years
ago. At one point, there was even a poorly drawn sign stating so—before
his mom made him take it down. But I didn’t want to go in there anyway. It
was designated for Liam and Cade, and I wanted no part of that.
I think I was jealous. I didn’t have friends, and seeing those two
together all the time reminded me of that. Also, my dad built that treehouse
for Cade. He never built one for me.
But it sounds okay now. Being alone with Cade in tight spaces—that’s
pretty much the only thing I like doing these days.
“I’m officially unbanning you, Nic. Congrats.” He climbs back over
me, almost kneeing me in my ribcage instead of just getting off on his side
of the bed. And I have no choice but to get up when he pulls my comforter
away. “Let’s go.”
We wrangle up as many blankets as we can and head out there. It’s
colder than I expected, but Cade’s suggestion that we use each other for
warmth seems like a good enough idea to me. Plus, we’ve found almost
every blanket in the house to pile up into a nest. Once I’m sinking into it, I
can definitely see myself sweating up here eventually. Especially with as
touchy as Cade can be.
It becomes clear that it was a planned event when he pulls out a tumbler
of hot chocolate. And when he skips over all the Christmas shit Netflix has
and starts suggesting scary movies, I know that it’s definitely for me. He’s
aware the day has me down and is actively trying to keep my mind off of it.
I don’t know what to make of it, but as the movie we pick starts, I know
that I’m grateful that he forced me out here—and not just to the treehouse.
If I’d stayed at the apartment alone, I know I’d be in bed doing nothing but
letting myself feel bad.
It’s not a fair trade—I get him coddling me and doing what he can to
make sure I’m not sad, and he gets… nothing. Me. It’s not a fair trade at all,
but I’m letting myself be a little selfish.
The only reminder I get of what day it is is a short Merry Christmas text
from Baby, but I don’t even open it. I do check to see if my dad sent
anything, but I figure it’s best to just turn my phone off when I find nothing.
Before I can be too bothered by it, Cade’s wrapping an arm around me and
spewing nonsense about how he would have for sure been too smart to fall
for the killer’s bullshit as he once again makes me the little spoon.
“Why am I always the little spoon?”
“Because I realized you’re shorter than me.”
“By an in—” I shut my mouth when he starts to laugh.
“I’m just the big spoon, emo boy. I don’t know what else to tell you. If
you don’t like it, I can—”
I push him back to where he is when he tries to crawl over me. “I didn’t
say that.”
He places a kiss behind my ear as he burrows into me, throwing his leg
over mine. “I got you something.”
“Why?” I sit up, forcing him off of me as I move to face him. It’s a
stupid question, but for a moment, I’m genuinely confused. He’s never
given me anything, not ever. We’re not those kinds of brothers—at least, we
didn’t used to be. And I know that gifts are a normal part of this stupid
fucking day, but I thought we’d settled on pretending it was just any other
boring day—that’s what I was banking on.
We had a few gifts from our parents under their tree that we opened a
couple days ago because we—Cade—didn’t want to didn’t want to wait. It
really pointed out just how little they know me. Cade got clothes that I
know he’ll wear, the Oculus headset that he’s been talking about for a
while, and some other random things I know he was happy to open. I got a
couple band tees from bands I don’t listen to, some school supplies for the
upcoming semester and gifts cards. I think he felt sorry for me, watching
me open them and knowing me enough to know that they weren’t gifts that
were purchased with me in mind.
So maybe that’s why he got me something—because he feels sorry for
me. I think that’s why he does half the things he does for me. Pity.
“I don’t know.” He digs under our pile of blankets and pulls out a small
black box. “I know we aren’t celebrating, but it is Christmas, and I just…”
He shrugs, looking at my chest as a faint blush spreads over his cheeks. “I
wanted to, I guess.”
“Cade,” I start, holding back the annoyance I shouldn’t be feeling. But I
thought that we had an unspoken deal. “I didn’t get you anything.” I’m kind
of mad that I didn’t.
“That’s fine. I didn’t expect you to.”
He doesn’t even say it like it upsets him, and that makes it so much
worse. Truthfully, I did think about it, getting him a gift, but I didn’t think
we were the kinds of people who got each other presents. I’ve known him
for nearly half my life and have never given him a single thing. Not unless
bruises and hard-ons count.
When I make no moves to reach for it, he opens it for me. It’s a
necklace. Nothing fancy. A small silver chain with a solid black dog tag
hanging off it.
“I don’t wear necklaces.” I’m being a dick, I know that. I can tell he’s
nervous giving it to me, but I don’t understand why he’d do this.
“I know. It’s—you don’t need to wear it. It’s more…” He stops talking.
Picks it up and opens the necklace. It’s a locket, and I’m even more
confused now. “It’s you and your mom. Just to have.”
“What?” I take it out of his hand and hold it in the minimal light
slipping through the sheet we have covering the door. I inspect it up close
and see a small black-and-grey image engraved into the metal. It’s me and
my mom sporting big, toothy smiles. It’s one of the pictures I have of her in
my photo album. I keep it in the bedside table between our beds—meaning
he must have gone through my things to get it. Maybe I should be mad, but
I’m not. It’s a good gift.
 It was before she got sad. Or sadder, I guess. Before my adult teeth
came in, and the vitiligo was only just starting to spread more.
“There’s two.” He pulls another box out of his pocket and opens that
one too. “I figured your mom would like one,” he stuns me by saying. “You
can give it to her the next time you see her or whenever.” Another shy little
shrug, and it hits me right then that he doesn’t know.
“Oh.”
“Here.” He sets the packaging in my hands and moves to turn back
around. “We should probably go inside. It’s getting dark, and—”
“Cade.” I grab his wrist to stop him from leaving our cozy little nest.
“Thank you.” My throat feels thick and is burning with the urge to cry. He
got my mom a Christmas present—thought of her when nobody else does
anymore. Not my dad. Not even Paulina. It’s been up to me alone to
remember her. “She… thank you.”
I think my mom would like Cade. Maybe. If she could get past him
being the other woman’s son. And she’d love the necklace. It’s not
expensive, not even something a woman would wear, but it’s sweet and
thoughtful and she’d love it.
“You’re welcome.” He smiles, genuinely happy that I’m grateful for the
gifts. “I figured you guys missed each other, so…”
My chest swells with so much adoration, so much gratitude and love
that it’s almost overwhelming. I don’t know what to do with all of it. I was
blaming missing my mom for my bad mood, but it’s more than that. It’s
Cade. It’s the timer we have on this thing. I just don’t want it to end.
“Thanks.” I lean forward and kiss him, a small peck before I pull away
awkwardly and laugh through my nose when his eager lips follow mine.
He reads me so well it’d be creepy if I wasn’t so obsessed with him.
Like knowing I don’t want to celebrate Christmas or that I’m missing my
mom. Knowing that despite spitting in his mouth, I don’t want his tongue in
mine. He just pays attention to things, to me, and it blows my mind. I don’t
deserve it.
I let him keep kissing me, reveling in the added weight when he settles
over my lap. Listen to his blissful little moans as he grinds his hips into
mine. His lips start to move down, his stubble scratching against mine as he
nips over my jaw, moving lower and lower. I have to tug on his hair to stop
him from sucking on my neck, and am so fucking happy hearing the sound
of his laugh.
 “Cade,” I murmur, closing my eyes when he gives me his undivided
attention. I love him. I am in love with him, want shit that just isn’t
possible, and I don’t know what to do. So, I ask him the stupidest question
I’ve ever asked anyone. “What are we?”
“You—” The question stumps him, and with every split second he goes
not giving me an answer I want to hide that much more. “I… don’t know.”
My head nods despite the disappointment I feel, my body fully
accepting his nonanswer. It makes sense. I’m not sure either, so I don’t
know why I expected anything more from him.
“Nic.”
I can’t stand it. “It’s fine.”
“I don’t—”
“Cade, it’s fine.” I open my eyes to give him a wan smile—try to make
it less sad, but know that I fail.
“Stop. That’s not—”
“It’s fine,” I say again, grab a hold of his hips so that I can push him off
of me, but he panics.
“Wait!” He holds my face between his hands, distressed that I might
pull away. “Nic, I’m not saying—of course, I want—fuck. Fuck, Nic.” His
forehead rests against mine, and I just sit there. Wait. Hope that he doesn’t
disappoint me anymore, but finding it unbelievable that he won’t. “What
about my mom? Your dad?”
It’s a good point. One I’ve wondered about myself is when I let myself
wish for more. “I get it,” I tell him truthfully. I do. He has so much more to
lose than me. People to disappoint. Picking me over anything else isn’t
some easy choice for him. It’s not even a plausible one.
It was a silly lapse in judgment. I knew what my role was in this
situation, but the necklaces had me losing brain cells. I won’t let it happen
again.
“Nic, do you—are you saying you’d date me? Be my boyfriend?”
I take a second to examine his face, try to make sense of what it is he
wants me to say here, and come up short. My open book is very hard to
read at the moment. I want to say yes. The word boyfriend never crossed
my mind, but Cade is mine. He feels like mine, and anything else doesn’t
make sense. Nothing else feels right. But I play it safe.
“No. No, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to know what we were
doing.”
 “Oh.” He relaxes on top of me, his entire body slumping in relief as he
looks down, probably hiding the look that says he dodged a bullet. “Well…
I don’t see why anything has to change, right?” His fingers flex where
they’ve moved to the tops of my shoulders, and at least I know where he
stands on that.
“I guess.”
“It’s just… they’re getting married soon, you know?”
“What?” I have no clue what he’s talking about. It takes me a second to
assume that he means Tracey and Anton. They’re already married, but I
know she’s been asking for an actual wedding for a long time.
“Their wedding? They—did your dad not tell you?”
The look on my face tells him that I have zero clue what he’s talking
about.
“Oh.” He’s uncomfortable. Even he knows that my dad should have
told his own fucking son that he was having a wedding soon—especially
since it’s so close to my mom’s death date. “Well, yeah. They are.”
Nobody thought to fucking tell me—not even Cade? Am I even invited?
“Your dad and my mom never had a wedding and decided that now was
a good time. My mom has wanted one for a while. Years, y’know? And I
don’t want to ruin things for her. I’m supposed to walk her down the aisle,
and she doesn’t need to be thinking about you and me fucking while that
happens.”
You and me fucking. It’s hard to believe that it’s all it is, that there isn’t
more between us, but that was just me being fucking stupid.
“You’re walking her down the aisle?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, and I feel that little grin like a punch to my chest.
This is a fun thing for him. Something special he gets to share with his
mom. With my dad. He’s a part of it while I’m…
I don’t even want to be a part of it. My mom doesn’t deserve that. If my
mom were getting married, I’d love to walk her down the aisle, so I don’t
blame Cade for being happy for his mom.
I doubt I’ll even go, that they even want me there. I know Tracey
doesn’t. And Cade, how would he act around me if I did go? They both
think he hates me—what if he thinks he needs to keep that up? I’m not
going, not dealing with that.
“When is it?”
His answer solidifies the choice for me. I have plans that day anyway.
OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-One
Cade

“I
t’s not too late, y’know?” I run my thumb over one of his scars,
caressing him under the blankets as he lies lifeless in front of me. I
don’t want to leave him today, but I have to. It’s my mom’s wedding,
of course I have to. But he’s been… I’m not a doctor, so I can’t be sure, but
I genuinely think he’s depressed. He has a history of it, but I’ve never seen
him like this. He’s usually mad. Quiet and broody but pissed off. This is not
that.
But it could be the wedding—the one he’s refusing to go to. He’s never
been okay with their relationship. My pigheadedness kept me from
sympathizing with him, but I understand it more now. His parents were
happily married at one point, and now only one of them is.
So, I’m hoping it’s just the wedding. I don’t know what else it could be.
“I don’t want to go.”
I knew he would say that, but I’m still disappointed. I hug him tighter,
pulling him back until I’m touching him as much as possible. “Nic.” I kiss
his shoulder, right on one of the many tiny pale circles of skin I adore.
“I don’t want to—”
“I know you don’t want to go. But what are you going to do for two
days without me?” It’s a poorly attempted joke, but really, I need to know.
He hasn’t been doing well, and I don’t know what to do about it. I want to
help him, but I don’t know how. If I’m not here, who will make sure he
eats? Gets out of bed? What if he hurts himself?
I don’t think he will—I don’t want to think he will, but he has before.
My arm tightens around him and squeezes until he grunts. He never
answers me, and it stresses me out more than it should. Or maybe I’m not
stressed enough. I’m not sure—I have plans to ask his dad about this.
They’re not close, but he took Nic’s mental health seriously when he lived
with us, so maybe he’ll have a better idea of how to navigate things.
“Nic, I—”
“Cherry.”
I freeze. It’s not until he’s jerking the arm I have trapped under mine
that I pull back, being slow with it because I have no clue how to take this.
“Get off of me. Leave, Cade.”
“Nic.” I don’t mean to sound so hurt, but why is he doing this—what
did I do?
“It works both ways—it means stop. Leave me alone.”
“I—okay.” I stare for a while at his shoulder, at that spot I just kissed.
My body is reacting to that little word like it’s an omen, a terrible sign, and
I’m not at all prepared for it. I don’t want to leave him. My hand reaches for
him, a last-ditch effort to reason with him, but he pulls away and scoots
closer to the wall and away from me. “Okay,” I whisper, going against my
instincts because it’s what he wants. If it were me who said it—though I
know I never would—he’d immediately stop all movement. He’d respect
my wishes.
So I get up, grab the overnight bag I have packed, and step out of the
room. I can’t look at him before I go because I might end up back in bed
with him to try to get him to talk to me.
Baby isn’t in his room when I check, and right as I’m about to text him
to ask where he is, he comes out of the bathroom.
“I thought you had a wedding to go to.” He fixes his tiny pair of pink
shorts, the only thing he’s wearing, like he’s trying to protect the modesty
that definitely doesn’t exist when he’s dressed like that.
“It’s tomorrow. I’m going home tonight, but I wanted to ask if you
could do me a favor.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s…” I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to ask him to look after Nic and
check on him a few times while I’m away, but it’s definitely a bad idea to
do nothing. I try to think of a way to word it so that I don’t share too much
—it’s not my place to tell Baby Nic has issues. “Nic isn’t feeling well.”
“Because he wasn’t invited to your parents’ wedding?” He looks
genuinely sympathetic before he walks to his room, giving me a view of his
ass peeking out from the bottom of his shorts. I’d remind him about his own
no-nudity rule if his question didn’t surprise me.
 “He was invited. He’s just… sick.”
“Oh.” He climbs on his bed, hugging one of his stuffed animals to his
bare torso. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t—he has chronic pain.” It’s not a lie and more believable than a
cold.
“Oh, he should have told me. I have some gummies that—”
“No, that’s fine. I just wanted you to check on him and make sure he
was doing okay while I was gone. Please?”
He has a tiny smile on his lips as he nods his head. “Yeah, I can do
that.”
“What?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” It’s making me self-conscious
and maybe a little paranoid. I told Nic I was fine telling people about us—
as long as we held off on our parents for a while—but he didn’t want that. I
wanted it. I said it like I didn’t care either way, but I want to be able to say
that I have someone. That I’m not alone, and more than that, that I have
Nic. I’d love to show him off or be someone he’d be happy to do the same
with, but he said that he preferred keeping things as they were. It bothers
me, and it’s one of the many other things that make me self-conscious, but I
don’t want to upset him.
And I can deal. As long as I still get to have him, it’s okay.
But things don’t feel as good as they were. I’m not even sure I do have
him. The new doubt is worse than any of the bullshit I was wallowing in
before we started whatever this whole thing is. I don’t want to lose him.
“I don’t know. You’re just cute when you’re in love with someone other
than Liam.”
“Wha—”
His smile grows, and I decide it’s best to save face. “Shut up.” I shut his
door as I leave, cutting off his quiet laugh.
I’m not in love with Nic. Not… I don’t think I’m in love with Nic. It
wasn’t like this with Liam. That was unrequited, but I was sure I was in
love with him. This is different.
It’s more like an obsession. And sometimes, it feels so… unruly. It feels
like my whole existence begins and ends with him. He’s every bit of havoc
and harmony in my own little world, bigger than anything else I’ve ever
dealt with. I loved Liam, and even though I can’t love him how I once
wanted to, I know that he’ll always be a part of my life. Things with Nic are
more fragile, like an antique vase sitting too close to the edge of the shelf.
One good jolt and it’ll shatter, and most of the time, shit with Nic is a little
bumpy. Loving Liam was scary, but whatever this is with Nic is fucking
terrifying.
That word, the safeword he gave me, plays on a loop as I leave the
apartment. It’s eating at me. Leaving him alone—it feels dangerous. He’s
probably just going to go back to sleep, and Baby did say he’d check on
him, but I feel so aimless the more distance I put between us.
I have to borrow a tie from Liam. I’d originally asked him if I could
take two because I’d hoped Nic would change his mind, but that didn’t
work out. Nic turned down more than just an invite—that only came after
he said he didn’t want to be in the wedding. I wish his dad had asked him
sooner and given him more time to prepare. I wasn’t aware that he hadn’t
even bothered to tell him there was going to be a wedding at all, but asking
if he’d stand up there by the altar just days before it was supposed to
happen seemed like an afterthought. I’m sure that’s how it felt to Nic.
He doesn’t say it, but I know it hurts him that Anton doesn’t try harder
with him. Nic tries to act like he doesn’t care, but he slips all the time and
shows me bits and pieces of things just beneath all the cracks. I just wish
that Nic didn’t push him away so much.
Seeing Jax sitting in front of Liam’s apartment door again most likely
means that I’ll have to wait longer than I was expecting for him to answer
the door, so I send Liam a text and hope it speeds things along.
“Hey.” I sit next to him on the welcome mat.
Jax chooses to flip me off instead of a greeting, but the bruise on his
chin tells me that it’s probably only so he can hide his face.
“What’s this?” I barely brush his jaw before he’s flinching away. “You
okay?”
“I’d be a lot better if your bestie wasn’t the actual horniest bottom to
exist. What does he even eat? Because I really don’t understand how a
dude’s ass can be so ready for dick at every hour of the fucking day.”
I laugh, letting him get away with the deflection. It’s none of my
business.
“You sound jealous.”
“Fuck off. I’m not jealous. I’m… well, you know what, maybe I am.
My ass hurts from sitting on this stupid cold floor waiting for Princess Liam
to be done with my best friend—and! By the time that happens, his ass is
gonna be hurting in an entirely different way, and yeah. I’m a little jealous
of that, but not because I want Seb’s stupid dick. Or Liam’s!”
“Okay.”
“I just want some idiot to tell me they’d build me a pond if I ever turned
into a duck, y’know? Why is that so hard to find?”
“I—” Have no clue what he’s talking about. “I’m not sure, Jax.”
“Whatever. And what about you—do you bottom? Does your ass hurt?”
I shrug with a smirk. “A little bit, actually.” No point denying it, not to
Jax. He knows more than anyone how wrapped up I am in Nic.
“Ugh. Well, unless you’re willing to share him, I—”
“Nope. He likes his ass a little less yappy.”
He frowns at me, a look so genuinely solemn for a moment that it has
me going quiet—it reminds me of how I’m feeling. “They all do!” He leans
his head on my shoulder and sniffles, and I can’t tell if he’s being serious or
not. “I’m going to be single for… til the end of fucking time apparently
because nobody likes hot as fuck twunks who maybe have a hard time
shutting up sometimes. Which—” He sits up, getting fired up all over again
and descending into a babbling madness. “Makes no sense if you think
about it!” He leans back against the door with a thud, not even looking at
me as he goes on. “Like… usually you’d want a mouth to be open, right?
Can’t stick your—oh!” He falls back, catching himself before he hits
Liam’s legs.
“What’s—” Liam looks between us as I stand up, and I can see it when
he decides that it’s not worth it to ask. “I’ll grab your tie.”
“Thanks.”

∞∞∞

“T
here’s my boy!” My mom throws her arm around, holding on for
long enough that I breathe in a deadly dose of her perfume. “Come
in, come in! Dinner is almost ready.”
I’m still kind of mad at her, but I let her tug me inside anyway. Nic isn’t
here, and while yeah, he’s a spiteful little shit who didn’t even want to be
here, I find it hard not to blame my mom. And Anton. They could have tried
harder to include him in the process, asked him to come, and made it seem
like they actually wanted him to. He’s their kid—pseudoson to my mom,
but a son nonetheless—and they don’t even care if he’s here or not. He’s an
adult, I get that, but the things they do have made him feel like he’s not
welcome, and it bothers me.
I realize I’m a piece of shit—that’s nothing new—because I used to act
the same way, only worse. But I’ve matured and so has Nic. I understand
him a little more, see through the anger and contempt and see that really
he’s just lonely. He feels rejected, and everyone who should be there for
him isn’t.
It could be a symptom—the Dumb Dick is still going strong—but I feel
it all on his behalf regardless.
I’m at least happy that Anton is more disappointed that Nic isn’t here
than I expected.
“I wish he’d changed his mind. Did he say why he didn’t want to
come?”
It’s sort of stupid that he’d even ask that question. How he doesn’t
realize that is beyond me. It’s never been a secret that Nic doesn’t approve
of this blended family of ours.
“He just didn’t want to.”
“Well, as much I wish he could just be happy for us, I have to say that
I’m glad he didn’t bring his negativity here.” My mom scoops some of her
salad in her mouth, and I know it’s not entirely unreasonable of her to say,
but it still bugs me. “This is a happy occasion.”
“Honestly, he seems kind of sad.” I purposefully ignore my mom’s
retort. Their wedding will be happy, but that has nothing to do with my
worries for Nic.
She purses her lips in a tight line when I look at her, clearly unhappy
with the topic being discussed. But my stepdad needs to know.
“What do you mean?” Anton sets his glass of wine down without taking
a sip, his bushy brows pitched low in concern. I’ve only ever seen the one
picture of Nic’s mom, but from what I can tell, he’s all her. I’ve never met
Carrie, but I wonder if he gets any of his personality from her too. I suspect
he gets some of the depression from her, at least.
“The past few days he just doesn’t do much. Works or sleeps, and that’s
it. He wasn’t like that before.” He sits in bed all the time, regardless of how
happy or sad he is, but his mood is noticeably different. It was headed this
way before our Christmas break, but things sort of plummeted when we got
back.
“Is he taking his meds?”
“I—what meds?” I look at my mom, see her quietly watching us, and
think for the first time that I maybe should have waited until I could speak
to Anton privately before bringing things up. If Nic didn’t want me to know
about it, he certainly wouldn’t want her to know. Unless he really isn’t
taking them. I’ve seen a prescription topical steroid cream and ibuprofen,
but that’s it.
But then I remember what he said while he was drunk—how his meds
didn’t react well with ibuprofen and alcohol. He claimed it caused his
nosebleed, but that was the only nosebleed I saw him get—does that mean
he did stop taking things?
How could I forget something that important? I wanted to do some
snooping to find out what he was on, but it never came up again. I should
have paid better attention.
“I’ll call him.”
That won’t do any good. I highly doubt Nic would answer a phone call
from him—especially with the wedding being tomorrow. But he can do
what he wants. “What do we do to make him less… is there anything I
should watch out for?”
“You’re not a babysitter, Cade. You’re both adults, and you have school
and work to worry about. Not your stepbrother.”
“Trace.” Anton looks at his wife in mild disappointment, mirroring how
I feel.
“I’m just saying.” She pats her husband’s hand, trying to soften the
blow of her dismissal. “It’s not like Nic would do anything to help Cade if
the roles were reversed.”
I don’t tell her that I think he might, but I really do. He cares about me,
I know it. I feel it. “I just want to know what to look out for,” I say, all my
focus on Anton—on the one other person in the room who cares.
“I think as long as—”
“Tony, come on. He’s just upset about the wedding—about his mother
and all the crap he’s always upset about. He’s fine.”
“His mother—what is today?” He reaches for his phone, his expressive
brows raising when he spots what he’s looking for. “Shit.” He sighs heavily,
wiping his hand over the short beard on his face.
“What?”
“It’s the anniversary of her death tomorrow. I forgot.” He looks at his
wife, but she doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. This isn’t news to her
at all.
“Her death? What do you mean?” How could I not know that? Why
would he not tell me? “Whe—how?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No, he—how did she die?”
“She… killed herself. Nic was trying to get her into a treatment facility,
but…”
That’s horrible. No wonder he misses her so much—he hardly ever
mentions her, but when he does, he speaks like it physically hurts him. The
fucking necklaces I got—what an awful gift. And… “You guys are
throwing a party on the day Nic’s mom died?”
“It’s not a party,” my mom scolds. “It’s a wedding, and… there were
only so many dates available.” She gives the table a flippant shrug that has
me stunned.
“Mom, you knew? That’s—no shit, he didn’t want to come.” I sit back
and stare at her as I process all the many bits and pieces of information
being thrown at me. He was just lying in bed, right where he had been for
the majority of the last three days, and I left him.
“Language.”
“It’s my fault,” Anton butts in. “I should have remembered.”
“But my mom did remember. Right?” I question her, genuinely hoping
that she didn’t. “You didn’t really expect him to come, did you?”
Just watching her face I can tell that I’m right. They could have picked
a different date. Taken more time to plan the wedding, maybe even have it
on their actual anniversary so they don’t end up with two, but she chose to
marry Nic’s dad on the day his mom died. It’s not… no it is. It’s fucked up.
Nic deserves better, a stepmom who gives a fuck and has sympathy for him.
A dad who sticks up for him.
A boyfriend who cares enough to be there for him when he needs him.
“You should reschedule.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Mom, it’s not even a real wedding—you’re already married.”
“Maybe we should, Trace.”
 My mom gapes at her husband, her cheeks flushing the longer she sits
with his words. “No.” She shakes her head, adding to the bit of finality in
her tone. “No. I’m not doing that. I’ve been waiting for this for years. I’m
not going to let him ruin it. I’m getting married, and my son is going to
walk me down the aisle—I deserve that.”
“But my son isn’t even going to be there.”
“Cade is your son too!”
“You know what I mean.”
“Mom,” I cut in because I need to know. “Did you purposefully
schedule it on this day?”
Her eyes roll, and it’s the only answer she gives me. It’s the only one I
need.
“Then… I’m not walking you down the aisle.”

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 Twenty-Two
Nic

T
here’s some dirt that needs clearing, a few rocks and weeds, but it
doesn’t take long. It’s not much, but it makes me feel better just
looking at it when I’m done. Seeing her name all crisp and clean on
the headstone I picked out just over a year ago now.
It feels weird to talk to her. I don’t know what I believe in as far as the
afterlife goes, but I do feel her. Sometimes. Not as much as I wish I could,
but then maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that means she’s usually
somewhere else, a place where she’s happy. Somewhere I’m not.
I don’t know that there’s any amount of therapy that could ever
convince me that my not being enough for her wasn’t one of the reasons she
left me. She never did get over losing her baby, and though I’ve lost count
of how many times I’ve been told that I was enough, the evidence says
otherwise.
And with my dad… I just don’t get why neither of my parents ever put
me first. That’s what parents are supposed to do. But I’m not here to dwell
on all of that. I can do that anytime.
“There’s not much to say.” I shrug, picking at the grass in front of her
headstone in a way that reminds me of Cade’s fidgeting. “I’m doing good.”
Most of the time.
“I… moved in with Cade—my stepbrother.” I don’t remember us ever
talking about Tracey and Cade when she was alive. My dad’s new family
didn’t feel like a safe topic. “But it’s only temporary,” I try to reassure her,
just in case she’s against the idea. “He’s not so bad.” I smile as I think about
him, feeling bittersweet as I sit here talking to a dead woman about a boy
who I have no future with, who she’ll never even get to meet. “He—” I
almost tell her that he left today, that he went to the wedding, but I know
she doesn’t want to hear about that. “I think you’d like him. He’s… kind of
annoying, but he makes me laugh.”
There’s no telling how long I can handle keeping things between us
quiet. Loving him in private only to pretend he doesn’t mean everything to
me in public… that’s not something I can do long-term.
But then, it was never going to be long-term anyway, and I knew that. I
do have enough saved up, at least I think so. And even if he did end up
telling his mom about us, what happens when she’s against it? I don’t think
he’d pick me over her, not in any scenario.
“I think I need help, Mom,” I say out loud because I honestly do. I just
feel so… sad. It reminds me of her, and I hate that. I need to get back on my
meds. I haven’t even ended things with Cade, and already, it feels like my
heart is breaking. It feels like something I won’t recover from.
I don’t want to live like her. She was so sad all the time, and it was
horrible. She just wasted away, and that will not be me, especially not
because of a boy. I won’t let it be.
But she was never anybody’s first choice, and I’m not either.
Sometimes, the weight of that is just too much. It feels like it holds me
back.
“I love you, Mom.” I don’t know what else to say, so I figure I may as
well leave it at that. I’m about to get up when I remember the necklace in
my pocket. I pull it out and look at it, let it soothe a tiny piece of me. I’ll
have to make sure that I get her gifts from now on, that way, she keeps
getting something—something other than the flowers I already bring.
“This is a Christmas gift from Cade.” I open the locket, wishing she
could see the little image of me and her, both of us so happy, but knowing
she can’t. I don’t feel her and haven’t since I sat down. She left—another
person who didn’t care enough about me to prioritize me. But I still give her
time to see it, just in case. The moon is bright, and if I hold it just right, I
can see both of us smiling. I close it and pull a small patch of grass up, just
big enough that the necklace will fit so that I can cover it back up. “Bye,
Mom.”
It’s cold, making it a little difficult to force my stiff muscles to
cooperate as I stand up, but I manage. I’ve only been here an hour, meaning
it’s not even one in the morning yet, and I did originally plan on staying
longer.
 But I’m still tired and just want to climb back into bed—probably
Cade’s bed. I don’t think it could hurt any more than it already will when
things end between us, so I suppose the best thing to do is enjoy it while it
lasts.
I don’t expect to see him when I turn around, but there he is. The
moonlight allows me to see him clearly, dressed snugly in a heavy winter
coat. Of course, he was smart enough to bring one, and I’m over here
shivering like a moron. It has me grinning, genuinely happy to see him. It’s
such an intense contrast to everything I was just feeling that it has my eyes
tearing up.
I start walking towards him, needing him in a way that makes it
impossible not to. I’m so grateful that he starts walking too, faster than I am
so that we get to each other sooner.
“What are you—”
“I love you.”
I freeze and stare at him in silence as an unshed tear finally slips free.
“You love me?” It feels like a joke. Loving me is… it’s too hard. If he loved
me, why would he be against telling people about us? He tried to say that
we could—as long as we kept it from his mom—but I could tell he didn’t
want to. He was just trying to make me feel better.
It doesn’t make sense for him to love me.
“I do. You—I love you so fucking much, Nic.” His forehead is warm
against mine, his breath warming my cold lips.
“But you don’t want anyone to know?” My voice is calm as I ask. But
how does that make sense? He only wants to love me quietly, and how is
that possible? Loving Cade quietly only works for me because my insides
are constantly screaming with it—and I don’t see that working for very
long.
“No. I mean, yes, I do. We can tell everyone. Anton, my mom. Our
roommates, Liam. We can tell whoever you want, Nic. We can be you and
me together.”
Our parents… “What are you doing here? The wedding—”
“This felt more important. I just wanted to see you—tell you that I love
you. That I want to be with you and that I don’t care how mad my mom
gets. I told them I was coming to find you.”
He loves me. “How did you find me?” I go for the easiest question as a
distraction, the rest of it too overwhelming to tackle just yet.
 “I shared your location with me on your phone.”
“I—you’re such a stalker.” And I don’t even mind.
“I know. Can’t help it.” His lips brush against mine with barely enough
contact to even be considered a kiss. “I love you.”
I smile, finally wrapping my arms around him as I kiss him again.
“I love you, Cade.”

∞∞∞

“A
re you still cold?”
“I’m fine.”
“Nic, don’t—I hate when you say that.”
I grin as my arms slip out of his jacket. “Sorry. But I really am. I’m
good.” He’d given me his coat to wear while we sat for a bit with my mom
—while we talked about things I’d kept hidden from him. I know I need to
get back on track with my mental health, and I’m glad he agrees. He didn’t
even talk about it like he thought I was a freak. He did call me stupid for
using orgasms as a reason to stop my antidepressant, but I can’t really say I
regret it. We wouldn’t be here right now If I hadn’t done that.
“Do you have to leave in the morning?” I think about telling him that
I’ll go with him, but I just don’t want to. My mom died a year ago, and I
don’t want to watch my dad marry her replacement on the same day. Cade
has mentioned me holding grudges, and I wish I could help it, but I can’t.
It’s difficult to let go of something that’s bothered me for so long.
“No.” He walks into me, his warm hands sliding under my shirt and
around to rest on my back. When his lips press against mine, I hold him
there. Both of us linger, just savor the feel of each other’s bodies pressed
together. It’s me who deepens the kiss. My mouth moves over his in sync,
our lips wet as they glide across each other.
“Cade,” I murmur, moving my arms upwards so he can pull my shirt
off. “Little brother,” I tease, nipping at the corner of his smile as he undoes
our jeans. “I want you to fuck me.”
He stops moving, leaning his head back a bit so that he can look at my
face. I know that Cade is interested in topping me, so I’m not worried about
any rejection.
“Are you sure?”
I nod my head, reaching into his pants to take him in hand. I’m not in a
top kind of mood at the moment. I want to feel him inside me.
His breath tickles the skin on my shoulder as he moans at the touch. I
walk him a few steps backward, but he stops when he hits the edge of my
bed.
“I’m kind of nervous.”
“You don’t need to be,” I tell him. “It’s just us.”
He makes no moves for the bed, so I crawl around him. He watches me
lay down as he gets the lube, making sure to take his pants off before he
moves onto the bed and then drags mine down my legs. I told him not to
worry, but I am a little nervous too. It’s not my first time, technically not
even his, but it feels like it is. This doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever done
before.
He’s seen me naked, has even seen and touched my scars, but he’s
never seen me like this. Ready and waiting for him to work me open.
I don’t have to ask him to go easy on me. The only experience he has
with sex like this—with men—is what I’ve done to him—brutal fingers and
hurried touches—but he reads me enough to know that I want something
different.
It’s uncomfortable at first—every finger he gives me elicits a burn that
only goes away right before he adds another. It’s been a while for me, and I
know that it’s going to hurt, but by the time he’s got his cock lined up with
my hole, I can’t even think past the need to feel close to him.
“Wait,” I hiss just as he pops through that second ring of muscle,
breathing heavily as I try to bear down. “More lube.”
That has him laughing, slowly pulling out again so that he can do what I
said. I have to grab my knees and bring them to my chest, trying to change
the angle and make it easier when he fits his glans back inside, stopping to
give me time to adjust again. I nod my head after a moment, opening my
eyes to check on him and finding him doing the same.
“Okay?”
I nod again, my tongue feeling too heavy to speak, and he gives me
another inch, pausing when I whimper so that he can grab my dick and
stroke. The added sensation helps alleviate some of the pain, but not
enough.
 “Fuck, emo boy.”
I huff a laugh, the sound getting cut off as he sinks in deeper. “Shit.” I
swear his dick has grown. He gives me a few slow, shallow thrusts before
he’s able to give me more, and I can tell he’s holding back so much just by
how tight his grip on my thigh is.
He slips over my prostate, finally giving me something that has me
lighting up, and I blow out a breath in relief. “Right there,” I moan, urging
him to do it again with a soft push of my hips. “Fuck.” It’s subtle, just a
light stoking of the embers as he rocks his hips into mine, but it’s perfect.
He falls into a steady rhythm, his breaths mingling with the sounds of
my quiet moans. “Nic.” He leans over me, his free hand sliding over my
ribs and adding to all the pleasure flooding my senses. The hand working
my dick starts to move faster, him hinting that he’s close already by
bringing me right there with him.
“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth, and I can only nod my
head again. “I could’ve sworn that I’ve been in love before, Nic, but I was
wrong. This is—it’s everything. You’re everything.” His eyelids flutter,
struggling not to close the closer to the finish line he gets. “I don’t think I
could ever love you any more than I do right now.”
My hand curls in the hair on the back of his head, tightening as he pegs
that spot over and over, timing it perfectly with every tug on my cock.
I love him. Cade, my stepbrother. It almost feels like it happened too
fast, but I think I’ve had feelings for him for a long time. He drives me
crazy, can piss me off in ways that nobody else has ever managed, and I’m
so fucking happy that he’s mine—that he wants me as his.
My body locks up as I start to come, everything hitting me all at once.
He keeps stroking me through it, only letting himself fall over the peak
when the last pearl of cum falls onto my stomach.
“You okay?” He’s breathing too heavily to be talking, but he’s checking
in on me, and I adore him for it. I don’t take it anywhere near as easy on
him when the roles are reversed—not until the very end—so I appreciate
him giving me this gentleness.
“Mhm.” But I lightly push at his abdomen, wanting him out of me.
“You know what I want to do?”
“Hm?”
“Get married.”
 “What?” I try to sit up, but he stops me with a hand on my chest.
“Like… eventually?”
“No. I mean now. Like right now.”
“Cade.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m serious.”
“We can’t do that.” I’m risking looking like an idiot by actually taking
him seriously, but he seems so sincere, and I know that some people get
crazy after sex.
“We can, though. We should.”
“Are you—our parents are getting married today, Cade. You’re fucking
crazy.”
“If I am, it’s probably your fault. I think we should—not today. But
soon. Maybe tomorrow. I meant what I said: I can’t imagine loving you
anymore than I do right now. I want to feel like this forever. Will you marry
me?”

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 Epilogue
Cade
Four days later…

“G
et the fuck up! I’m not playing anymore, Cade. Checkout was
fifteen minutes ago. We need to go!”
I flip him off, earning me a hard smack on my ass that has me
yelping. “God—” I push my face into the hotel pillow to stop from
complaining too loudly. “Is that any way to treat your husband?” My voice
is wrecked, and I don’t know if it’s from all of the face fucking, the alcohol,
or lack of sleep. Probably a combination of all three.
“You’ll be my ex-husband if you don’t get dressed.” His voice moves
farther away as he pretends he’s responsible and rushes to gather our things.
“And answer your fucking phone—it’s been going off for the past hour.”
I sit up enough to reach for the device, see Liam’s name on my screen,
and then immediately decline the call. I know what he wants. We waited a
few days to actually tie the knot, feeling a little wary of the impulsivity of it
all—one of us anyway—but once I convinced him, we drove here. Sin City,
because where else were a couple of college kids going to get married? It
was either here or BYU, and this place was closer.
We even got married before our parents, something I’m kind of tickled
about. I mean, they’ve been married for years, but we at least beat them
down the aisle. Anton put his foot down when he realized my mom’s petty
intentions. I don’t know that they’ll even have a wedding at all, and my
mom is not taking it well. She’s also not taking the news of our relationship
well. All Anton did when he found out was send a simple congrats back in
the group chat I created, but I had `to temporarily block her.
 He did send me a private message that he wants to talk—which is
understandable. I did marry his son out of nowhere.
And Liam is probably freaking out. It’s not every day that your best
friend marries their asshole stepbrother in a chapel where you can pick
between Elvis, Dolly Parton, and Freddy Mercury to officiate.
I got a little drunk after we said I do, and I definitely sent some crazy
pictures to… everyone: my mom, Liam, Baby, and probably Logan. I think
I even emailed my freshman-year English professor.
No ragrets, though.

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 Eplilogue
Nic
Four years later…

“D
oes it matter?” I kiss the hollow of his throat just as I get his tie
loosened enough to do so. “Whatever venue they pick, it won’t be
as cool as our wedding was.”
He smiles, looking at me like he’s every bit in love with me as he was
four years ago. “That’s true. I doubt they’ll be able to swing Dolly Parton
photobombing their kiss with her big ol’ fake titties.”
“See, it’s gonna be boring.”
“Yeah.” He leans in to place a kiss on my lips. “You’re still going.”
I huff, finally finishing off the last button of his shirt.
“Don’t pout. It makes me want to—”
“You know we can hear everything you guys are saying, right?” Liam
says from just behind the changing room curtain. “And my wedding could
kick your janky ass Vegas wedding’s ass, okay?” He flings the curtain aside,
leaving my shirtless husband standing there in front of the salesman,
Sebastian, and Jax.
“Your nips are very pink, Cade,” the yapper yaps.
“Didn’t we leave him at Wetzel’s Pretzels?” I swear most of the
animosity is just because it’s a habit by now, but mostly, he’s very annoying
—has been for four fucking years.
“You—”
“Jax.” Cade grabs his T-shirt and puts it back on. “Come on. You
promised you’d behave.”
“What? He literally started it! You were standing right there.”
 I pick up the items we definitely won’t be buying while they argue
about it, and Liam ends up joining in on their fun. “Do you ever feel like
you’re actually an old man when you hang out with all of them?” Seb being
an old man has been a running joke in the group ever since he hit thirty
earlier in the year, but I really do think standing next to Jax—and yeah,
sometimes my husband—makes anyone seem wise beyond their years.
“I feel like that every minute of every day.” Sebastian leans forward to
help me pick up some of the things Jax left in the booth just as one of the
other sales associates tells the trio behind us to be quiet. “You’re in the
wedding, by the way. You have to come to the ceremony at least.”
“Huh?”
“You’re one of my groomsmen, Nic.”
“I—Seb, is this you asking me to be one of your groomsmen?”
“It wasn’t really a question, but okay.”
I snort. “Well, shit. Thanks for letting me know.”
He nods his head, accepting my gratitude for what it is.
It sort of reminds me of my dad’s wedding, of him asking if I’d stand in
as his best man just three days before it was supposed to happen. At least
Sebastian gave me a few weeks.

∞∞∞

“W
hat are you working on?” I wrap my arms around his torso,
resting my chin on his shoulder so that I can see the spread of
papers that’s keeping him from joining me in bed.
“It’s… a romantic comedy. A gay romantic comedy, actually.”
“Hm. Well, I think…” I grab the folder in his hand and slowly set it on
the counter. “That all of this will still be here tomorrow.”
“Nic—”
“And the deadline isn’t even for another four weeks—you told me that.
You have an entire marketing team working on this, right? You know as
well as I do that by the time you decide on a spread, they’re going to give
you new material.” I undo the button on his slacks, reaching in until I’m
palming his cock in my hand.
 “That happens sometimes, but—”
“You’re coming to bed.” I apply pressure, smiling when he leans into
the touch with an airy sigh.
“That’s—ugh. Fine. You’re lucky I’m horny.”
“I know, my greedy boy. Come on.”
“Did you hear Liam talking about adoption yesterday? Can you imagine
Sebastian as someone’s dad? That’d be crazy.”
“I think he’d be a good dad. Liam too.”
“Hm. I guess. We wouldn’t, though.”
“No.” I laugh behind him. We didn’t talk about much before we jumped
into our Vegas wedding, but I’m pretty glad with how things worked out.
We got lucky. I’ve never wanted kids, and he doesn’t either. We’ve
collected two cats over the past few years, but that’s the most responsibility
I’m willing to flesh out.
“How was work?”
I can’t help but smile at the question, watching as he undresses at the
foot of our bed. It’s just funny to me how we can talk about mundane things
like this as we get ready to fuck.
He’s wearing a tight pair of red briefs. We’ve been out of apartment
thirteen for a couple of years, but sometimes I get glimpses of him, and it
reminds me of our room there. Where we fought and fell in love.
“Work was work.” Family counseling can be exhausting, but sometimes
I get to genuinely help, and it makes those tough days worth it. I see a lot of
myself in the kids I talk to, and maybe even understand things with my
mom and dad a little better. Today was one of those good days, but coming
home to my husband was definitely the best part.
OceanofPDF.com
 Afterword

Woof. I cannot believe I actually managed to write this book. I want to say
a big ol' thank you again to everyone who patiently (or not-so-patiently)
waited for Cade's story. I know I wasn't a very active author on social media
during the writing process, but to everyone who reached out and told me
how excited you were for this book, I adore you!

I do want to let you know that though I am still not going to be very present
on my socials, I am so, so grateful for any and all reviews. Feel free to leave
them on Amazon or Goodreads.

I of course have to give a thanks to the amazing community within the MM

Book Rec group on Facebook. The interactions I have on that page keep me
going, even if I'm not there as much as I used to be. You can always leave a
review there-I promise I'll see it.

You're probably sick of my gratitude, but again, thank you!

-Brianna Flores
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 Books In This Series
The Boys of Apartment 13
The boys of apartment 13 are unlucky in love. From confusing bi-
awakenings to unrequited feelings for your bestie, from the worst
stepbrother you could ask for to craving the most annoying straight boy
you've ever met, these boys just can't catch a break!
In this series, you'll find high-heat love stories with varying levels of angst
that end happily ever after.
Each book can be read as a standalone, though the series may be better
enjoyed if read in order!

Pretty Boy
Liam Walker doesn't get the hype surrounding sex. Not until he meets his
ex-girlfriend's brother, that is. Suddenly, he's being treated like the princess
he is, and he can't get enough!

Lover Boy

Good Boy
Francis "Baby" Holbrook has been frustrated (the sexual kind) ever since
straight boy Logan Matthews moved in. Protecting his heart means not
letting himself fall for Logan, and luckily, he's annoying enough that he
makes it pretty easy.
But throw a little bondage and a lotta praise at Baby, and suddenly, it
becomes a lot harder.
Lonely Boy
More info to come...

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