I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and think of something else to tell him. “I like my coffee black with just a splash of cream.”
His eyes crinkle up at the corners. “Figured. I like mine with lots of sugar.”
“We’re opposites, you and me.”
His messy finger moves up to his lips, and he sucks the cum from it.
That makes my nostrils flare, my cock perking up again.
“But we work so good, don’t we, babe?”
Yes, yes, we do.
But it’s not always easy. I’m painfully aware that I’m not the most well-adjusted person. I told him this, and he still waits for me daily, still kisses me like he needs me to breathe.
But there’s that commitment looming over me, one that threatens to ruin everything, to tear the hope right from my chest.
It’s in those difficult moments that I pull away. I’m cold and distant, my voice nothing more than a whisper. Caleb notices it. I know he can. He stares at me longingly, searching for the man who holds him down and kisses the breath from him. But I just need space.
So I disappear.
In those moments, I find myself in my car in an empty parking lot or hiding in the library, my leg nervously bouncing under the table as I try to field questions from my mom and dad.
From Emily.
All of them want answers.
Eventually, I return home.
And when I do, Caleb pulls me into his arms, and his kisses bring me back to the present. Away from my future, the one carefully mapped out for me, the one I never chose.
It helps.
It quiets the noise in my head.
It soothes.
“I have a debate this weekend,” I say from my place on my chair. Caleb just returned home from the gym, his hat on backward, his nipple ring on display. Those tank tops should be illegal.
And he smells of sweat.
I don’t normally like it, but fuck…I place my Kindle over the bulge growing in my pants.
“It’s out of town, so I’ll be gone until Sunday.”
Caleb’s face visibly falls, and I feel my chest clench. He wears his heart on his sleeve. Visible. Clear.
What would that be like?
“There’s nothing to be done about it, Caleb,” I say as he turns and grabs a beer from the fridge.
“Stop reading my face.”
I huff at his pouting. “Stop being so easy to read then.”
He rolls his eyes and flips the cap off, catching it before it falls to the ground. He tosses it into the garbage bin and then falls onto the couch.
He sits there, his fingers running along the cool, perspiring glass.
