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The last time I felt that crushed I was sixteen years old and newly homeless. I was so lost and alone, part of me wished for death. Fear of actually dying is the only reason I didn’t give up, and while Noah’s hesitation didn’t put me back in that headspace, the flicker of disappointment hit harder than it should've. Needless to say, I’m less than thrilled it’s where I’ve ended up, especially since I can’t fuck away my frustration with anyone else.
That’s never been an issue for me before. I love the chase, and usually I’m successful. On the off chance I'm not, I’ve got no problem moving on. Plenty of cocks in the sea, as the saying goes. Only that near miss with Noah seems to have ruined my mojo. There hasn't been a single twitch in the nether region since. Nada. Zilch. In fact, the only thing that’s made my cock perk up is my own hand, but only when coupled with mental images of my sexy Thor admiring my tattoos the way he did that day.
I am way too young to be dried up. I shouldn't have to rely on Viagra, either, and sadly I'm seeing that little blue pill in my future… There's only one way to fix this. I need Noah to work up the courage to take me for a spin. Hopefully, that will reset whatever off switch he flipped and get me back to my typical shameless self. It has to. I can't live in these conditions. Not even skating has been able to set me right. In all fairness, that might be because I’ve been skating at Xander’s, hoping to bump into the big lug, but still.
Letting myself in through the back gate, I prop Dorothy against a lounge chair and strip off my shirt so at least one item of clothing isn’t soaked through by the time I’m done. Strapping on my helmet, I drop into the empty pool, and glide around the bottom aimlessly. Maybe the motion of the board will help settle the chaos in my mind.
Usually, the sun on my back and the wind in my face is soothing. It still is, but not to the extent the niggling questions about the state of my life are completely erased. It's futile to expect skating to solve my problems, so I refocus my thoughts on perfecting some tricks. Pumping my legs to gather speed, I pop off the edge and grab the board while I spin in a circle, landing cleanly on the downslope so I can do it again at the other end.
I’m only doing three-sixties, but I’ve been doing them for over a decade, and they’re a good warm-up for the seven-twenty I want to land. Unfortunately, I don’t get to attempt that trick. A sudden crack breaks my concentration, and my weight shifts to the backseat, sending the board shooting out from underneath me.
My ass takes the brunt of the fall, but momentum carries me backward until my head smacks on the ground. Even with the helmet I feel the thump of the impact, and I just lay there a minute cataloging which parts of my body still function before attempting to move. What the fuck just happened?
“Tripp! Are you okay?” A head of blond hair looms over me, blocking out the sun and illuminating a square jaw I know well after months of studying it.
“You’re not actually a God, right? I only call you that in my head?”
“What?” Noah’s concerned frown turns to one of confusion.
“You’ve got a halo.”
“Is your vision blurry? You banged your head pretty good. I can take you to the hospital.”
“It’s not… Nevermind. Were you clapping?” I try to touch my head only to smack my hand into the helmet that probably kept my brain inside my skull.
“Niko said I should if you do a cool trick.”
I hold my hand out so he can help me sit up, and even though I may be borderline concussed, I’m well aware of how his touch singes me. Flames lick up my arm, curling their scorching fingers around my heart and making it beat double time. Fortunately, I think he mistakes my panting for an adrenaline rush, not a burning desire to have him touch me everywhere.
Unbuckling my helmet with my free hand, I try to stay focused on the conversation. “Yeah, don’t listen to Niko. There’s no clapping in skateboarding.”
“How do you acknowledge when a person does something cool?”
“For starters, don’t do anything if the person doesn’t know you’re there. Why the fuck are you here anyway?” Though I’d been hoping to bump into him, I would’ve preferred not to be flat on my back when it happened. Scratch that, being flat on my back would be great if my dick were throbbing as much as my head.
“I’m staying here, at least until tomorrow when Niko and Xander are back.”
“What’s wrong with your McMansion?”
“I was having a leak in the bathroom fixed when they found mold behind the wall. I can’t stay there until the contractors get it mitigated.”
“How long does that take?”
“About a week, so another four days. Can you stand?” He offers me his hand again, and I hold my breath as I take it in an effort to prevent myself from gasping when I feel his touch. It mostly works.
“Why don’t you stay here the whole time?” I hobble over to the side of the pool and brace my forehead on the ledge. It’s not spinning so much as reeling, and the solid surface helps me feel a little steadier under Noah’s heavy gaze.
“I don’t want to crowd Niko and Xander in their own place.”
“You mean you don’t want to hear them fucking all the time.”
“That too.” His large palm settles between my shoulder blades, and even though my mind knows the gesture comes from a place of concern, my cock tries to say, “me next!”
“Then what?”
“You mean when they get back? I’m not sure.” He sighs heavily. “A hotel probably.”
“The horror.” I mock his defeated tone. “A staycation with room service… Sign me up.”
