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“Aw, come on, Atlas. I think Troy wants to hang out with me. Don’t you?”
Troy is watching me, and I see the hurt in his eyes, see that he thinks I said no because I don’t want to be around him. Thatshouldbe the reason I’d rather he didn’t come inside.
When I look away, he turns to Brenner.
“Nah, I’m good. I have other stuff to do.”
Don’t ask him what, don’t ask him what, don’t ask him what.
“I’ll text you later,” I say, not wanting to be a total dick, but also annoyed at myself for being jealous of other guys wanting Troy.
This is already getting difficult, and I have a feeling we’re just going to keep getting more and more entwined.
17
Troy
Over the nextweek, Atlas and I text and DM each other. We’re chattier than we were before he blew me, but it’s all the same fun ragging on each other that I enjoy:
Me: I noticed you liking shirtless pics of me on Insta. Didn’t even think you liked pics.
Atlas: Are you going through it to see which photos I liked?
Me: Reverse-stalking my stalker.
The Wednesday before the auction, Mom and Glen are in town for a fundraiser, so they meet us at a restaurant for lunch. Everything’s business as usual. Mom gives us the headlines of office drama—which I’m sure she and Glen had dominated back in the day when word got around that the marketing director was getting a little too chummy with the company’s married CFO. Glen asks about Alpha Theta Mu, so I tell him about our last meet-up to finalize plans for Greek Week. And when the subject changes to school, I tell them how much better I’m feeling about Thermo since studying with Ash, and Atlas chimes in with, “Actually, I’m also largely responsible for Troy acing that Thermo test.”
“Really?” Mom asks. “Did you help him study?” She frowns, likely realizing that can’t be right.
“We had a little wager,” Atlas says. “I think it motivated him.”
Ass. And when the lunch comes to an end, I make sure to let him know:
Me: That mouth is gonna get you into trouble.
Atlas: My mouth has been very good to you.
Atlas: Probably why you can’t stop thinking about it.
Me: Can’t stop thinking about your holes in general, really.
Why did I fucking say that?
But I know the answer: because it’s true.
He’ll read it as a joke, I assure myself, but since we’ve messed around, his mouth sure as fuck isn’t the only orifice I think about…obsess about, and chatting with him more has only encouraged wicked fantasies about what I’d do to my stepbrother—lust- and cum-filled fantasies I’ve jerked off to more than a few times. I want to mark him, claim him. I want his body in ways he’d probably be disgusted by. Or would he?
Sometimes it’s like I can read his mind, and sometimes he’s a code I can’t crack. When he didn’t want me to hang with his friends after McDonald’s, I was confused…and hurt. Was I wrong about what was going on between us? No. I couldn’t be. He’s acting the same as always, which makes me believe something else was going on that night when we reached his place. Or maybe he just doesn’t want his friends to know he’s attracted to a guy…or his stepbro. Whatever it is, as long as we’re still cool, I’m comfortable with that. Whatever’s going on between us isn’t something I’m trying to figure out or define. It’s messy and chaotic, just like we are, and frustrating as it might be, I like the idea of letting this runaway train take us wherever it will.
When the evening of the bachelor auction arrives, I’m a hot mess, rushing through a hotel hallway with my suit draped over my arm.
“Dude, there you are!” I hear before recognizing Dixon from the image in his email profile. “I thought you stood us up.” He hooks his arm around mine and escorts me down the hall.
“Sorry. There was sort of a catastrophe at work, and I didn’t have time to get into my suit. I figured there’d be somewhere I could throw it on.”
“Don’t worry. Atlas told me. And we’ve still got twenty minutes. Plenty of time. Just come with me.”
“Twenty? The auction doesn’t start until eight thirty, right?”
