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I’m breathing too hard, and my skin is sticky with sweat.
Shit.
When was the last time I had a damn wet dream?
Paul adjusts against my back, draping an arm around my waist. My heart is pounding, and my hands are shaky as I lift his arm and slide out of the bed, barely avoiding crashing to the floor.
In the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and take a quick shower.
Paul is one of the few people who sees me. Really sees me and accepts me. I’m a mess. He already puts up with so much shit from me that’s not normal, I can’t start lusting after him too.
I really hope he didn’t wake up when I got up. He doesn’t need to know I had a fucking wet dream or that it starred him.
When I get out of the shower and dry off, I pull on a pair of underwear and pajama pants and climb into my bed. It’s not as comforting as Paul’s warm bed, but I need some space, I think. I have to get my feelings under control before I ruin this.
5
Paul
When I climb out of bed in the morning, I scrub a hand over my face and ignore the dread sitting heavy in my stomach. It looks like Brendon moved back to his bed at some point and is still sleeping, so I grab my phone, slip on some shoes, and head down to the dining hall to grab us some breakfast.
I tossed and turned for a while but finally fell asleep around one. Questioning what happened and how we got here. Nothing has felt as right as when Brendon’s lips touched mine. I’ve come to peace with being attracted to him. Most people don’t really do it for me. I can appreciate an attractive human, but I don’t want to fuck them. I crave the connection more than anything else. I’ve never had that before. Not like this. Brendon and I have been friends for years and are comfortable with each other. That connection makes me ache for him, heats my blood.
I’ve always felt weird about it. Growing up, my friends were always obsessed with girls, and while I appreciated them, I didn’t get the appeal of random hookups. I still don’t. What’s the point?
I rub at the throb in my chest. Since we’re athletes, they let us eat pretty much anything we want down there and don’t argue too much when we take more than we should. We’re supposed to stick to a strict diet that’s put together by the dietitians, but the dining hall doesn’t rat us out if we grab pastries sometimes.
Since Sundays are rest days and we can sleep in, I don’t see many people from the jock dorm and make it back to the room quickly. But in the hallway outside our room is a curly-haired blonde chick, staring at the door.
“Uh, can I help you?” I try not to sound like a dick, but she’s in my damn way, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same girl that was all over Brendon last night at the bar.
“Oh, hi.” Her smile is huge, but something about it makes me uneasy. I don’t trust it. “I’m Nikki.” She offers her hand, but since mine are full, I just raise an eyebrow at her. She laughs, and it grates on every one of my nerves. “Oh, silly me. I can get the door for you.”
The last thing I want is for her to touch my door.
“That’s all right, I got it.” I move between her and my room. “My roommate is still sleeping.”
“Oh, okay. I was wondering why Brendon wasn’t responding to my texts.” She shrugs like it isn’t the creepiest sentence I’ve ever heard. “I guess I’ll just wait a while longer.”
With another smile and a wave, she walks away, and I find myself watching her go. What the fuck was that? Once she’s out of sight, I shake my head. Puck bunnies are crazy.
When I open the door and find Brendon’s bed empty, I stop short and look around. The bathroom door swings open, and he steps out wearing jeans and a hoodie.
Disappointment and unease tense my stomach, and I busy myself with closing the door, then shove his food into his chest.
“Oh,” Brendon grunts at the impact and takes the bag. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I mutter and sit on my bed to eat my eggs. Brendon sits on his bed and opens the oatmeal with berries on top, stirring it around with his spoon but not actually eating it.
“I thought you went down without me,” he says quietly, looking at his bowl.
I glance over at him, and the uncertainty of our situation turns my stomach.
“I’m sorry, I . . .” I don’t know what to say to make this better. Do I admit that I’ve wanted to touch him for too damn long? Is it better to pretend it didn’t happen? I don’t know what to do, and it’s eating at me. Will he pull away now and find someone else to comfort him when he needs it? It was a kiss. I can’t lose him as my best friend over a fucking kiss.
That would crush me. If he wants to pretend it didn’t happen, I would deal with it, but if he stops touching me altogether, I would die.
“What are you apologizing for?” Brendon’s forehead scrunches up like he’s confused but keeps his eyes on his bowl. He scoops up a bite of oatmeal and shoves it into his mouth, but he still won’t look at me.
