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Chapter 2 Owen
A responsible, well-functioning adult would’ve gone straight home after work. They’d have dutifully gathered up their belongings, maybe stopping by the library — do people even go to libraries anymore? — or grabbing coffee on their way.
It was a damn good thing I wasn’t either of those things.
Then again, I didn’t exactly have a home to go to, either. I had a place to live, with a brother who might as well have been a stranger and a growing pile of bills I was happy to ignore.
See, the thing is, people get all poetic and say there’s a difference between a house and a home. They talk about how homes are these mythical places where everyone loves one another and it’s all rainbows and unicorn farts. And hell, it was a great place to grow up. Right in the middle of suburbia, where everyone drove mom cars and acted like we were starring in Leave it to Beaver in public.
It was more like Pleasantville, at least once we hit puberty.
Adrian had always gotten hit with the “no girls in your bedroom with the door closed” clause — which he had obeyed, just like he’d obeyed every other goddamn thing in his life like he was an automaton. Me? I’d just played it cool and roughhoused with the boy next door.
Yeah. I did a lot of “wrestling” the summer I discovered just how much I liked cock. It was a given with me; of course I liked mine. But others…
Maybe that was why I wasn’t being a good ol’ adult and heading straight home. I could only imagine the look of disappointment and disapproval on Adrian’s face if I waltzed into the house with the hot guy who’d given me his number that morning.
I called him anyway. He invited me over, and presto. Multiple problems solved all at once: I didn’t have to go to the place that had once been home, I didn’t have to pretend to do adulting things, and I didn’t have to see my brother’s haggard face that went from pity to annoyance in the blink of an eye.
Seriously, how fast he could switch gears was like a fucking superpower.
I knew he was struggling. Mom and Dad’s deaths had hit us both hard — but that was why I wasn’t going to the house. I didn’t want to try to comfort him or be reminded of them at every turn. This?
Two words: hot guy.
His apartment was so clean that I was afraid to walk on the rug, and he eyed me when I tried to take a step from the mat onto the floor. Message received. I took my shoes off and set them neatly on the rug.
Cade visibly relaxed.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Glad you could come,” he said.
I earned at least ten maturity points by not leering at him and telling him that I hadn’t come yet.
“Me too.” I closed the distance between us, half-expecting to fall on my ass in my sock-covered feet on his slippery floor.
He moved first, his hands already going to the button of my pants.
I wasn’t going to complain. It was either fuck Cade’s brains out or think about my dead parents and my too-perfect older brother. I did not have to be a rocket scientist to figure out which would be the better choice.
“Been wanting to kiss you since the first time you opened your mouth,” he breathed.
I’d been wanting to shove my cock into his mouth since the first time he’d opened his, but I’d learned early on that that wasn’t the sort of thing you said if you wanted to get laid. “Then shut up and kiss me.”
Amateur porn star, that was me.
Kisses led to touches; touches led to clothes being shed. I made it a point to leave a nice trail from the front door to his bedroom, like a better version of breadcrumbs in case I had to flee. Without shoes.
At least I wouldn’t be wearing heels.
By the time we got to his bed, I was wearing one sock, and he was on perfect display for me.
“You smell like fries,” Cade commented.
“I work in fast food,” I reminded him dryly.
I saw that look on his face, the one people always got — like I was somehow inferior because I flipped burgers and salted the fries. Those people had never stared down a line halfway out the door, facing screaming children and parents who had said they didn’t want onions, damn it, so why did they have them?
