Page 35 of Antidote

Jacking my length faster, I moan loudly, slapping the wall as I come all over it. My hips stutter, and I open my mouth on a gasp, my chest heaving with my pants. The sight of my cum running down the wall brings a smile to my face, and I go about my business and finish taking a shower. Leaving it there for him to find. And I know he just got home all sweaty and nasty, so he’s going to shower really soon.

After I’m dry and have a towel wrapped low on my hips, I open the door. Just to find Hunter leaning against it and almost falling into the bathroom with me. I smirk and look down at his body, disappointed that he’s not naked. But he’s hard. I can see that either way.

“Do you need my help with something?” I grin, then suck my lip ring into my mouth. His eyes fixate on it, then snap back to my eyes. I’m looking right at his dick, which keeps growing in his running shorts. The way his thumb twists the ring on his right hand is distracting too, and I force myself to look away. I can’t believe he’s still wearing our ring—even though he swears he hates me.

We’ll find our way back to each other.

“You need to learn to keep quiet.” Hunter scoffs, and I laugh.

“Seriously?” I laugh again, throwing my head back. When I meet his eyes again, they flare with heat and anger. “How about you keep your bitch quiet then? The walls are thin.”

Hunter steps closer to me, his nose pressed against my hair and his lips against my ear. “You’re just jealous that she’s better in bed.”

I laugh, “Bet I could still make you come faster than she can.”

“Shut the fuck up, Oliver.” My nostrils flare at the way he says my name—I fucking hate it. Why isn’t he calling me Ollie? Or Blue? Anything other than that. Even calling me an asshole would do. I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy the way his breath hitches as his lips make contact with my skin again. “Stay out of my way.”

And then he pushes past me, shoulder-checking his way into the bathroom, and slams the door. I wince as it catches on my foot slightly, but then walk back to my room with a smile on my face.

He still wants me.

With that thought, I get ready for the day, putting on black ripped jeans, a black Vans t-shirt, and my Chucks. I style my hair the same way I always do, a little over my face, and call it a day. Then I grab my backpack and leave, not waiting for him to get out of the shower. I don’t care to see his reaction when he sees my cum on the wall. He’s going to learn not to fuck with me, or I’ll fuck with him back.

An hour later, I’m sitting in my Life Drawing class with my sketchbook on my desk. I should be taking notes, but instead, I’m drawing him. Because, of course, I am. Lately, that’s all I do. But it’s as if I can’t stop myself. Always seeking out even a semblance of the feelings he used to harbor for me. Ones I know still linger. He just won’t give in.

The arm of the guy sitting next to me brushes against mine, and then I realize it’s because he’s leaning over and watching me. I’ve completely tuned out the professor, which is a horrible thing to do considering he’s going over the syllabus, but damn it, I just want to lock myself in a studio and not come out for hours. I’m going to school because I need to, but if it were up to me, I’d be selling my art. Instead, I’m going to school to study painting and art. Because if I’m unlucky—which I tend to be—I’ll end up teaching high schoolers how to mix colors properly. Yep, I’ll be living the life.

“Who’s that?” the guy next to me asks in a whisper. He looks pretty.”

I glance over at him and do a double-take. Damn, he’s beautiful, and as my eyes roam down his body, I notice he’s built like a damn quarterback too. Is he a jock? I clear my throat, “No one.” But it still comes out as a squeak. “I made him up.”

“Well, damn, you’re good.” I gaze into his eyes and he smiles. “James—but you can call me Jamie.”

“Ollie.” I grin. “Oliver.”

“Is my gaydar off?” he asks me softly, and I chuckle.

“Not even a little.” I grin, and since I’m lonely and in need of a friend, I ask, “Wanna go to the studio with me after?”

“After class?”

I nod, and his brown eyes widen slightly. “If you want.”

With a soft smile, he answers, “Sure.”

We spend the rest of the class in silence, me tuning out the teacher, and Jamie looking at what I’m drawing. And, of course, it’s Hunter’s eyes, nose, and lips. I can’t get him out of my damn head. At this point, I don’t know if I want to. It’s pure torture, although I’d take this any day over not knowing anything about him like the last few months.

I’d take any scraps of him I can get.

It’s no secret that the ice is my happy place. I’ve been skating since I was three years old and playing hockey since I was six. But ever since Oliver came back into my life, even the place I’ve deemed sacred has been tainted. Nowhere is safe from him. It’s not that he’s here and making me feel uncomfortable. No—he’s just in my stupid mind all the damn time. And I can’t seem to get him out. That’s not normal, considering this is where I come when I want to drown out the noise. Instead, the noise is drowning me now.

Three days have come and gone since I’ve talked to him—too long, in my opinion. I’ve seen him in passing, usually in the evenings when he gets home with dried paint up to his elbows and a soft smile on his face. He seems happy, and that’s making me itch all over. He doesn’t get to be fucking happy while our mom is six feet under. I don’t want him to have that stupid smile on his face.

Don’t even get me started on the stunt he pulled the other morning, walking around with his big dick out like the place belongs to him. Even Malia gave me an earful about how well endowed he is, even more than me. That doesn’t bother me—what bothered me was hearing him jack off in the bathroom. The fact that I became one with the bathroom door is what pisses me off. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even fucking breathe. In fact, I did hold my breath, just so I could hear him better. And then he finished, and I—well, it didn’t last long enough. Fucking hell, I wanted more. And I hate myself for that. The cum on the shower wall only reminded me of how fucked up I was for wanting more.

Tonight will be different, though.

I’m throwing a party at the apartment. Something low-key, considering the place is small, but people will still show up because I’m the hockey captain. It doesn’t even matter that the hockey house has more space. This was my middle ground with the boys—to throw parties here occasionally, and in exchange, they’d leave me alone and not hassle me about moving back in. I don’t want to live at the hockey house. It’s party central. Honestly, the thought of being pressured to interact with people right now makes me want to throw up. That’s why Dad decided to rent me an apartment off campus this year, so I could have time to grieve on my own terms. Without having to pretend everything is fine—or having to force myself out of bed every day when I’m not ready to.

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