Page 19 of Felix

“Yeah, um… Sounds fine,” I manage to say.

Sounds like a goddamn wet dream.

Jerome gives me a short nod. “All right, then. You’re scheduled for Tuesday. Get on out of here.”

“Yep.”

Standing, I take my leave. The halls are strangely quiet as I walk, apart from the sound of a machine in the gym clanking. So quiet I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Christian is going to fuck me. Or do something with me. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. He’s going to touch me live in front of who knows how many people. They’re going to see it in real time. Comment in real time.

Slinking inside one of the private rooms, I let out a breath. “Fuck,” I mutter, leaning against the door and squeezing my eyes shut. My hand slips down my stomach without conscious thought, curling over my cock through the material of my jeans. I’m shaking, so horny I’m nearly lightheaded. It’d be so easy to slide my hand inside my pants and rub one out. It wouldn’t even take long. Half a minute maybe; I’m that keyed up.

But I don’t.

I uncurl my hand, drop it to my side, and breathe long and low as I let all that burning need turn to a simmer. My therapist would be so proud that I’m choosing to practice self-control.

Once my body is in check, I head back into the hall.

“Hey, boo.”

“Holy fucking—” I grab my chest, pulse thundering. “Jesus, I didn’t see you.”

Alex snorts. “Clearly. Soo, what were you doing hiding out in one of the private rooms?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” I shoot back, even though it’s a lie. I was.

Alex cocks his head. “I was kidding, but you’re being awfully suspicious, Kent. World-saving stuff again?”

I huff a laugh, my pulse starting to come down. “Yep.”

“All right, keep your secrets. For now.”

That’s not ominous.

“How are classes going?” he asks.

Alex graduated recently with a degree in art. He’s one of the only people in my life—apart from Christian—who asks about my coursework. Of course, thinking about that makes me realize, all over again, that Christian is my C. I’m still not over the fact that the maybe-octogenarian peeking through my window turned out to be a smoking-hot guy in his twenties with a belly button piercing and legs as long as a giraffe’s.

And fuck. Don’t think about that. Not about his legs. Not about the belly chain. Not about his mesmerizing eyes or the pitch-black hair that’s long enough to grab ahold of.

“Good,” I say loudly. “Classes are good. I’m, uh, doing some research this semester. Did I tell you that?”

“No, you most certainly did not. What kind?” Alex asks, giving my arm a little tug. I walk with him to the break room.

“It’s a clinical psych study on the effectiveness of cognitive training for memory retention in dementia patients.”

Alex’s eyebrows pop up. “I’ll pretend like I understood half of that. Why dementia?”

“I didn’t pick the topic,” I explain as Alex grabs a snack. He holds up a granola bar, silently asking if I want one, but I shake my head.

“What topic would you pick?” he asks, sprawling onto a nearby couch like a cat.

“All of them?” I answer with a laugh.

The thud of the door banging into the wall has me jumping.

“I did not,” Dixon says, coming into the room in a huff.

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