Page 33 of Choke Up

Gabe's eyes meet mine, brows furrowed. Fuck, I shouldn't do this. I'm just going to put myself in a more awkward position, but I can't stand to see him look so defeated. The lies between us are nothing, because I'd do anything for him.

"I could help you study? We have some of the same classes, and the rest I could use an answer sheet to quiz you with."

"I'm sure you have enough going on?—"

"I really don't," I tell him, honestly. Considering he's the one I've been distracting myself with, and that is going to come to an end eventually, there's nothing else filling my time outside of my regular class and studio schedule.

"What about this guy you're seeing?" He asks in a low, strained voice.

I look away from him, afraid he'll see through me. Is this my chance? Do I tell him, or will that stress him out more? It's not as if I haven't been searching for a way out of telling him I know. Every time I think I'm ready to tell him, I convince myself he'll put an end to all of it, that he'll turn away from me or run away from the situation entirely. It's one reason I can’t stay here. Because being in the same space after everything falls apart will be excruciating. But the longer I can put it off, the longer I can pretend, the longer I can have him in all the ways I've dreamed about. Although, in my dreams, he looked me in the eyes when he told me he wanted me. But I'll take what I can get. For a little while longer, anyway.

"It's not serious," I say, gauging his reaction through my peripherals as I push around Gabe's books and papers to look at what he's studying. "He'll understand."

I give Gabe a tight-lipped smile, heart clenching at the sad expression in his eyes. "Don't worry," I tell him. "We'll get these grades up, no problem. It'll probably take time away from your girlfriend, too, though."

"It's not serious," Gabe mutters.

CHAPTER 12

GABE

"Eighty-seven percent!"

Ellis' voice is encouraging, but I feel deflated. I need to ace my Applied Mathematics final to get a high enough grade to keep my scholarship. Despite spending weeks busting my ass, and Ellis' help, I haven't done well enough on all my assignments and tests to pull my grade up high enough, and now everything depends on the final. I have to get at least a ninety-four on the final exam in order to keep the required B average, and there's only a week and a half left to study.

Ellis nudges my thigh with his toes, and I shift the book in my lap to cover my growing erection. I've been at half-mast for over an hour, since we settled on his bed to study while we wait for Thanksgiving dinner to be ready. Him touching me with any part of his body is too much for me to handle. Reflexively, I reach out and grab his foot before he can pull it back. I hold it threateningly, knowing how much Ellis despises having his feet tickled. When we were younger, he'd piss himself if he was tickled too much, and his feet are incredibly sensitive.

"Gabe," he says warningly, trying to pull his foot back. I hold on to it tightly, loving my name on his lips. I give him a threatening grin that makes him flush.

My cock jerks hard enough that the book moves, but I'm able to play it off well enough so he wouldn't guess what's happening below my belt. I want nothing more than to jerk his foot hard enough to pull him flat on the bed and do terrible, dirty things to him that would make his mother disown us both if she knew what was going on up here. Ellis swallows, and I realize I'm staring, probably with a very heated look in my eyes considering where my thoughts have gone. I run a finger lightly over the arch of his foot, smirking at the way he attempts to squirm away. He's not telling me to stop, which is interesting.

The tension between us in the past few weeks has been palpable. I find him watching me more than he did before, and he doesn’t always shy away when he sees that I’ve noticed. He’s starting to be a little less agitated in my presence, and we've relaxed into a sort of friendship—if friends imagine each other naked and send each other anonymous dirty texts at night. I pretend I don't know he wants me and tease him in ways that are obviously suggestive. And he takes his sexual frustrations out on his anonymous boyfriend, which also happens to be me. Which he still doesn't know.

I really thought he'd figured me out the night we met in the dugout. The way he looked at me when I came out of the bathroom after showering off the dirt, drool, and cum that I was covered in after our hookup—I was sure he knew. Hell, for a split second, I had zero doubts. After Elliot went to bed, I stared at the bathroom door, convincing myself to go in and talk to Ellis. But by the time he’d finished showering and dressing in his brother's sweatpants, I’d chickened out and hid behind my door while he tucked himself into the couch. I didn't sleep at all that night, too aware of his presence, too afraid that he knew. If he did, though, why wasn't he confronting me?

He'll hate me when he figures it out. I'm playing a cruel game, but I can't stop myself. I want so much more than what I can offer him in return. I want all of him.

Other than little nudges or a playful pinch here and there, this is the most I've touched him since the night in the dugout. Almost getting caught—again—scared me enough to pull back, even though I'm desperate for him. Evidenced by the now painfully hard erection I have from just holding his foot. I don't have a foot fetish. Far from it, I normally find feet disgusting. But there's nothing on him I don't find tantalizing. Case in point—assholes. If there's one part of a body, especially a man's body, that I would consider to be the most disgusting, I'd say it'd be an asshole. But Ellis' asshole? I suppress a shudder just thinking about it. His is sweet and perfect, and my mouth waters remembering bending him over the counter in the equipment room and tasting him. I've craved it ever since. Craved his?—

A throat clears. Elliot stands in the doorway, face and nose flushed from playing football with some of the family that's gathered downstairs.

"If he pisses on your homework, you're going to be sorry."

He quirks a grin when I turn to hold his brother's foot in the crook of my arm, ready for a struggle. Ellis lets out a piercing shriek as my fingers dance over the bottom of his foot and he starts thrashing.

"Goddamn it, Gabe! Get off!"

He twists himself so his stomach is on the bed, and I have to lean back against the back of his thighs and ass to hold his foot. The book goes flying off my lap in the tussle, but thankfully we're all distracted by their mom yelling up the stairs.

"Boys! Behave yourselves!"

I let go of his foot, bending forward to cover up my massive boner. The laughter is enough of a cover, and is genuine, because that shit was hilarious outside of potentially getting caught in my best friend's brother's bed with a hard-on. That part is awkward and kind of hurts.

"Get washed up for dinner," Mama Hope calls up the stairs. "And someone needs to help me set this table!"

"Yes, ma'am!" We all call back, and I yell that I'll be down in a moment to help her.

She thinks I'm 'such a good boy', but I try to help as much as possible when I'm here. She's practically a second mom to me. My mom is supposed to be joining us for dinner, but there's no telling if she'll actually turn up. I spent most of the day and night with her yesterday, but I've been with the Hopes all day today. Normally I'd sleep over, but I'm not sure if I will tonight. The temptation to rip the mask off is getting too strong. I need to get my shit together and end this before it gets worse, or before he figures it out.

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