Page 30 of Finding Delaware

A blizzard rages outside the cafeteria windows, so thick it obscures the entire football field in the distance. Thick flakes swirl into a heavy maelstrom, practically blowing sideways from the wind—perfectly matching my sour mood. Snow means no motocross, and no motocross means pissy Taylor. Not that I’d been able to ride since October. Still, saying goodbye to my two-stroke this morning as I covered it in the garage had felt like a funeral.

A deep, rolling laugh pulls me from my wallowing, and I turn to glare across the cafeteria at the source of the laughter. He’s been eating lunch here more often now that I’ve stopped messing with him. At first, I liked it. The opportunity to observe him from a distance was too good to pass up, but lately, the sight of him has been grinding my gears. The impulse togo over there and say some shit or do something to piss him off is intense.

Old habits die hard.

Huck laughs again, grinning at something Logan says next to him, and I feel my scowl deepen. He snorted at me this morning when I put my bike away, which was the only reaction he’d given me in weeks. Logan shoves Huck playfully on the shoulder, and I feel like I’m going crazy because I want to take his arm off for touching my stepbrother.

“What did he do this time?” Christian snickers, following my gaze over to where Huck is sitting.

I give him a blank stare. “Nothing.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about ready to kill him, bruh,” he laughs, digging into his lunch, and I force myself to look away from Huck before I do something I can’t take back. Again.

“You’d look like this too if you’d been grounded for two months.”

Xed sits next to Christian at the table, followed by Matty, who plops beside me. “Aaron still hasn’t let you off the hook?”

Shaking my head, I push my food around on my tray. Nope, the Good Bishop is sticking to his guns about this whole grounding thing. It’s been a dull few months, that’s for sure. Mainly because I’ve been trying to do like Huck asked and stay away from him, but it’s been so fucking hard. Especially after I got a taste of him.

I’ve tried to bury the memory of that disaster of a night at the track, but it won’t give me peace. It just runs on a loop in my head, the feel of Huck against me and the shit I could have said differently. Logically, I get why he didn’t understand. Hedoesn’t know the whole story, after all. But there’s a toxic side of me that’s screaminghow fucking dare you walk away when I opened up to you, motherfucker.

To him, it’s just a bike. An object or something fun to pass the time with, but to me? That bike is everything. Not only is it my ticket to freedom but a reprieve from the shit my father slings at me.

I wince, rubbing my aching collarbone as I think about what he did to me on Thanksgiving a week ago. Maisie had forced me to spend it with him since I hadn’t seen him in a while. She played it off like a good parent, but I know it’s because she didn’t want me ruining her perfect family holiday. Thank fuck football season is over, so I don’t have to undress in front of the guys—I can’t blame the injuries on Huck anymore.

“Earth to Taylor, helloooo?” Xed waves a hand in front of my face, his green-tinted Mohawk catching in the light, and I blink as I realize there’s a heavy body leaning into my side, nearly pushing me over.

“Seriously, Matthew?” Shoving him off of me, I grimace when the movement causes my rotator cuff to twinge. “You have no semblance of personal space, my guy.”

Matty laughs, righting himself before overcorrecting and shoulder-checking the person beside him. “Sorry, my bad.”

“It’s not his fault.” Xed switches the orange juice on his tray for Matt’s energy drink. “I’m convinced he body-swapped with a golden retriever at birth, and the poor thing doesn’t know what to do with all that muscle.”

That’s likely the truth. Matt’s the biggest, clumsiest person out of all of us, constantly tripping over his own two feet.Luckily, that doesn’t carry over onto the field. It’s like his body knows how to defend a ball because he’s a beast when it comes to the defensive line. A small chuckle leaves my throat at the thought. He’s definitely a dog trapped in a human body.

“You missed the Symbiotic show on Friday,” Christian says around his food, and I groan as I cover my face with my hands, irritated at missing one of my favorite bands playing live.

“I fuckin’ know, man. This grounding thing is killing me.”

“Mytiois taking me snowmobiling New Year’s weekend. Maybe you can ask to be let off early for good behavior?”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll try.”

God, I fucking hope so. I’ve been a good boy. Real good. And I need something to take my mind off the current subject of my obsession, sitting ten feet away, smiling at his best friend like he has no care in the world.

My eyes drift back over to him reluctantly. He looks good. Got a haircut, so the curls are shorter on the sides and longer on top, falling over his forehead. My fingers twitch against my fork, remembering how soft his hair felt when I ran them through it. His teeth on my bottom lip, stiff muscles pressed against my own, and then the confusing way my cock hardened when he had my throat in a death grip—

No.

No, no, no.

No.

I willnotpop a boner in the middle of the lunchroom. Absolutely not.

Mentally, I shove those thoughts inside the box that’s beginning to overflow in my mind and bury it again for later.Because I’lldefinitelybe thinking about that again later, in my room. With my hand down my pants.

Fuck, I need to get laid.

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