Page 32 of Dear Mr. Brody

“Of course. Again, I’m not an idiot.”

Marcos had been there for me when I’d been left for dead, when I’d healed, when I’d thought fear was all I’d ever know. It’s what he did. He showed up when I needed him to, and I had no doubt he’d do it again. But more than anything, I needed him to trust me.

The waitress, already knowing our order from earlier, dropped off two more beers. Grateful for the interruption, I gave her a smile and she blushed. “If y’all need anything else let me know,” she said. “I’ll be around.”

She walked off and I watched as she swayed her hips, her ass practically hanging out of her short shorts. “Nope… still does nothing for me.”

Marcos laughed a little and it broke the tension. I stared at my best friend, my chest about five times lighter than it was two minutes ago. “James is intoThe Lost Boys.”

“Yeah?” He let out a resigned breath, a silent white flag of surrender. “That’s like your soulmate shit, right?”

“Pretty fucking close.”

Marcos glanced toward the back room. “You want to dance?”

“Sure,” I said, even though it was the last thing I felt like doing. “Let’s finish these beers and find Alex and Davis. They’re probably the only gays on the dance floor.”

“I’m never coming here again.” He cringed and the look on his face made me smile.

He was so over the top. But it was exactly how I liked him.

“You said that when we came here last Saturday.”

“I mean it this time,” he said. “This place is a dump.”

“I told you it wasn’t worth dressing up for… It never is.”

“Whatever… hurry up. The quicker you finish your beer, the faster we’ll get on the dance floor, and hopefully get the hell out of here before I start finding frat boys attractive.”

“Aren’t they, though?”

He tilted his head, checking out a decent-looking jock over by the pool table. Who like me, was dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt.

“Only when they’re naked.”

Donovan

I rolled onto my right side, staring at nothing in particular. The pale blue light from the clock on my nightstand was the only light in the room. I punched my pillow a few times, trying to get comfortable, and kicked off the covers, only to pull them back up again when the slight chill of the room pricked at my skin, causing the hair on the back of my neck and arms to rise. The bed was too soft and too firm at the same time. I moved to the left side of the mattress, but it didn’t help the restlessness taking root inside my limbs. Scooting back to the right side, I squeezed my eyes shut. I counted to one hundred, then counted backward, my traitorous brain fighting against my efforts. I opened my eyes, and unsuccessfully, tried not to check the time again. It was a little after one in the morning, and clearly my brain did not give a shit that I had to get up early and be a parent. Instead, it had reverted to my horny teenage years. I couldn’t stop thinking about thehomeworkMichael had given me. After I’d put Anne to bed for the night and graded a few papers, I’d done a quick internet search for the term frotting like he’d suggested. I hadn’t dared to look at the video that had popped up, but the definition alone had made me hard, had burned into my synapses, and for the rest of the night it was all I’d been able to think about. Images I’d conjured up on my own hadn’t been enough to sate my curiosity. Swearing quietly, I fell onto my back and fixed my eyes on the ceiling.

I’d been in this uncomfortable state of arousal for hours, and debated texting Michael liked he’d said I could, but what the fuck would I say? “Wow, that looks like fun, maybe we should get together and jack each other off sometime?”I wasn’t that sleazy or desperate, and not to mention, I didn’t think we were at the meeting-in-person stage yet, no matter how impulsive I wanted to be. I sat up and threw the covers to the side feeling overheated, my phone staring back at me from the nightstand.

“Christ,” I grumbled as I got out of bed and trudged off to the bathroom.

I hadn’t bothered to turn on the light, and after I’d splashed cold water on my face, I examined my reflection in the mirror. My hair was damp from where I’d slicked it back with wet hands, and the lack of light muted my features. Standing in only a pair of dark blue boxer briefs, I almost didn’t recognize myself. My eyes were too vivid, too awake. I exhaled and rested my hands on the counter, lowering my head, I took a deep breath. After a minute, I gave up the struggle to control my racing thoughts and walked into the bedroom. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and even though Anne was all the way on the other side of the house, sound asleep, I locked my door.

Once I was in bed, sitting up against my pillows, I opened up my previous search. It wasn’t a big deal, guys watched porn all the time. At least that’s what I told myself as I clicked on one of the videos. The volume was low, but I could hear the deep, masculine moans of the men on my screen. My hand trailed down my chest and over the lightly etched ridges of my stomach muscles, my breath catching in my throat as I palmed my growing erection over the cotton of my underwear. Feeling guilty, I quickly glanced at my bedroom door, double-checking it was locked.

God, was this pathetic?

My head fell back, and I knocked it against the headboard.

Yes… One-hundred percent pathetic.

My eyes dropped to the screen, and I paused the video. Exhaling a frustrated breath, I reached over to set my phone on the nightstand, and it vibrated in my hand. It was almost one-thirty, and in my current state I didn’t think it was smart to reply, but his name popping up on my screen was the first bit of relief I’d had all night.

@TheL0stB0y:Did you do your homework?

@MeAndMyShadow33:I did.

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