Page 48 of Bad at Love

“I overheard your conversation on the phone yesterday, and you seemed really mad at them, so I just thought…” He shrugs.

If he heard my conversation, then he heard the exact type of person they expect me to bring, which isn’t someone like Storm. I can see why he would think I wanted to get back at them, though. That conversation wasn’t my proudest moment, but I was venting. When I’m stressed, I’m not the nicest person and prefer the only person to see those parts of me are myself. When that isn’t possible, Marta is an acceptable second. She doesn’t judge me, though she is a fixer and tries to fix my problems too often. Sometimes, I just need to let it out and know someone is listening. It would be even better if they agreed and made me feel better about my thoughts, but that’s probably a big ask.

“You know what they say about people who assume.”

“I do?” he asks.

“It makes anassout ofuandme.” The confusion on his face now is kind of cute, I won’t lie. “You know, because of the spelling of the word?” I add. His grin is slow, but then he’s laughing. “Anything else?” I say. He shakes his head. “Good night then.”

“Night,” he answers, and I go into my room and shut the door.

“I didn’t hate what happened, by the way!” he calls out, and I shake my head as I go to my bed and get under the covers. His words repeat in my head, over and over and over again.

“You’re doing so good.”

It’s annoying that his improper grammar is sexy.

“Just like that.”

“You’re going to come like a good little virgin boy.”

I don’t understand how words can have such an effect on me. His voice, the tone, the way he said them… they repeat in my head, and I can’t sleep. Though it isn’t the words keeping me up, it’s the ache between my legs because I’m hard as a rock and tempted to touch myself, but I don’t have any lubrication in here and I don’t want to chafe.

I think of the last words he said to me before he went to bed.

“I didn’t hate what happened...”

Does that mean he will do it again? Or did he only do it for the money? We didn’t record what happened earlier, meaning it wasn’t for money. But the agreement was that we did it for money. I have no issues with that. I need money and maybe I am feeling a little rebellious toward my parents. They were out of line on Sunday, and the more I think about it, the more I realize how out of line they are all the time. At first, I was angry over what happened, but as usual, felt they were right in what they were saying. After my panic attack and talking to and ranting to Marta a couple of times, I got some clarity. I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that if I want to be happy, then my parents won’t be. Neither of us has been happy with my life lately. So ifthey’re going to be miserable anyway, I may as well be happy, right?

Marta doesn’t talk badly about my family or my decision to keep ties with them, though she makes it known how she feels. She’s open about me taking care of myself and explaining that my family isn’t good for my mental health. I already knew this. But they’re family. Is that something you can just give up on? I was always told no; family is everything. But I’m thinking for myself for once in my life, and the more I do that, the more I realize they’re unreasonable. What I did with Storm wasn’t wrong… yet if they knew, they’d never talk to me again.

I hate the way I’m thinking about Storm on his knees in front of me. I’m annoyed by the way my hips thrust against the bed, the bit of friction I’m getting from it is enough to stave off the ache but also teasing me and sort of making it worse.

I need to come again. There is no doubt about it. It’s not that I never knew that was the case before, I just ignored it. Did what I could to make it go away, which most of the time wasn’t difficult because I didn’t know what I was missing. Now? There are too many things from earlier that won’t stop popping up in my head, making my need worse. The whole scene replays in my mind, and that alone is driving me insane.

I need more. I want more.

So I get out of bed and hope like hell that I’m not about to make a fool out of myself twice in one week.

Chapter Twenty

Storm

There is a soft knock on my door, startling me. I wasn’t sleeping, just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. It can only be one person on the other side, unless there’s a polite burglar in the neighborhood.

“Come in,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

It isn’t completely dark in here, the lamp on the bedside table gives off enough light to see by.

Gabe walks into my room, the tent in his pants the first thing I notice. Christ, this man is going to be the death of me.

I don’t know what it was about earlier, but it was easily the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I enjoy being watched, but something about watching him and coaching him through his first real masturbation session? That is going down in history as the top hottest moment of my life. I’ve jerked off twice in theshort amount of time from then till now, and I already feel my dick stirring again. This is dangerous.

He slips inside my room, closing the door behind him and putting his back against it as if he’s trying to keep other people out. But there’s no one here but us. I swallow hard, pushing myself up to sit.

“You okay?” I ask.

He shakes his head, damp dark curls bouncing. His glasses aren’t on, which is common enough. Sometimes, at night, he doesn’t wear them. I couldn’t begin to guess why he’s here or what’s wrong, so I ask.

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