Page 90 of Devilry

He laughs, enjoying my disbelief. “It was a traumatic experience either way. We all try to do our best not to talk about it.”

“So, he’s not in to Callie?”

An exhausted sigh leaves his mouth, and I can tell he’s invested in his friends. “I genuinely don’t know. They sleep together, or have slept together, they’re both down for threesomes, and they’ve been best friends forever. On paper it should work.”

“Interesting.” I continue to hang up clothes, while I mull over the details he’s sharing about his friends. It’s typical college stuff. The sleeping around, the experimenting. It’s usually up to the person to have a little bit of self-control. “Where do you think Aiden went?”

“I have no idea. The sky’s the limit for Aiden; I think he’ll try anything or do anything rather than face whatever demons he’s running from.”

“You think there’s more to it?”

“Definitely. I know what it’s like to need to hide something, but he’s even cagier than I am.”

Wanting nothing more than to be on that bed with him, I jut my chin out to him. “Keep reading.”

“You’re the one that keeps distracting me.” He lowers his chin to his chest and runs his finger across the pages. “I borrowed this book from the library today; it’s better than any of the research I’ve found online.”

“You can find some real treasures in the library, if you look carefully.”

“That’s how you used to research at college, right?” I look at him in confusion. “I mean, were there even computers back then?”

Understanding dawns on me and I drop my clothes to the ground before lunging at him on the bed. “You fucking little shit, I’m not that old.”

He tries to duck away from me. “Just answer the question and I’ll determine how old you really are.” Tugging the book out of his hands, I rest it beside him and climb up over him.

With my forearms resting on the side of his head, and my groin hovering awfully close to his, I ask, “Do you think about it often?”

“Think about what?”

“How old I am.”

He runs his fingers up and down my beard. “Never.”

Always saying the right thing, I capture his mouth and sink all my weight onto him. I grind my thickening length into his, loving that it takes him no time at all to get worked up. I’m just about to stick my hands down his pants when he pushes at my shoulder.

“Cole,” he says wearily.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t make fun of me for this, but I can’t fool around with all this stuff around me.”

A few awkward seconds pass by and I wait, expecting him to say he’s joking, but it never comes. “Holy shit you’re serious.”

He nods vehemently.

“Now I’m just wondering what your dorm room looks like.”

“A lot tidier than this.”

“Point taken.” I kiss him quickly. “You probably need to finish whatever it is you’re doing anyway.”

A wide, content, and satisfied smile spreads across his face. When we’re at King, the annoyance of seeing him and not being able to touch him means I want to do it that much more. Some days I sit in my office and imagine all the ways I could sneak around and accidentally bump into him.

It's embarrassing how much of me it consumes, but having him here in my space? The freedom to touch, the freedom to talk? It keeps me calm, it keeps me sane, it makes me realize that it isn't some twisted infatuation I've glorified in my mind.

But if I have to endure times of discomfort for a night like this, then I'll do it. Without hesitation, I will do it.

Impatiently, I try to get through the shit I own. It’s the first time I’ve ever agreed with anyone who’s given me shit for how much stuff I have.

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