Page 96 of Beautifully Conflicted

“I’m not, I just don’t want them seeing you like I get to see you.”

Damien saunters back toward the bed. “You want me to put my clothes from yesterday back on?”

“If you want.” I lift an indifferent shoulder. “Or you could wear something of mine.”

“That’s a very possessive offer.” His smile gets even bigger as he looms over me.

“No, it’s not. It’s practical,” I insist. “We’re about the same size, if you don’t want to wear dirty clothes, then you can borrow something of mine.”

“Okay, Lucy.” He leans down to give me a quick peck on the lips. “You can dress me.”

“That’s not—” I realize it’s pointless to argue, so I shove out of bed and go to the dresser, yanking open a drawer and handing him a pair of sweats. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“You know—” Damien smiles coyly “—these boxers are the dirtiest thing I’ve got on. Maybe that’s what I should be changing.”

Fuck, the idea of Damien wearing my skivvies is kind of hot.

I open the drawer and tilt my head toward the contents. “Take your pick.”

Damien makes a show of taking off his boxers, wiggling his ass to get them off his hips and sliding them slowly over his thick thighs. And even though his long cock is soft, I still get a little thrill looking at it. Particularly, how it seems to fill a little under my gaze. Then he pulls the clean underwear,my underwear, up his legs, covering it before it can harden completely.

That’s probably a good thing since I’m not sure my own is capable of filling after the multiple rounds we went last night. Which, now that I think about it, I’m sure I’ll get an earful for once we show our faces downstairs.

Pulling my own underwear on, under Damien’s hooded gaze no less, I have to admit I’m not looking forward to the ribbing we’re about to get… At least no one had to tell me to keep it in my pants because we were getting frisky in front of them. I’ve given them enough shit about that these past few months, I’m sure they’re all dying to return the favor.

Everyone except Aiden, who I’ve never had to admonish.

I really wish he had been here to play that stupid game last night. I know he’s hurting a little because of my secrecy, but I really hope he’s not avoiding me for it.

Once I’ve got Damien sufficiently covered, shirt and all, we head downstairs. Predictably, Cam is making morning protein shakes forhim and Jagger, but he turns when he hears us enter and smirks, “Sounded like you two had a good night.”

“Good enough that we couldn’t hear you,” I retort as Cam and Damien exchange a look, most likely because neither expected me to admit that without a lot of prodding, but I figure there’s no use pretending otherwise.

“You making shakes for all of us?” I ask Cam.

“If you want, sure.” He adds more powder and milk to the blender while I get out the eggs to scramble up some breakfast. With seven of us that takes up both cartons we have in the house, and knowing we’ll still be hungry, I have Damien make a bunch of toast.

Cam and I are usually the first ones up, so we’ve kind of got a rhythm in the kitchen first thing in the morning. A rhythm Damien fits into seamlessly, plating and buttering the toast so it’s ready for eggs. It’s a little thing—silly really—but I like that it feels natural to have him here.

Right as we’re done cooking, everyone but Aiden makes their way to the kitchen. I wonder again if that’s deliberate or if he’s still asleep after having to listen to the ruckus we all made last night and make a mental note to split time between this place and Damien’s so Aiden isn’t forced to deal with too many couples.

Couples.

I still can’t believe that’s what Damien and I are, even secretly. It makes me a little nervous in the sense that I still believe the more people who know about this the greater the likelihood it comes out, and I’m not interested in having anyone outside this house privy to mythingwith Damien. But in the privacy of this place, I’m cool with being a couple. Cam and Jagger hop into a seat at the kitchen counter to eat while Cruz, Liam, Damien and I take up residence at the table.

For the most part, there isn’t much talking since we’re all shoveling food in our mouths, but Cruz—who also struggled a bit with whether to come out because of his NFL dreams—breaks the silence. “Why is this thing with you guys secret?” he asks.

“I’m thinking about my career,” I tell him.

“Wait,” he says, “you live with three teammates who are out, two of us who plan to go to the NFL, andyou’rethe one who wants to stay in the closet?”

“Yep.” I take a bite of my toast.

“Haven’t we proved it’s acceptable?” Cruz points at Jagger, Cam and himself.

“In college, sure,” I agree.

“Aren’t you planning to go pro?” Jagger asks Damien.

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