Page 65 of Home in Nevada

"Right there," he groans, the words like a mantra, repeated over and over, raw and pleading. "Don’t stop. There."

When he finally comes, it’s with a sharp, uncontrollable force, his body shuddering hard as I hold him steady. His muscles tense, then release all at once, his breaths coming fast and uneven as I keep him anchored through it.

I always swallow. It’s vulgar, I think, and maybe a little embarrassing to admit, but… I like it. This part of us is unfiltered, instinctive, and I don’t let myself overthink it. Being with Jamie is still new, still surprising in so many ways, but I focus on what feels right—what feels likeus.

"...Shit. I’m gonna be so late," Jamie mutters, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

"It’s your own damn fault. You literally asked for it," I tease, still turned on as hell. Honestly, I’m pissed Jamie even has a job. Fuck jobs. Fuck the economy. Fuck anything that takes him out of this bedroom—

Jamie throws me a mock-annoyed look, a grin tugging at his lips as he dashes into the bathroom to fix himself up.

"Jeff, shut up. You totally started this," he calls out.

"Yeah, and I finished it, too," I shoot back, smirking.

Jamie stifles a laugh as he emerges, patting himself down like he’s on autopilot, making sure he’s got everything. "Yeah, and now I’m late."

"Come on, that took, like, ten minutes. I bet you’ve never been late in your life," I say, leaning back on the bed with a smug grin.

Jamie pauses, staring at me. I know I’m right. He’s never late. Not once. Not ever. Straight A’s, perfect attendance, impeccable everything—it’s so him.

"You’ll have to wait until I get home," Jamie says, smoothly changing the subject as he straightens his tie.

"Oh, I will," I promise, grinning as he leans down to kiss me goodbye.

"See you tonight," he says, heading for the door.

"Later, Jamie."

Once he’s gone, I take a shower, the chill of the water finally cooling me off. Clean and relaxed, I settle back into bed with my game, but my mind keeps drifting. After a while, I decide to call Lucy. I haven’t talked to her in a while, and it’s about time. She thinks I’m taking time off in LA to clear my head—which is only a half-truth. I didn’t want her coming to Nevada... I needed to handle this on my own.

"Dude, you’re alive!" Lucy answers almost immediately. I put her on speaker and unpause my game.

"I am."

"I was starting to worry, to be honest."

"I’m fine," I say, then pause. "Actually… I’m kind of great. It’s a little scary."

"...Are you high?"

I laugh. "No… not on drugs, anyway."

"I never want to see you high again, Jeff. That was so weird. Do you remember that?"

I groan, smiling as she starts cracking up. Yeah, I remember.

Back in college, I’d tried smoking once with my friends. Hated it. While everyone else got giggly and fun, I ended up stuck in my own head, overthinking stuff I didn’t want to deal with.

"Oh my God, I think you stared at your hands for, like, an hour while the rest of us played cards," Lucy says, her laughter bubbling through the phone. "You didn’t say a single word all night."

"Fuck you, Lucy. And no, I’m not high."

"Where even are you?"

"I went to Nevada."

Silence. Then a small, disbelieving squeak: "...For real?" She knows what’s coming.

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