Page 32 of Our Secret to Keep

I want to cut my heart from my chest, hand it to Nate, and say,It’s yours. Take it!Instead, I choke down the bile, try not to vomit, and search for my clothes.

This part could have been avoided if I had told him no. One word would make all the difference. Yet, whenever Nate asks me to fuck her, I say yes. Denying him means giving up the only thing I look forward to anymore. For these brief moments, he’s mine. The stolen glances, the tiny smiles on his lips as he comes.

I pretend all of it is for me.

Years of torturing myself have led us to this point in our friendship. If I let myself fuck a man who wants me, everything could go back to normal. But I won’t. Not if I can have Nate for a few minutes. I’m a masochist and take whatever scraps he throws at me.

Nate leans over the side of his bed. “Riv, where are you going? We’re not done with her.”

I slip into black boxer briefs and push the Yankees hat onto my head, covering my sweaty hair. “I am.”

“What the fuck?”

Nate almost sounds sad, but I know he needs me to stay because it makes him feel safe after all the trauma he endured. But he already came and doesn’t need me anymore.

“Where are you going?”

No idea.

I yank a pair of gray joggers up my thighs and toss a shirt and hoodie over my shoulder, carrying my sneakers.

“Don’t go,” Samantha says, batting her eyelashes at me. “Stay and play with us.”

I leave Nate’s bedroom without answering them, slamming the door behind me.

CHAPTER11

NATE

River is not fucking leavingme. Not again. He does this shit all the time, and I’m sick of it. We’ll be balls deep in Samantha, and then he races out the door the second he comes.

Not tonight.

Fuck him.

He walks out of my bedroom, a shirt and hoodie slung over his shoulder, holding his sneakers by the laces. A strange look furrows his brows.

Anger?

Sadness?

Regret?

I can’t tell because he slams my door.

Haven’t I done enough for him? Fuck, I kept his damn secret. I even make him those hockey videos of me jerking off in my gear. How many gay men can say their straight friend makes them porn?

I mean, come on.

Furious, I slide off the mattress, ignoring Samantha’s pleas to return to bed and step into the hallway. River’s halfway down the stairs, so I barrel down the stairs after him.

In the living room, the lights are off.

Three of our teammates are hooking up with girls on the sectional couch. A porno plays on the TV. On the screen, an ugly dude is banging a hot blonde chick with big tits. Pretty vanilla. Not the freaky sex River and I prefer.

“Riv, wait up.”

“No,” he says, stepping into a pair of sneakers. “Just go back to Samantha. I don’t feel like talking.”

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