Page 45 of Bad Boy
Linc has the sandwiches unwrapped, and we mix and match until we have three halves each. I need to relax, so I pour a rum and Coke for both of us and hand Lincoln his. He heads for the back porch, ready to enjoy our simple dinner and cold drinks.
Once he’s outside, I take a deep breath and set my plate on the coffee table for a second before I join him. I slip my phone from my hoodie pocket and glance down at the lock screen, needing to know.
Sweet relief floods my veins, melting the anxiety away.
It’s just Otto.
Shit, though. I guess I was a no-show on my first day, no less. And I haven’t even paid. This is not a good look, but what the fuck can I do now? I’m just relieved it’s not Unknown. And now that I know it’s not, I really don’t give a fuck to deal with this on my vacation. I don’t owe him an explanation; I don’t even fucking know the guy.
I toss my phone onto the couch without opening my texts or checking for a voicemail to see what he has to say.
I already texted Mom when we got here, and other than that, she knows that no news is good news when it comes to me. I pick up my plate and glass and take a big swig of my drink, enjoying the burn as the cheap rum slides down my throat and warms my belly. The sliding glass door is cracked open, and I make my way over there, joining my new friend.
Outside, he has a homemade quilt tucked around his legs, his plate of sandwiches perched atop his knees. He’s back in his Blue Ridge Prep Treasurer hoodie and looking cute as ever in his wire-framed glasses and chipmunk cheeks as he chews without worrying about who’s watching. I like it. I like it a lot.
Fuck anyone who makes him feel like he can’t be himself. Including his parents.
I take the other wicker chair, sinking into the soft red pillows. I set my drink down and dig into my food. Mom can’t cook worth shit, but she can at least make amazing sandwiches. And eggs. She makes bomb-ass eggs.
There’s a deep, low rumble in the distance, and the leaves rustle in the wind. “Sounds like a storm’s comin’ soon,” Linc comments in his sexy Southern drawl, and I hum my agreement.
I think we were messing around for longer than I realized. The moon is out now, bathing the trees in a luminous glow. The crickets continue to chirp, unconcerned with the advancing thunderstorm. It’s peaceful out here, away from civilization, away from everyone but the one boy who makes me so inexplicably happy.
We finish our food before I decide to ask him how he’s feeling about our specialarrangement. I need to make sure he’s still okay with it. And if he wants to go further.
Setting my plate down, I bend a knee and turn to face him. The forest-scented breeze filters into my senses, clearing some of the haze that’s started to form in my mind.
“Preppy.”
Lincoln turns slightly vacant eyes to me, “Hmm?” He was lost in his own thoughts, staring blankly into the distance, just like I was. And it has me wondering what he’s thinking about. What troubles are weighing down his mind right now? I really hope it’s not us and what we’ve been doing.
“You good?” I ask, realizing when he sets his empty glass down that the slightly vacant look is actually a slightly drunklook. His glassy, mismatched eyes are practically iridescent in the moonlight, reeling me in with their otherworldliness.
I made those drinks strong as fuck. And he’s probably not used to alcohol, either.Shit.I shoulda asked.
“I’m fine, Remi. I’m just full, relaxed, and comfortable.” He smiles shyly and pulls the quilt up to his neck, tucking his fists under his chin and slouching back in his seat. He gazes into the trees and the ravine below, just barely outlined by the silver moonlight.
A laugh escapes my lips at his candor. He’s safe here with me, but that innocence wouldn’t serve him well where I came from. Or in the real world. And it’s a little concerning. I wonder if he’d be open to training at the boxing gym with me? Even a couple days a week would help.
With an unknown threat lurking out there, I don’t like having anyone I care about vulnerable. And I definitely care about Lincoln. If I’m being honest with myself, the only reason I haven’t asked him to be anything more than friends with benefits is that I don’t want to scare him off. He’s never even come out to anyone except me. And that wasn’t even a week ago. He’s obviously horny as fuck and more than ready to mess around, but I’m not so sure he’s ready for me to publicly claim him. . . Well, at least in a romantic way. Because I have definitely already publicly claimed him as my friend. I grin at the thought and chug the rest of my rum and Coke.
I grab his glass and slip into the cabin. He doesn’t even notice. Lost to his own thoughts and the alcohol.
Five minutes later, I return with two more drinks and my stash box tucked into my front hoodie pocket.
“Yo, Preppy. You awake?” I ask, sliding the glass door shut behind me and taking my seat.
“Mhm. I’m good.” He smiles at me and nudges his glasses up with a quilted hand.
“You wanna smoke with me? Don’t feel like you have to.” I never want him to feel pressured with anything.
“Um. I never have, but I guess I’m all about tryin’ new things with you, Remi.” His eyes sparkle, and I lean across the table, silently asking him to meet me halfway. He sits up and leans forward until our lips touch.
I press mine more firmly against his, licking at the seam of his mouth, demanding entrance. He opens for me, and we tangle our tongues together until I pull away, both of us out of breath.
I smirk at him. “I like trying new things with you, too, Preppy. Now let me show you how we roll blunts back in Detroit.”
His tinkling laughter makes my abs tighten and my dick start to fill. But we can’t just fuck around like bunnies out here, so I take another swig of my drink and roll the best blunt of my life. Before I light up and we both get too fucked to talk, I make sure to cover some of the things on my mind first.
