Page 40 of Golden

“Erm, I’m from out of town,” I half lie. “Just visiting for winter break.”

Bartender’s easy smile stays on his mouth but fades from his eyes. “No worries. I wasn’t going to ask you for your number or anything. See you round.”

He pulls open the door and slips back inside, the music temporarily loud enough to make me cringe. That was a complete failure. Not only do I not feel better, I’m not even one iota closer to getting Sol out of my system.

I push off the wall, a little more drunk than I should be, and pull my phone from my back pocket. Clicking through to my messages, I find our thread, the last message from weeks ago, asking him to let me know how things went with the proposal.

Me:I can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look on your knees for me.

I stare at the words as though I’m not sure how they got there. He doesn’t read the message, and a glance at the time in the top right of my screen tells me he’s probably asleep. A laugh erupts from my chest. He’s going to have a heart attack waking up to that text. My thumb hovers, ready to delete it, but then he’ll know I deleted something, so I leave it.Fuck it.

A shiver runs over my body as an icy breeze whips through the ally and I heave open the fire escape, eager to get back into the sweltering warmth of the club. Shawna and Toby think I should be chasing Sol, so fine.

Let the games begin.

SOL

I’m shivering uncontrollably as I step into my room. It was Jacey’s idea to have a late-night family snowball fight. When it started snowing at eleven, as our parents were getting ready to go to bed, she convinced us all to wait until it settled. We all have an incurable weakness when it comes to Jacey.

Mom made us all hot cocoa when we finally trudged in an hour later, but I’m still chilled to the fucking bones. Peeling off my damp clothes and throwing them in the hamper, I head straight to the shower, gasping as the hot water sears my iced skin. I used to love showers. Not the quick ones after games, but showers at home, where I can stand and let the water run over my skin, inhaling the scents of my toiletries, and feeling a calmness I don’t feel anywhere else.

Wes has ruined showers for me. The silence only gives me time to think, and my dick seems to have developed a Pavlovian response to the water with the number of times I’ve jerked off thinking about what happened in the locker room at the pool.

Grunting in frustration, I ignore my half-hard cock, and make the water hotter, only stepping out when my skin is mottled with red, and the bathroom is dense with condensation. My good mood from the snowball fight has evaporated and it’s all my fault. I wonder whether Ella will tell Wes I came looking for him. The sensible thing to do would be to text him, but I haven’t.

I towel my hair dry and pull on some underwear before sliding into bed. Almost as an afterthought, I grab my phone to see if I missed any messages from the guys. Zak’s back in Chicago and Alex is skiing in Aspen. I’ve caught up with my friends from high school most days over break and we’re planning a huge night out for New Year’s Eve. I wonder what Wes is doing for New Year. I don’t even know where in the country he is.

My heart halts in my chest as a notification snags my attention, as though thinking of him has conjured it.

Wes:I can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look on your knees for me.

I stare at the message, my pulse in my throat. What the actual fuck? He sent it ten minutes ago while I was in the shower. There’s no way he meant to send that to me, right? The idea that he’s sending messages like that to someone else makes my jaw clench, even though I have no right to feel annoyed. I have no claim on Wes Bowers.

Me:I think u sent this to the wrong person

I don’t expect him to read it right away, so when the dots appear on my screen, I sit up, my teeth sinking into my lip until it hurts.

Wes:No. I didn’t.

My throat dries out. He’s somewhere thinking about me sucking him off. Nervous excitement thrums in my veins. I’ve never so much as touched another guy’s junk before, let alone put it in my mouth. What if I suck at it? No pun intended. The thought of touching Wes thrills me, and once again I’m in awe that I’ve been oblivious to this part of me for so long.

Me:Are u drunk? Where are u?

Wes:Maybe.

Wes:Seattle.

Seattle. I smile at the answer to the question I’ve wondered about for so long.

Me:Are u at home?

He responds with a picture, and my heart rate rockets as I open it, taking in the black t-shirt clinging to his muscular chest and shoulders and the sprawling club behind his handsome face. As usual, his smile is little more than a tiny smirk. I shouldn’t be counting the times I’ve managed to make him smile properly, but it turns out, I am. Twice. Once at the opening party at the Hive and the second when I came to his swim meet.

Wes:Where are you?

I type out ‘Portland’, to match his smart-ass answer, but then delete it and write ‘home’. Right before I press send, I delete it again.

Me:Bed

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