Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Who’s this fucker?” Mack said, drunk and clearly looking for a fight. “What did he say? If this is another homophobic piece of shit, I’m going to sock him in the face myself, Stormy—”
“Chill, Mack,” I said, letting go of Emmett’s arm. “He isn’t a homophobe.”
“Storm was just showing me where a good place for my first tattoo might be,” Emmett said.
Interesting. Emmett telling a little white lie even though he didn’t need to.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Mack said, his face brightening in an instant. “Inner wrist will hurt you, though, bud, if it’s your first tat. Storm told me he cried like a baby just from his latest shoulder tattoo.”
“I didn’t cry,” I clarified. “But it did hurt like a bitch, and I’m not afraid to say it.”
“Load ‘er up, boys!” an unmistakable voice came from the direction of my patio.
“Fuck,” I said. “Mom is about to do a brain blast. I need to go prevent that from happening.”
“Do I even want to know what a brain blast is?” Emmett asked.
“When you mix a tiny bit of every liquor at the bar and take it like a shot.”
“A really, really big shot,” Mack said with a wicked grin.
“Hallelujah, motherfucker!” I heard Mom saying, followed by a peal of laughter. “I might be old, but I’m never going to slow down.”
They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but with me and Mom, the apple barely fell at all. She was like an older version of me with grey hair: fearless, shameless, and ready for anything.
But I didn’t want to be the one dealing with her puking or getting another fucked up ankle if she got super wasted tonight.
“Stay here,” I told Emmett, who was looking down at the broken button on his shirt like it was a math problem he couldn’t solve.
I took off toward my patio and caught Mom right as she was beckoning two of my friends over to fill the rest of her little glass cup. I picked it up, swigged half of it myself, grimacing at the vile combination of liquors.
“Storm’s stealing my brain blast!” Mom called out.
“Gin should never be combined with rum,” I said, sticking my tongue out. “Good God.”
She leaned over, whispering near me. “I shouldn’t be doing those anymore, anyway.”
“No shit,” I told her.
After I’d made sure the situation was under control, I headed back around to the side of the house.
Emmett was gone.
And even though I’d kind of expected him to leave, a little part of me was disappointed. Toying with him was fun, to be honest.
More fun than I’d had in a while.
“G’night, Fancy Pants,” I said under my breath, looking over toward his house.
7
EMMETT
His lips on my skin.
At the corner of my mouth.
His tongue on my goddamn neck.
Every bone in my body ached as I woke from sleep for the second time that night, stirring in bed.
My cock was hard. Again. I shoved it up against the mattress, pushing it in like I could somehow get relief from rutting up against something. Anything. Fuck.
I’d been so good until I got home and got in bed. I’d managed to make it back to my kitchen, chug a ton of water, and spend time scrolling through work emails for at least an hour without thinking about Storm once.
Ignoring the memory of his touch.
Of the fact that he’d kissed me, all because he had some psychotic desire to get under my skin.
I’d eventually gone up to my bedroom, though, the rest of the night feeling like some distant memory that couldn’t possibly have been real. Storm Rosling wouldn’t kiss me. He barely knew me, and what he did know, he certainly didn’t like.
Sleep came quickly, but the dreams came just as fast behind it.
“Tell me to stop,” Storm said, so close to me, in the first dream. We were back in his backyard, but alone this time, not surrounded by a party. I could feel his lips against my ear as he whispered. “And I’ll stop anytime.”
How long had it been since I’d been touched like that? Since I’d even let anyone get that close?
“Don’t stop,” I told him, knowing I shouldn’t say it even in a dream. “Please don’t stop.”
“Then tell me you want more,” Storm murmured, and as I felt his palm reaching down for my cock, I woke up.
Aching.
Harder than a fucking rock under my sheets.
I groaned, turning over my pillow to the cold side. Dim light came through the sheer curtains in my bedroom. I knew if I got up and looked out past my backyard, I’d still see the figures in Storm’s backyard, out there partying and having fun.
The second dream blurred with reality. I dozed again, this time dreaming that I was right here in my bedroom, with Storm lying down right next to me.