Keeper, page 7
Now I know my best friend has a really nice dick. One I’m going to have to fight not to think about during my many jerk-off sessions.
Not to mention him coming up with that totally insane plan I have to hope he was kidding about. There is absolutely no way I’m going to test out what kind of lay he is. There’s no fucking way I’m falling into that trap.
And it would be a trap, whether he actually means to be setting it or not. It would be pure torture to touch him, knowing I’m not what he wants. Knowing he’d be thinking about Kennedy or some other girl. I can’t do that to myself, and he has to know that deep down.
We haven’t talked about me admitting I’m in love with him—both of us knowing it’s a moot point. He’s straight. There’s no reason to go there. But doing this weird sort of experimental thing where I get gay practice, as he calls it, and he gets me to grade his sexual skills and maybe help him improve? Yeah, no way in hell.
Not happening.
He followed me to go pick up Lucy before we headed back to my place. After making her a snack, we play with her in the living room until my mom comes home. She greets us all, not at all surprised Kingston is here—he is more often than not—and has a chance to sit down for a moment.
“Are you working at the tavern tonight?” I ask her, and she nods her head.
“Yeah, just until midnight though.” I know I’m frowning. She goes into her job at the distribution plant at ten in the morning and works until six. Then when she picks up a tavern shift, she usually goes in around eight.
“That’s a lot, Mom.”
She shrugs, holding Lucy in her lap. “It is what it is, Camden.” She’s young. I mean, really young. She had me when she was sixteen. But she’s starting to get wrinkles around her eyes and looks tired every single day. And it’s no damn wonder, since she has no time for herself.
I want to make it better for her. I want to go to college and get a kickass high-paying job, so I can help her out more than I’ll ever be able to around here. It’s not like our house is big or anything—just a three-bedroom, one bath—but it still costs a lot to keep it going with one income. I know it’s hard on her.
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Lucy whines.
“We were just about to make dinner.” Kingston hops up with a grin on his face because he’s always willing to help. He knows how hard it is for my mom, and never once has he complained or given me a hard time about having to do household chores or cook.
“Bless you, boys,” Mom says as she runs a hand over Lucy’s hair. I hate that I can feel how tired she is from here as she leans her head back against the couch, holding Lucy tight to her.
Kingston and I head into the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients for spaghetti, which we’ve made together a lot. It’s hard to fuck up spaghetti, and we aren’t chefs by any means. But it’s Lucy’s favorite meal, and it’s quick and easy.
I feel his eyes on me the entire time we cook, like he has so many things he wants to say. God, I hope none of them actually come out of his mouth. Once he gets an idea in his head, though, he’s stuck with it. But I’m still hoping logic will kick in on this one and he’ll talk himself out of it.
It’s not a good plan, Kingston.
Thankfully, he doesn’t bring it up again. We all eat together, then Mom leaves for the tavern. Kingston and I put Lucy to bed, each of us reading her a story. And while Kingston could have been talked into reading her another one, the tough, mean brother—a.k.a. me—said that was enough and kissed her goodnight before closing her door. Then Kingston and I head to my room.
He lies down on my bed, and I grab my backpack. “You have homework, I’m sure.”
“Fuck homework,” he says so effortlessly, it makes my eyes roll. I still have a fond smile on my lips.
“So, about this new plan . . .”
“What?” I look over at him in horror, but he’s totally calm, just lying on my bed.
“The plan. To fool around a little. Operation Get Camden Some Gay Practice and Make Sure Kingston Doesn’t Suck at Sex.”
“That’s not a thing,” I say blankly, standing at my desk and staring at him with fear coursing through my veins.
“Oh, come on, Camden. You know this is a great plan. How often do I come up with plans?”
“This is why.” I drop my bag and walk to the bed, sitting on the edge, my back totally straight because I’m freaking out. How has he not dropped this already? “I’m a man, Kingston. You’re straight. It’s not a good plan.”
He sits up, reaching out to take my hand, and I want to pull away, but I don’t. “It is though.” His eyes are pleading with me, earnestness shining in them, and it nearly kills me. I think he actually thinks this is a great idea. “She fucked with my head, Cam. I can’t even jerk off.”
I should be surprised by how candidly he just said that to me, but I’m not. It’s like he has no shame or embarrassment whatsoever. Or at least he didn’t until this whole breakup thing happened. “You can’t jerk off?”
His shoulders shrug. “I can get hard, but not . . .”
I hold up a hand because it’s too much of a mental picture in my head, and I’ve seen his dick now . . . And shit, I can’t do this. “Okay. So find a girl. I’m sure there’s another chick at school who’d love to tell you how hot and sexy you are, how great your dick is, and fool around with you. Okay?”
He shakes his head, still holding onto my hand, clinging desperately. “No. I can’t. I don’t trust anyone else. Just you.”
He’s killing me. “But I’m a guy,” I remind him exasperatedly.
“So?” He seems genuinely confused as to why that’s an issue.
“So . . . I have a dick.”
He shrugs. “So? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Pleasure is pleasure, right?”
I’m really tired, and it’s been a long day. My side is killing me, and I hate how his logic is starting to chip away at my own. He’s good at that, even though he doesn’t have to try. “It’s different equipment.”
“Not our mouths. You can tell me if I’m a good kisser. And I can be a guy you kissed.”
Jesus Christ, he just doesn’t stop. “But . . .”
He moves closer to me on the bed, his other hand resting on my thigh and his eyes pleading with me as his hand grips mine. “Please, Camden. It’s fucking with me. I hate that it is, but it is. And if I went out with another girl at school, I know I’ll just hear Kennedy in my head. I’ll worry she’ll go to school and tell everyone I suck at this too. You’re the only person I trust to tell me the truth and not tell anyone.”
This. Guy. I hate that this makes sense to me. That I understand the fear of high-school gossip. That feeling that no one can be trusted fully. But he does trust me.
He trusts me with everything.
And I don’t think I can deny him, no matter how I try.
“A kiss?”
His bottom lip pokes out like he’s thinking, his eyes pensive as he shrugs. “To start.”
“Kingston,” I scold, but he only laughs. He’s also leaning in. I stare at his naturally dark-red lips that are full and masculine.
My heart has kicked up in speed, trying to beat right out of my chest, and my breathing is ridiculous as his mouth approaches mine. I breathe him in, taking in his woodsy and masculine, clean scent.
“This is a bad idea.”
His lips brush over mine but don’t connect as he breathes words against my mouth. “No. I only have good ideas.”
“Definitely not true.”
His hand moves to the back of my neck, holding onto me. “I’m going to kiss you. Tell me if I’m doing it right.”
“I haven’t kissed anyone, Kingston. I don’t know.”
“You will.” He waits for a moment, as if to give me time to stop him, but I don’t. His lips connect with mine, and all the years I’ve dreamed of this moment—all the nights I’d stay awake and think about his lips touching mine before scolding myself—come to the front of my mind and quickly disappear.
Because he’s strong and demanding but also sweet and soft at the same time. His tongue teases the seam of my lips open, and when I do, it sweeps inside, setting my goddamn soul on fire. His lips are firm as he kisses me with fervor. His hand grips my neck, holding me in place, and I kiss him back.
I can’t hold out anymore. My hands move up his back, and I hold on to him, our bodies crushed together as our tongues tangle and we fight for dominance. Both winning. Both losing. Both holding onto one another as our mouths collide.
His bigger body presses against mine, moving to pull me down under him. I wince at the pain in my hip, and that’s when we part. His look of concern humbles me because I may care for everyone else in my life—and maybe him too—but it’s mutual with him.
He cares about me just as much as I care about him.
“Your hip?”
“I’m fine.” I want to pull him back down onto me, but I think what we’ve already done is dangerous enough, and I return to my senses. “But we should stop.”
He grins, his big body looming over me but not touching. “Or we should keep going. That was fucking hot.”
“No.” I place a hand on his chest and gently push him until he’s sitting up, then I join him. “We can’t. You’re a good kisser, really good. I have no doubt you’re a great lay.”
“But we won’t know if we don’t—” I hold up a hand to stop him again and shake my head because I can’t hear that.
I need to will my dick to calm the fuck down and get away from him, so I climb off the bed, hoping it will give me strength. “No. That can’t happen.
“You have a nice dick, and you’re a great kisser. Operation over.”
He rolls his eyes, but he looks amused, still not moving from my bed. “Definitely not over.”
I groan, but he laughs happily.
This has to be over.
SEVENTEEN
KINGSTON
I can’t stop thinking about kissing Camden. I know I probably should, and I know it’s probably weird, but it felt good. And it seemed like he enjoyed it too.
I hate that my confidence has been shaken, but there’s no denying it has. Stephanie, a girl from our class who’s always had a crush on me, surprised me today by asking me out after the game on Friday, and I made some lame excuse.
She’s really pretty, and I’ve always liked her, but I can’t shut down the fear inside me, thinking that if it’s more than just hanging out—if we kiss or more and I suck at it—she’ll help spread that all over school. That everyone will be talking about it.
I can already feel it when I’m standing at my locker or sitting in class—the eyes on me. I wonder if Kennedy has been talking about me, but I already know the answer. I can hear the whispers, and I can barely fucking stand it.
I don’t know if messing around with Camden will help my confidence or what it will actually accomplish, but I hope it can. I know he won’t tell a soul, and if there’s something I can do better, he’ll tell me. He always has. He’s helped me with my homework since we got our first assignment.
Huh, maybe I should approach him that way. This is just helping me out with homework. Except it’s more hands-on.
And I wasn’t kidding about maybe giving him some experience with a guy. It’s not fair that he doesn’t have anyone he can do that with around here. I don’t think there’s anyone who’s openly gay that we know, and if there were, I don’t think he’d feel safe fooling around with them.
A wicked shudder goes through my body at that thought. Of Camden fucking around with someone with a big mouth who’d tell the whole town. He has to know I won’t say a word. That I’ll keep his secrets just like he keeps mine. That he can trust me.
“Wells! Where’s your head?” Oh, shit. Practice.
“Sorry, Coach!” I shout and then catch the ball when Camden fires it downfield to me.
Cam shakes his head, and I feel his eyes on me. But I made the catch, so I don’t know what their problem is. Afterward, we head to the showers, stripping down, and I can’t keep my eyes from scanning over Camden’s side, which is still bruised to all hell.
How has Coach not seen that?
He ignores my angry gaze and heads to the shower, so I follow. When we’re getting dressed with the other guys around us, my attention is drawn to Garrison Dixon and Jameson Bates, who are all of a sudden going at it. I mean, fists flying, words spitting from their mouths, and rolling around on the cement ground with fury like I’ve never seen.
“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Coach comes out of the office, trying to separate them, but they’re like rabid dogs.
I step in to pull Dixon off Bates as Coach grabs Bates, both of them fighting to get at each other and still screaming. Oakley Easton enters the fray, trying to pull his friend Dixon off Bates too. “Jesus, fuck. What’s going on?”
“He’s a motherfucker.” Dixon spits as we all watch in transfixed horror.
“Like . . . literally?” Easton asks, and Dixon pulls away, his rage apparent.
“No.” He shoves away from Easton, his nose spilling blood. “Just keep him away from me,” he growls at no one.
Coach is furious. “You two want to sit out the last fucking game? Is that it?”
They both seem to sober up for a minute, and I catch Camden’s eyes, seeing he’s worried about this little display.
“No, sir,” they both say.
Coach runs his fingers through his hair. “This happened on school grounds. I can’t ignore that. Detention. Both of you for the rest of the week. After practice. Starting today.” Each word is clipped, and Coach is clearly pissed off, but they actually got off easy.
They both nod before Coach leaves to go back to his office with strict instructions for them to clean up the locker-room after us.
They don’t argue, and I whistle as I move back to my locker and grab my shirt, pulling it on. “You two fucked up.”
Camden nudges me disapprovingly, but Easton clearly agrees with me. “Yeah, you guys should just go ahead and suck each other off. I mean, what the fuck?”
A couple of other guys chuckle, some making kissing sounds at Bates and Dixon, getting in on the teasing. Christian Dean laughs along, “Aw, are you guys in loooove? Is that why you can’t keep your hands off each other?”
Everyone laughs, the taunting only growing, and Dixon turns red. “Fuck off,” Bates says, and I notice Camden wince. This is the shit he was talking about. The locker-room. The field. When anyone gets into it, the guys make kissing noises or tell them to bang it out like it’s some kind of joke.
As if two guys wanting to fuck each other is a joke. “Knock it off.” I barely recognize my own voice as it booms from my mouth.
Camden winces again and then gives a curt shake of his head, but I don’t care. I should have said something a long time ago. “What the fuck, Wells? You started it,” Dean tries.
I roll my eyes. “I said they’re in trouble. Not that they want to fuck each other.” I finish getting dressed and face my teammates. “If they do, it’s none of our business.”
“Whoa.” Bates puts his hands in the air. “We don’t. What the fuck, Wells?” He looks horrified. Dixon is even more red now, and Camden looks irritated. But I can’t just not say anything.
I try to shrug it off, but glance at Camden for a second, hating that he looks so tense, and then I focus on Bates. “I’m just saying if that’s why you guys were fighting, that’s fine.”
“Kingston, stop,” Camden says it like a warning. But no, fuck this. The more I think about all the shit spewed in here, the madder I get. Words like gay and much worse are tossed around as insults. The guys tease each other about wanting to fuck or being a girl. It’s all demeaning. It’s beyond fucked up.
“Yeah, Kingston. Stop,” Bates says, his deadly glare on me. “I don’t want to fuck that motherfucker. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“Fine.” I say it with a sharp tone, irritated because I’m not really sure what to do. I look around. “But I’m just saying, suggesting that them being gay or wanting to do stuff . . .” I grip the back of my neck, clearly not great with words. “It’s not an insult. We shouldn’t use it like a joke. It’s toxic as fuck to make fun of anyone’s sexuality.”
“Did you hit your head?” Dixon asks me, eyeing me carefully.
“Yeah, seriously. What’s your problem?” Dean asks. “We always joke about this shit. And you sound pretty fucking gay right now.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” I throw my hands in the air, pissed off. “Who cares if I sound gay? That’s not a bad thing. Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing.” I say it maybe a little too loud, and I see that everyone on the team is eyeing me now. Camden looks like he wants to crawl in a hole and die, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t handle this correctly.
“Um . . .” Bates looks confused. “I don’t want to sound gay because I’m not fucking gay. And I don’t want to suck off Dixon or anyone.” He shoves Dean, who shoves him back, but it’s all halfhearted.
“But if you were,” I say, and I feel Camden’s hand on my shoulder, but it’s not comfort. He’s squeezing it.
“No one is gay. Stop.”
All eyes are on us now and shit . . . this backfired. “I know no one is gay, but they don’t need to be saying it like that. Maybe they just don’t like each other,” I say, annoyed by all the confusion, like what they were doing was normal, and I’m the weird one.
Camden does grace me with a small smile before going into team captain mode. “So, you’re saying that guys fist-fight for other reasons? That they may not want to fuck each other?” There’s sarcasm and charm dripping from his words, and I roll my eyes while everyone else laughs. I see things so much more clearly now that he’s told me the truth. I see the pain behind his charisma. I know he’s had to be charismatic to survive this town.
“Yes,” I say, but I hate that he’s covering. I know what he’s doing. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Good to know.” He pats my shoulder in a placating way.
