Don’t You Dare

I’m three beers and what must be close to eighty games of Call of Duty deep in my sad, little pity party when my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table. My immediate thought is to ignore it, not being in the mood to talk to anyone until Aspen is back from his date. With fucking Bristol.

But seeing as ignoring people, even when I should, isn’t my strong suit—case in point, the interaction I had with Pen earlier—I grab it and check the screen.

My brows furrow when the name of my left fielder is glaring back at me.

Kaleb: Dude. Come get your boy from Stagger. There’s no way he’s driving home after the way he’s been pounding back drinks.

I frown and text out a response.

Me: What’re you talking about?

Less than a minute later, an image pops up from him instead of another text.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see in the photo Kaleb sent me, but it sure as hell isn’t what I’m staring at on the screen. Because there’s Pen sitting at the bar in Stagger, a line of empty shot glasses set out in front of him.

My stomach rolls as I start counting them, and when I reach six, I stop altogether and text Kaleb back instead.

Me: Whatever you do, don’t let him leave. Be there soon.

All I get back is the thumbs up emoji, and I quickly pull up the Uber app to order a ride. Not even thirty minutes later, I’m flashing my fake ID to the bouncer and walking through the front door.

My eyes automatically dart to the back of the bar where Pen was in the photo, but my stomach sinks when I find the spot completely empty.

Fucking hell.

The bar’s packed because it’s a weekend, and it’s almost impossible to tell anyone apart in the swarm of bodies covering the dance floor between the door and the bar. Finding Pen in this mess will take forever. What was he wearing when he went out on his date again?

My eyes scan the crowd in search of his leather jacket I know he was wearing when he left, but a hand on my arm drags my attention to my side.

Kaleb.

“Hey!” he shouts over the music, pulling on my arm. I follow him over to a table on the side wall, and that’s when I notice a couple other guys from the team I’m pretty good friends with, like Castle and Reyes.

There’s also some I’m not all that fond of, including Reese and—unfortunately—Avery.

Of course, Avery happens to be sitting right next to Pen too. Something I’m sure isn’t a coincidence from the pissed off look on Pen’s face.

Well, fuck a duck. This can’t be good.

Pen’s temper is short when it comes to Avery on a good day, so I can only imagine what’s been happening since they’ve been sitting at the table together while Pen’s more than likely sloshed out of his mind. I’d honestly be surprised if punches weren’t already thrown, or at least attempted.

How did he end up over here anyway?

As if reading my thoughts, Kaleb yells in my ear, “I grabbed him about ten minutes ago when he paid and started for the door. Didn’t want him to leave before you got here.”

Letting out a long sigh, I give him a nod of gratitude. “Good looking out, man. I appreciate you texting me.”

“No problem.” He claps me on the shoulder as we stop in front of the table before taking his seat.

The second Avery’s eyes land on me, he gives a delighted jeer and shoves Pen’s shoulder. “Look who’s here to be your knight in shining armor.”

I ignore him, instead letting my eyes rake over Pen’s slightly disheveled appearance. His hair that was perfectly styled before is now a mess from him clearly raking his fingers through it, and the top button on his dress shirt is undone.

“Date go that well?” I can’t help but ask. And because I’m petty, I don’t bother to hide my sarcasm.

He glares at me with sapphire eyes. “Perfectly.”

It’s barely enough to even be considered a conversation, but the tension between us would be obvious to the blind, and it fills Avery with an obscene amount of joy.

“Aw, are the love birds fighting? Someone stepping out and looking for a new butt-buddy?” He leans back in his chair as he gives Aspen another shove before wrapping his arm around the back, behind Pen’s shoulders. “You really should be more considerate of my teammate, Kohl. Can’t have him crying over you when we get to the playoffs.”

Is this dickhead serious?

Between the shit with Pen earlier, having to pick him up drunk, and Avery acting like a tool, my patience has long since left the building. So I can’t be held at fault for the slightly violent way I push Avery’s arm off Aspen’s chair.

“Touch him again, and I’ll fucking deck you, Reynolds,” I say, painting on a fake smile before turning my attention back to Pen. “It’s time to go.”

As expected, Avery makes another comment, but I’m too busy watching Pen’s bloodshot eyes roll so hard. I wanna smack him upside the damn head just to see if they get stuck like that.

Thankfully, he follows without argument, sliding out of his seat and allowing me to practically drag his drunk ass out the bar.

Once in front of the Impala, I hold my hand out. “Keys.”

Even though he’s plastered, he must be able to sense my irritation, because he hands them over silently and moves to climb in the passenger seat.

Moments later, I’m pulling out on the road for the ten-minute drive back to our dorm, my favorite rap station on the radio to keep me from losing my cool on him for trying to drive home like this. It’s the only sound in the car besides the hum of the engine until Pen decides to break our stalemate.

“Turn that shit off in my baby,” he mutters from the passenger seat.

I send up a prayer to whatever God exists that I don’t murder my best friend tonight before I roll my eyes and turn up the sound of Post Malone. Ignoring him might be childish, but he’s just looking to pick a fight with me, and hell if I’ll let him.

Plus, he lost his right to have an opinion on my music selection when he decided to be a dumbass by getting shit-faced with no way home.

He grumbles some more before letting out a disgruntled sigh and starts digging in his jacket pocket. I know what he’s doing the moment he starts to roll down the window, but the second his cigarettes are pulled free from his jacket, I slap them out of his hand.

“Not when I’m in the car,” I snap, knowing full well he’s aware of my distaste for the nasty habit he picked up last year.

His lip curls into something of a sneer before he looks away to stare out the window until we park. Which, thanks to the hour of night, there’s shit for parking and we end up having a good half-mile walk back to the dorm.

A fucking blast to do when Aspen can barely walk straight.

Of course, getting the asshole home when he’s plastered is no easy feat ever, so I’m not surprised tonight isn’t any different. He’s stubborn and more than irritable as I drag him through the room of our dorm, letting the lock fall in place behind us.

“C’mon,” I say, grabbing his arm and moving him in the direction of his room. “Let’s get you in bed.”

Instead of following suit, and once again, showing his stubborn side, he rips his arm from my grip and glares at me for a solid ten seconds. No words, just glares.

Whoa.

My blood boils when he brushes past me like I’m not even there, and that’s all it takes for me to let my control over my temper snap completely.

“What the hell is your issue?” I snap, crossing my arms as I lean against the front door. The way he stumbles across the living room of our suite is slightly endearing and makes me want to laugh, but my frustration with his crap attitude wins out in the end.

“Nothing. I just don’t wanna go to bed,” he says, grabbing the remote to the TV. Then he plops onto the couch and starts surfing through Netflix aimlessly. He’s going so fast, I don’t even think it’s possible for him to read the movie titles. Then again, I doubt he has any intention of actually watching whatever he puts on. He’s just doing it to be a dick.

I’m exhausted, and I really don’t have it in me to fight with him right now. Or go digging for answers as to why he’s in one of his moods—though I’m almost positive it has to do with his date. But neither of those things would be worth my time when he’s drunk, so I let it slide.

“Fine.” I sigh, moving over to slump down on the opposite end of the couch.

“You can go to bed. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Yeah, you really proved that tonight.

“I’m fine right here. Just pick something.”

It takes him thirty minutes to decide on some documentary I have no interest in watching. So I lean my head against the backrest of the couch and let my eyes sink closed as the droning coming from the TV starts to lull me to sleep.

I’m not sure how much time passes, only that I’m startled awake by a foot kicking me in the thigh. My eyes shoot open to find Aspen sprawled over the couch, his feet now on my lap.

“What the—”

“You were snoring,” he mutters, giving me a quick glance before turning his attention back to the TV. A look over to the clock on the microwave lets me know it’s only been about an hour since we got home, and well past the time I’d like to go to sleep, so I let my eyes fall shut once again.

“Thank you,” he says a few minutes later, his voice gruff and low.

I’m assuming it’s for making sure he didn’t do anything stupid tonight and got home safe, so I just say, “You’d do the same for me.”

“No, that’s not…” He trails off, and it has me leaning up to look at him. When I do, I see mixed amounts of apprehension and tension on his face. Like he’s almost nervous to be here with me, and it’s putting him on edge.

Okay, what the fuck?

“Then what is it, Pen? I’m not a mind reader.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me in the dim flickering light casting off the television. His eyes float between mine, studying me like it’s the first time he’s ever looked at me. It’s not, obviously, since we’ve known each other for years. But I absolutely believe this is the first time he’s looked at me and actually managed to see me.

Maybe even see me the way I’ve seen him for months now. Hell, longer than that.

It causes my chest to tighten, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Kee,” he whispers, still searching my face.

I lick my lips, not missing the way he instantly tracks the movement.

My blood heats, and I swear, I better not be seeing things. So I do it again to be sure, and yep, his eyes follow again.

Shit.

Is it because he’s drunk? Is that the only reason he’s looking at me like he wants to shove his tongue down my throat? Or is it possible he’s been feeling this tension between us too?

Goddamnit. I hate this. Not knowing. The questions that always ran through my mind whenever our eyes would meet this past week. Looks I swear were a little more than platonic.

But fuck it. He’s shit-faced, and I’ve had a few beers myself. If anything, I can blame this on the alcohol tomorrow.

Decision made and before I can think twice—or more importantly, bitch out—I shift and allow my body to crowd his. I lean over him, one hand planted firmly on the arm of the couch, the other resting beside his waist. The movement has my knee sliding between his legs and as I lower my body closer to his, my pulse races.

“What’re you doing?” he breathes out the question, barely loud enough for me to hear. If I wasn’t hovering inches away from him, my chest brushing his, I probably would have missed it entirely. I’m not too focused on his words right now though. Not when I can practically taste the liquor lingering on his lips from here.

“I don’t really know.”

Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to take the chance, only that everything inside me is telling me I need to. If only to know for sure.

As much as I hate to admit it, the way it felt to kiss him back at the end of high school has been permanently ingrained in my brain. I haven’t been consumed by it or anything like that. Intentionally, at least. But ever since DYD came up at that party and then the video…it’s there again, fluttering in the background like white noise I can’t seem to get rid of.

I just wanna figure out why this is happening. Because while I’m definitely attracted to the guy I’ve been chatting with on Toppr, I sure as fuck don’t get this feeling when we talk.

So, is it only Pen?

The words that slip out of my mouth next, without my permission, make me think it might be.

“You’re the only guy I’ve ever kissed,” I tell him, fingers of my free hand dancing over his jaw. They coast along the sharp angles, tracking to the spot below the left side of his mouth where the dimple I’m obsessed with pops when he smiles. Currently, it’s nowhere to be seen. If it was, I don’t think I could stop myself from licking or biting at it, consequences be damned.

I work to swallow, ignoring the way my stomach ignites as his stubble scrapes against the pads of my fingers, or how the thought of my lips on any part of his body has my blood heating beneath my skin.

Touching him like this, even though it’s nothing overly sexual, has every inch of me on fire. Or maybe it’s the way it feels to have his hard, lithe body pressed against mine that has me all worked up.

But this is Pen. My best friend. And while I’m confused as hell, I don’t want to scare him off. So I do my best to keep my thoughts tame and away from how good he feels.

That’s before I catch that same look in his eyes. A hint of lust and interest mixing with the fear, sending any thought of keeping things tame right out the goddamn window.

I hear the slight intake of breath as I move my fingers over, tracing his lips. They part slightly and I feel his hot breath coasting over my skin. Every sensible part of myself, every ounce of my self-preservation, is screaming at me to stop this. Stop what I’m doing. Get up and go to my room and forget this night ever happened.

But I can’t.

I have to do this. I have to prove it was just a fluke. It was the connection we share from years of friendship, nothing more.

I have to know if he’s the exception to the rule.

“Fuck, Pen. All of me wants to kiss you again.” His eyes widen slightly as I say it, but again, I just see lust and confusion in them.

He swallows, and it takes all my willpower to not lean in and lick his Adam’s apple. But my self-control isn’t strong enough from keeping my stupid lips from spilling more thoughts that’d be better kept to myself.

“I’m done holding back. Not when refusing to give in only makes it worse.”

“Give in,” he repeats in a whisper, almost in reverence. Or maybe anticipation. As if he likes the idea as much as I do.

I nod. Swallow. Tamp down the nerves.

And lean in.

“Please, don’t deck me for this later.”

Before he has the chance to protest, my mouth descends on his until they mold together. Tentative at first, but quickly growing more confident in what’s happening. His lips are soft against mine, softer than I remember them as I tilt his chin up toward me. A soft groan manages to slip past our fused mouths, but I’m not sure who it came from. I think it was him, but honestly, I don’t even care.

One of Aspen’s hands grabs at the front of my shirt, the other coming up to the back of my neck. The blunt tips of his fingers scrape against my skull as he kisses me back, slowly and seductively.

It feels so damn good.

My heart hammers in my chest, pounding a mile a minute, as my brain attempts to play catch up with what’s happening. Namely, that I’m kissing Aspen again for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. Only this time, it’s a real kiss. And he’s letting me.

Not because of a dare, but because…fuck. Because he wants to?

Goddamnit.

Whatever it is—whatever has taken over all rational thought from either of us—it’s emboldened me enough to keep going. Asking for more. See how far he’s willing to let me take this.

My tongue slides against the seam of his lips, seeking permission as much as it’s coaxing. He surprises me yet again when his lips part barely a second later, granting me the access I’m craving.

The taste of whiskey on his tongue is instant as it brushes along mine, and this time, it’s definitely him who lets out a low rumble from deep within his chest. A sound I wanna hear again and again. I’d give my last breath to never forget the feel of it against my mouth. It sends a bolt of lust straight to my balls, and when his tongue starts tangling with mine inside his mouth, the need within me builds astronomically.

And that’s what it is. Need.

It’s a yearning I’ve never felt before. One that consumes me to my core and only builds the longer we’re like this.

My hips move of their own accord, sinking down against his as I fuck his mouth with my tongue. The fingers that were gripping my shirt have now slid beneath it, and holy—

He thrusts up into me, and I’m floored to feel that he’s just as hard as I am. Long and rock solid, and when our dicks brush against each other beneath the confines of our clothes, I moan into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters against my lips, his breaths coming out in ragged pants.

Part of me worries he’s about to break this off and push me away. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he did, especially with how things just went from zero to sixty in no time at all.

But then he keeps kissing me. Like a man starved. Greedy for more.

I must be too, and soon enough we’re clawing at each other, nothing more than desperation and unbridled lust driving us.

A tiny part of me wonders if he even knows it’s me. Or if he thinks I’m Bristol. Maybe some other girl he picked up at Stagger.

Those thoughts are quickly put to rest when his hand cups my jaw and he breaks away to nip at the skin there. “Goddamnit, Kee. What’re we doing?” he mutters against my jaw before taking my mouth with his again. This time, it’s him who thrusts his tongue in my mouth, making it impossible to think.

“I don’t know,” I breathe into his lips, shaking my head as I grind down against him. The groan it elicits from both of us is intoxicating. “Just don’t stop.”

Truthfully, stopping isn’t an option at this point. Every single thought is now circulating around Pen and his lips and the blissful torture that is his body against mine.

Both his hands fly to my hips, digging in at my waist as he pulls me down against him. Each and every bump and grind of his cock is enough to send me over the edge, but I can already feel this is going too far, too fast.

But even though I know I need to break this off soon—mostly because I have no clue how drunk he is still—at least something came out of this moment. Well, besides the single greatest kiss of my life.

That fact in itself confirms what I’ve been wondering these passing months.

I’m not as straight as I thought I was. Especially when it comes to Aspen Kohl.

He might be like a brother to me, but this goes way beyond that. Past friendship, and right into desire.

Because I want this. I want him.

I’ve never been more sure of anything.

I just have no idea what it means for our friendship.