Him

Jamie is kissing me.

Jamie is kissing me.

Jamie is kissing me.

Nope, no matter which way I run it through my head, it still doesn’t make sense to me. The pressure of his mouth? Makes no sense. The shocking sweep of his tongue over my bottom lip? No sense.

But holy fucking shit, I want it.

Rain pours off the awning and slides over our heads as my best friend’s lips latch onto mine. I taste the rain, beer, something addictively masculine. His mouth brushes mine, over and over again, and when I part my lips to draw a shaky breath, he takes full advantage and slides his tongue inside.

It’s like a cattle prod to the spine. Desire surges through me and spirals down to my balls, drawing them up tight. When his tongue touches mine I damn near keel over. I have to grab the front of his shirt and bunch it between my fingers to keep from being swept away by the storm. Not the storm that’s lighting up the sky, but the one that’s roaring inside me.

I know the moment he feels my tongue ring, because his tongue curls around the metal stud and he moans against my lips. Deep and husky.

It’s that lust-drenched sound that snaps me back to reality. This might feel right, but it’s wrong. He’s drunk again. Not thinking clearly. For some reason he decided shoving his tongue down my throat was a good idea, but it fuckin ain’t. At the end of the day, I’m still gay—and he’s still straight. Even worse, I’m still in love with him.

With a tortured groan, I wrench my mouth away. I can’t fucking do this again. I can’t let myself want him or get my hopes up about the two of us. He’s my friend. He’ll always be my friend and nothing more.

His eyes, hazy with passion, absolutely wreck me. He blinks as if disoriented, as if he can’t understand why I broke the kiss.

“Your tongue ring…” His voice is hoarse with excitement. “I want to feel it on my cock.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

Okay, he’s drunker than I thought. I hadn’t seen him pound back more than a couple beers, but he must have snuck a few more in when I wasn’t looking.

“Yeah…” I manage a hasty laugh. “That’s not gonna happen, man.”

Jamie narrows his eyes.

The rain slows a bit, making it easier to speak without having to raise my voice. “We’re not going down this road again, Canning.” I swallow hard. “The last time we did, it ruined our fucking friendship.”

He slants his head, those big brown eyes gleaming with challenge. “You’re saying you don’t want me?”

Aw hell. “No, I’m saying this is a bad idea.”

Jamie steps closer, backing me into the wall until my back bumps the wet bricks. Now he’s got me pinned in place. There’s a hard wall behind me and an equally hard one in front of me. Emphasis on hard, because holy hell, he’s rocking one hell of a boner. It presses against my thigh as he eases even closer, until his lips are inches from mine.

“You’re the king of bad ideas,” he reminds me. “At least this one ends with both of us feeling good.”

He’s going to kill me. The role reversal melts my brain, because I’m the one who’s usually in charge, who calls the shots, sets the limits.

Jamie shifts his hips, a breath panting out as his erection brushes my leg. If he were sober, he’d probably be horrified. When he sobers up, he will be horrified. He’ll apologize for coming on to me, and we’ll end up having that awkward conversation we should’ve had after I blew him four years ago. He’ll tell me he’s straight, he was just fucking around, he’s not into me.

And I’ll be crushed.

I know all this, but it doesn’t stop me from stealing one more taste. I mentioned I’m a masochist, right? It’s the only explanation for why I curl my hand around the back of his neck and tug him toward me again.

Our mouths meet in another kiss. Soft this time. Agonizingly slow. It’s not enough. I’ll stop it soon, any second now, but not yet. Not until he gives me more.

Groaning, I push my chest against him and spin us around so he’s the one against the wall, and I’m the one grinding up on him. He makes a surprised noise, but it turns into a husky rumble when I deepen the kiss and drive my tongue into his mouth.

I’m greedy now. Desperate. I fuck his mouth with my tongue the way I want to fuck him with my cock. Deep, hungry strokes that leave us both breathless, and now he’s the one clutching my shirt.

To my right, the door of the bar bangs open. A female shriek rings out. She’s probably screaming about the weather, not the two guys against the wall trying to eat each other’s faces. Either way, her scream brings me back to my senses. Stumbling backward, I’m panting like I’ve just run three marathons.

I’m under the downpour now, but Jamie’s not. So I can see his expression perfectly—the wide-eyed panic on his face. The disbelief.

Fuck. My straight-as-a-blue-line friend is about to freak out. An hour from now, he’ll probably have one hell of an identity crisis, and for what? The best kiss of my life wasn’t worth screwing up his life.

I’ve lived confusion. It ain’t pretty.

Now I have to look away. If I don’t, he’ll see my eyes and know I’m dying inside. I want him more than anything in the goddamn world. It takes all my willpower, but I turn and walk off in the rain toward my car.

The rain is coming down in sheets, so I start to run for it. I don’t even know he’s followed me until he slides into the passenger seat opposite me and slams the door.

In less than thirty seconds I’ve got the engine cranked. We’re cruising back up 73 toward Lake Placid before a whole minute has passed. There’s a terrible silence in the car. If it weren’t raining I’d probably double the speed limit trying to get Jamie back to town.

He still hasn’t said a word.

“I’m sorry,” I croak. “Didn’t mean to let that happen.”

He makes an irritated noise. I’m dying to know what it means, but too chicken-shit to ask. We are never speaking of this night again. Never. Even if we’re wasted the night before Jamie’s wedding. Even if we’re trapped in a mineshaft with thirty minutes of oxygen. Not even then.

Earlier, I told him he’d acted like a douchecanoe. But that’s crap. I’m the one who’s in love with my best friend and pretending I’m not.

The rain lets up. A few minutes later (even though it feels like hours) I pull up in front of the dormitory building and step on the brakes. Jamie doesn’t move.

“I’m going to find a parking spot, and then take a walk,” I tell him. There is no way I can go back to our room right now. We need a time-out. I hope he understands.

Later, when he’s asleep, it might be possible to breathe the same air as Jamie Canning again.

He doesn’t move.

Please, I beg him inwardly. Please go up to bed. It’s hard enough to look at his face each day and not feel heartbreak. I can’t be close to him right now. I’m afraid I’ll give in and kiss him again. The way his hard body had aligned so perfectly with mine is burned in my consciousness. I’ll be trying not to remember that for weeks.

I wait, and I ache.

Finally the door clicks open. I hear him exit the car. When the door slams shut, I feel it like a sledgehammer to the heart. Don’t look, I coach myself.

But my self-control isn’t infinite. His fair hair glints under the streetlight as his long legs eat up the walkway in just a few paces. Seeing him walk away from me splinters something inside me.