Page 5 of Roommate
But at least I realize that. It’s a start.
* * *
Back at home, I do all the chores and then some.
First I put the cows in the north pasture. Moving cows is easy enough in good weather. It only requires me to move the portable fence and wave them through the opening. “Go on, enjoy,” I say as they file past me eagerly. Our herd is grass fed, and they don’t need to be asked twice. The long, seedy grass and corn stalks I’m offering are like a recently freshened, all-you-can-eat buffet.
Let’s face it—the cows are easier to handle than any of my family members. They go where they’re needed, no questions asked. But my dog—Rexie—gives the cows a nice loud woof just to pretend he’s working hard.
Rexie and Kyle have a lot in common, honestly. They’re both a little ridiculous. They both have an inflated sense of their own usefulness. And I love them both in spite of it.
After the cow parade, I close up the fence and turn the electricity on. Since it’s October, darkness is falling fast. In another couple of weeks we’ll have to set our clocks back, and then it will be pitch dark before five. I’m already squinting as I check the hens’ nesting boxes for eggs, and topping up their water, and I have to turn on my head lamp to connect up their electric fence.
Most of our farming income is made on grass-fed beef. We also grow some corn and organic oats as feed crops. By this time of year, all the crop work should already be done, but Kyle and I still have to bale the oat straw. It would have been done weeks ago, if it weren’t for my dad’s back pain getting worse.
I make a mental note to remind my brother to make the baling a priority. Again. After that, I spend forty-five minutes raking cow shit out of the lower farmyard in the dark.
It’s boring drudge work, and my mind starts to wander. And, fuck, it wanders right to Roderick Waites—the guy who climbed out of a blue Volkswagen and right back into my brain.
I wish I could say I haven’t thought about him since high school, but that would be a lie. And if I were a more spiritual person, I’d probably interpret Roderick’s reappearance in town as a sign. A wakeup call.
Nobody knows all the tangled things in my brain, but for a split second when I was a teenager, Roderick came close to learning one of my biggest secrets.
The first time I saw him on his knees in front of another guy, it was an accident.
It was autumn then, too. I’d been at a high school football game. It was chilly that night and, last second before leaving for the game, I’d grabbed my dad’s jacket from the hook by the door. After shoving my hands into the pockets while standing on the windy sidelines, I’d found a flask of whiskey. My father must have last worn the jacket when he was sitting out in the deer blind with his pals. Bonus.
But, of course, I’d had to sneak around to find a place to take a taste.
Leaving the crowd and the game, I ducked inside the door to the school’s gym. Under the cover of the bleachers, I drew out my dad’s flask, and unscrewed the top. Just as I raised it to my lips, I froze at the sound of whispered voices. Whoever was speaking had entered the gym at the other end of the bleachers.
Their shadowy figures weren’t easily visible. But I guessed it was a couple looking for a little privacy for a make-out session. And since a couple sneaking off together wasn’t a threat to me, I stood my ground.
I took a swallow of my father’s hooch. My first sip wasn’t life-changing—it burned going down and made my eyes water—it’s what happened next that changed everything.
After screwing the lid on the flask and pocketing it, I ducked out of the gym and into the hallway. Feeling nosy, I walked toward the gym’s other entrance, noiseless in my Nikes. When I reached the door, I eased into a position that allowed me to spy on the couple I’d heard whispering to each other. They were silent now, and I wanted to know why.
When I saw who it was, I swear my heart almost stopped. A varsity soccer player—Jared Harvey—stood beneath the bleachers, bracing his hands on a tread overhead. Roderick Waites knelt in front of him, unzipping Jared’s jeans.
You can bet I didn’t even blink for the next five minutes. I was riveted by the tension in Jared’s body. The muscles in his arms bulged as he held on to the tread, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he watched Roderick tug down his underwear and free his cock.
“Suck it, man,” Jared bit out.
Roderick didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the base of Jared’s dick in one hand and eagerly took the tip into his mouth. Jared made a strangled sound and tipped his head back in pleasure.
I could barely breathe as Roderick hollowed out his cheeks and sucked. And I became lightheaded when he began to bob up and down.
“Ungh!” Jared grunted. “Goddamn. Faster.”
Instead, Roderick slowed his pace, looking up at Jared with luminous eyes. And, damn, the sounds he made—the smack and slurp made my teenage brain melt.
Jared’s hold on the tread got shaky and, at last, Roderick picked up the pace. Jared gasped, one of his big hands falling to land in Roderick’s hair. Roderick glanced up at him again, and the eye contact seemed to burn Jared. He yanked his hand back and looked away.
I saw Roderick reach up and tug Jared’s balls with his free hand. No, I felt it. I was suddenly, painfully aware of my own arousal, of being so hard that my jeans were uncomfortable.
Jared cursed and shuddered, every muscle locking. His face slackened with release, and Roderick’s throat worked as he swallowed. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen in my seventeen years. My heart was thumping and blood pounded in my ears.
And other places.
