Page 22 of Sweat

“Rowan.” Tommy’s hand lands on mine, squeezing it hard enough to ache.

I blink, staring at our joined hands until it finally registers in my head what I was doing—what I was about to do.

While one hand stays on Tommy’s firm quad, the other hand snuck so far beneath Tommy’s shorts, my fingertips were only an inch from his prominent bulge. My gaze falls to it, examining Tommy’s dick print in complete awe. Heart racing and my own cock swelling, I watch Tommy’s bulge long enough to notice how thick and long it is, pushing against his shorts to make them tent.

In a flash, Tommy pushes me back and climbs to his feet.

Still dazed, I watch as he digs his hand under his waistband to adjust his placement before tugging his shirt down over his crotch.

“Sorry,” he grumbles. “Just really have to piss.”

Before I can say one word, Tommy marches off toward the park bathrooms. Part of me wants to follow him. Part of me wants to dig a deep hole and die in it.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Crushing on straight guys is one thing. Trying to massage their cocks is another.

I trek back to where we left our bags and spend this time reconsidering my whole life. If I wasn’t so sexually repressed, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if, just once, I loosened up enough to do the things I fantasize about, I wouldn’t be this reckless.

Just because I have sex with a guy doesn’t mean I have to suddenly begaygay, right? I can still be me. I wouldn’t evenhave to tell anyone. It could be something for me and the other guy to take to our graves.

One guy. That’s all I need.

Not Oscar, though. He goes to my school, probably knows some people I know. A rando would do. Someone from the bar or off Grindr.

“Hey.”

I flinch at Tommy’s voice above me while I’m stooped beside my bag, catching my breath before I completely panic. I stand up and give Tommy a once over, seeing a portrait of discomfort.

Eyes not meeting mine, Tommy says, “I’m sorry about that, man. Since breaking up with Lese, I’ve been kinda pent up, and—”

“I get it,” I interrupt, if only so I don’t have to hear about how much Tommy misses his cheating ex. “It’s normal. Don’t sweat it.”

He nods, and we fall into an awkward silence while he scoops up his backpack and slings his hoodie over his shoulder. “I’ll, uh, see you.”

“Yeah.”

He walks away again, and I can’t follow him. What would I even do if I could?

I get home just after eight. Park the car at the curb and use my key on the wrought iron gate across the driveway. I’m halfway to the garage side-door when the backdoor of the house opens up, and Matt steps out onto the stoop in pajamas and flip-flops.

“Went for a run?” he asks after we exchange good mornings.

“Yeah.” I fiddle with my keys between my fingers, not in the mood to make fun of Matt for his lame Mickey Mouse pants.

“Xiamara is about to fix breakfast. Take a shower, then come on in.”

“I’ve got finals shit to work on.”

He shrugs. “You’ve got all day. C’mon, Rowan. Family time.”

Family time.Always sounds nice on the surface, never feels quite right in practice, but homemade breakfast sounds great nonetheless.

First things first, I head into the garage, strip naked in the backroom that’s been my bedroom for nearly four years, then slip into the three-quarter bathroom for a shower.

My phone buzzes on the pedestal sink just before I step into the narrow shower stall.

Tommy

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