Page 12 of Manhattan Tormentor

Our fathers are old frat buddies.

Our moms get drunk when they say they’re doing charity shit.

We’ve been friends since middle school. And I consider how he’d react if he knew I thought about dick sometimes.

One dick in particular.

The strange Fierro.

My jaw tightens when he appears in my mind, and I force my teeth to unclench and push a grin on my face. “Where do you wanna go?”

“We can hang at mine, get the girls to come over.”

I shrug. Not caring about the details.

He starts to tell me about the movie he was watching last night with his hook-up buddy. How she sucked his dick so good he forgot the whole plot and had to watch it a second time when she left.

I know her skill firsthand. She can suck a brain out through a dick. But I realize it’s been some time since I’ve had my own stories to throw into the mix.

I can’t acknowledge why that is or I’ll get pissed off all over again.

Half grunting my agreement when he reels off names he’s inviting over. I don’t give a fuck to be honest. My head isn’t interested in getting off with anyone today.

Until I watch a familiar matte black BMW pull into the parking lot. My veins constrict and buzz beneath my skin.

“You listening to me?” Bates shoulder checks me. I switch my gaze and blink. “Yeah, yeah. You go on, I’ll be over soon.”

“Bring booze. Mom will go apeshit if I empty her liquor cabinet again. I’ll get the weed and fire up a game.”

“Sounds good,” I mutter. Bates ties his chin-length hair in a bun, then hauls his ass into his Cruiser. My full gaze is on the little shit climbing from his car across the parking lot.

Where is the nerd going this early?

I watch him head toward the gym, a sports bag in his hand, his head dipped over a notebook as usual. How he doesn’t walk into shit, I don’t know.

He’s not the type I’d take for working out. He’s long and lean, sure. About my height, but he’s more brains than brawn.

My interest spikes, same as my blood as it rushes through my ears. My gaze lazily takes him in. Black trackies mold to his long legs and a red sleeveless shirt displays a hard chest I didn’t know he had under his baggy hoodie tops.

Fuck me. I’m biting the inside of my cheek with fury as I look at him until I taste metallic blood.

I’mnotgay.

I’ve never thought about a guy in that way.

And then this fool rocks up in my life and tips my brain upside down. The want drowns me.

I have no care who enjoys banging guys, before anyone throws homophobic outbursts in my face. Each to their own. But when it crash lands in my life, after a diet of pussy and tits, it knocks the air out of me.

It’s a chemical imbalance or something. I looked it up.

I’m not attracted to the nerd.

Not interested in the pout of his lower lip or the light in his eyes. I don’t watch the way he holds the spiral backed books he carries like bibles, and I don’t want to know what his ass feels like in my hands.

I swallow hard and turn away from Sage Fierro walking through the doors to the pool.

Bates smirks when he clocks where I’m looking. Having witnessed my torment, he thinks it’s hilarious.

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