Page 28 of Kitty Season
Of course, Becker just goes right back to pretending I don’t exist, while doing everything he can to antagonize me. This time talking like a wanker with an accent somewhere between Dickens and Steve Irwin. “Great natural light by these windows, although, are they due north? Why, golly yes. I fear they are. It must get terribly hot here in the afternoons. My plants won’t do well. No, not at all.”
Claire looks equally as confused as me. Coach looks as pained as my mum when she consumes lactose. It’s him that’s the first to speak directly to me. “Brady, you may not recognize Mr.Becker without his ass on your chest, but you’re about to know him a whole lot better.”
Troye takes two strides towards me and slings his arm up and over my shoulder. “I take my eggs over easy and my coffee extra black.”
“What’s going on?” That’s Claire, asking the question I can’t ‘cause I’m too busy having an internal fucking breakdown. “Troye, are you?—”
“Am I shacking up with the big fella here? The newest member of the dork-sorry, I mean Bears Brigade, ROOOAAARRR.” He actually roars. It’s annoyingly authentic. “You bet your little pink head I am.”
“No!” I yell at the top of my lungs as I struggle to untangle myself from his grasp. “No way. You can’t be. How can that be? It can’t. It can’t. Can it?” I look to Coach, pleading with my saddest puppy eyes for this to be another one of Becker’s sick jokes. But he refuses to meet my gaze.
“We’ve been lucky enough to secure Mr. Becker for the remainder of the season. I’m sure you’ll agree there is a hole on the the offensive lineup since Petterson left?—”
“And I’m going to plug it,” Troye whispers in my ear, though it feels like he’s blowing directly onto my dick.
“Oh my God! This is amazing,” squeals Claire, as she runs towards us and effortlessly does what I failed to do, get Becker off me. “Invite your moms down for a game, and they can stay with me and Kel. It’ll be Lesbi-palooza!”
While they celebrate, I pull Coach aside, determined to sort shit out. “You can’t be serious? Troye Becker? You want Troye Becker on my team? Inmyhouse?”
“It’s not your team, or your house,” Coach reminds me. “It’s my team and a BC dorm, the only one not full. You’ve been lucky to have it to yourself since you arrived, but this is happening, so you better get used to it.”
“But.”
“But nothing. You don’t need to be privy to all the details to know we can’t make it to the semis if we don’t win. I for one will do everything I can to make that happen, and as a senior member of the team, you should, too.”
Troye’s body is still under Claire’s command as she dances him around, but his face. His gaze. That is one hundred percent focused on me. He’s loving this, feeding off his host’s uncomfortableness like a blood-sucking parasite.
“Yep, you’re right. Of course, Coach. I’ll do whatever you need. Whatever the team needs.”
“What areyour feelings on IKEA, ‘cause I’m all over it and that empty wall, the one by the front door, is just screaming for a row of Billie Bookshelves.
“Are you in to collectibles? You seem like the type.
“Hungry? I’m thinking Taco Bell.”
“Jesus Christ, Becker,” I snap after what feels like decades of constant jabbering about pointless, boring shit. “Do you ever shut the hell up?”
“I’m far quieter when Quinn’s around.” He smirks, leaning inappropriately close for the hundredth time since he moved in. “My mouth is usually otherwise engaged.”
I’m successful in pushing him away at least now, and he laughs as he resettles himself on the sofa right beside me, the feel of his thigh against mine, unnaturally warm.
I stare at the empty space his ass could be filling, and will him to move. No shock, it doesn’t work. “Don’t talk about her like that. She deserves better.”
“And you would just love to be the one to give it to her, wouldn’t ya, Skip?” Yes. I think to myself. “She’s going to have kittens when she finds out I’m one of her daddy’s boys now. That extra hint of rebellion should really heat things up. But don’t worry, Skip, she loves it when I pin her down and cover her mouth. All you should hear are muffled pleas for more.”
“Rack off, Becker.” I want to storm away and hide in my room, but the half chub I’m suddenly sporting has me glued to my seat.
Claire insisted there was nothing abnormal about these … my … inclinations. But this? Getting hard over a knee bumping mine. A dirty, disrespectful mouth and the thought of that mouth roaming Quinn’s naked body with nothing but a cheap, drywall barrier between us, very much makes me believe otherwise.
Like he can read my mind, my roomie’s eyes dart to my crotch. “Speaking of the little lady. She’s been trying to reach me all day. Maybe it’s time I reply to her messages. Invite her over.”
Ignoring him, I lean forward, attempting to reach for the remote on the coffee table without dislodging the cock-blocking cushion from my lap. I secure it eventually and switch to ESPN. The two New York teams are facing off tonight. Maybe I can catch the pregame and block the fucker out.
The bright lights of MSG are like a sensory toy, instantly bringing a sense of calm to my frazzled nerves. For about five seconds.
“Kitty. Been busy. Come over.” Each over articulated word grates my nerves like nails down a chalkboard.
“Are you freaking kidding me? You’re speaking what you type?”
