Page 42 of Catcher's Lock
And his fuckingcock. Thick and slightly curved, ruddy and slick with precum beneath his pale fingers. What would it feel like undermyhand? What would ittastelike?
The whole time, his gaze stays glued to my face, avidly devouring my every reaction, and I’m staggered by the realization that he’s not thinking about Jessie or imagining some other girl. He’s here, with me.I’mthe one making him moan and arch and leak all over his hand.
The current in my body overloads, threatening to burst out through my skin. I’m terrified to move a single muscle in case I break the suspended moment of this spell. Afraid the slightest shift of friction will have me spilling in my pants.
When he comes, he bows off the bed with an unholy groan, laying his throat bare as ropes of cum splatter his chest. I roll onto my stomach and bury my own cry in the pillow, spurting into the mattress without ever touching my dick.
The scrape of the tissue box on the nightstand wars with my ragged breathing, and I squeeze my eyes shut rather than watch him clean himself up. The light clicks off before I recover,plunging the room into darkness that smells like pipe dreams and sex.
“G’night, Rocket,” he mumbles, already halfway to sleep. “Sweet dreams.”
I wait until his soft snores fill the silence before tiptoeing to the bathroom to change into my last pair of clean underwear, then lie awake for hours, hand pressed to the pounding of my heart.
I awaken to a pitch-black room and a vague feeling of dread. My phone says it’s almost 9 a.m.
“Shit. Quill, wake up. You’re gonna miss your flight.” It takes me five eternal seconds to fumble the unfamiliar lamp alight, only to find myself staring at an empty bed. I cock my head, listening for the shower, and check my texts.
He went to grab coffee in the lobby, that’s all. He’ll be back in a minute, laughing about missing the shuttle and asking me to give him a ride. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
But my empty heart knows the truth.
His backpack and suitcase are both gone. He turned my alarm off and pulled the blackout curtains so he could sneak away without waking me up.
This is the cost of his regret.
“You’re drunk,” my mom says when I let myself in through the kitchen door an eternity later. It’s a rare night when she’s home, and she and Rachael are in the middle of making spaghetti. My dad is on the couch with Jeremy, watching an old episode ofSmallvilleand clutching the ubiquitous beer.
I’m not drunk. I’m sad and bewildered and bone-weary. I alsotook two Xanax from the stash Gem left behind in the hidden Star-Lord lunchbox he keeps—kept—by the hammock on the way home from returning the truck.
I pour myself into a chair at the half-made table and rest my head on my arms. Tomorrow I’m leaving this house, and if I’m lucky, I’ll never come back.
“I’m gay.” Apparently, non sequiturs are my coming-out method of choice.
“I knew you’d been sucking that circus boy’s cock,” my dad calls from the living room.
“Paul,” my mom chastises with a meaningful look at my little brother. “Language.”
Because of course it’s the wordcockand not the malicious comment that bothers her. Rachael moves to sit next to me and lays her head on my shoulder.
“Don’t listen to them,” she whispers. “It’s not worth it.”
“Does that mean you’re the girl?” Jeremy asks, momentarily distracted from the TV by the real-life meltdown happening in the kitchen.
“No one’sthe girl, shithead. That’s the whole point.”
“Josha, don’t call your brother a shithead,” my mom scolds absently. Then, with a slight frown, she adds, “And Jeremy, don’t call Josha a girl.”
“Oh my god. You guys are so clueless,” Rachael exclaims. “They’re called ‘tops’ and ‘bottoms.’” Tilting her head curiously, she studies me. “Or he could be vers. That meansversatile, and—”
“Rachael,” I groan. “Please stop helping.”
“Shilo and Cheyenne are gay,” Jeremy pipes up, wide eyes darting between me and our father.
“Those people put you up to this?”
“No one ‘put me up to this,’ Dad. It’swho I am. And it’s not anything new. I figured it was time you knew.”
With a grunt, he returns his attention to the TV, sending Jeremy to fetch him another beer. The pot rattles on the stove, and my mom grabs a potholder and starts fussing with the sauce. Rachael and I exchange a glance, and she shrugs.
