Page 109 of Golden

“I promised you’d be fine.” He smiles and presses gentle kisses to my nose and lips. “And that promise still stands. Things will get easier. Just hold on a little longer.”

I turn my face into his hand and press a kiss to his palm. “Thank you. If I didn’t have you anchoring me, I don’t know if I’d have made it this far.”

“You would,” Wes says, frowning a little. “This is all you, Sol.”

Sinking back against him, I run my hands over the broad expanse of his shoulders and smile against his neck. “Love you.”

“You know,” Wes murmurs against my ear. “We could always cancel this weekend and stay home and be naked instead.”

I laugh, pulling back and squeezing his sides. “We can be naked in Mexico.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But we have to put on clothes to get on the plane. If we stay here, we don’t have to put clothes on for the next three days.”

“As tempting as that is, I do actually want to lie on a beach and relax,” I admit.

Wes fakes a scowl. “Fine.”

We stay there, comfortable in each other’s embrace, until Wes takes hold of my chin, tilting my head and kissing me. It’s the confident claiming I love, but there’s no real heat behind it, and I feel the question before he voices it. The same question he’s asked on our last four anniversaries, and my breathing stalls in anticipation.

“Are you happy, Sol?”

“Yes.” My answer is instant, and I press a kiss to his shoulder, not so subtly inhaling the scent my nose has automatically chased for the past half a decade. “Are you?”

“More than happy.” He lightly traces his fingers up and down my spine as he kisses my neck. “You know, some days I still pinch myself to believe that this is real. That we’re real. You’re everything I ever wanted. You know that, right?”

“I do,” I say, holding him tighter. “You know, I hear people bitching about their partners at the hospital all the time, and it makes me think how lucky I am. Even when you annoy the hell out of me, you’re still the one I want to share my ups and downs with, the first person I want to call. You’re my highs, my lows, and everything in between. Not to mention, I can’t keep my damn hands off you.” Squeezing his ass to punctuate the fact, I press a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Wes.”

He exhales, dropping his forehead to mine. “I love you, too.”

“Come on,” I tug at his hand. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

Wes doesn’t move, his eyes trailing over me as though memorizing every inch of skin.

“Hey,” I say, waiting until he meets my eye. “We good?”

He blinks, then looks at me with a smile that lights up the room. “We’re more than good, baby. We’re golden.”

KEEP READING FOR THE NEXT INSTALMENT OF FRANKLIN WEST UNIVERSITY . . .

FORBIDDEN

DOUG

The smell of chorine burns my nostrils, the intense damp heat of the pool coating my skin. It’s loud and uncomfortable. But it’s home. Pushing my fingers through my hair, my heart slams against my ribs as I watch the swimmers flip turn and push off back for the final length. It’s close. Not close enough for us to pull back a win for the meet, but if we can take this last race, it might ease the sting a little.

It's the first meet of the season and, honestly, it couldn’t be going worse. It’s only against Portland Community College, but they’re annihilating us. Sure, the team have had the summer off, but we shouldn’t be getting beaten this badly.

I track Aldo Rossi, the captain of our men’s team, as he powers through the water, the form of his butterfly near perfect, and my chest pulls. I know exactly what every inch of those powerful shoulders tastes like. How the muscles along his toned torso contract under my fingers as I bring him to his knees. I swallow, my mouth dry.

Hooking up with Aldo was a mistake. A mistake we repeated far too many fucking times. Which is why it’s over now. He’s a student and I’m his coach. It’s beyond breaking the rules. It’s forbidden. And as much as everyone seems to think I’m some sort of cavalier bad boy, I need this fucking job. I can’t afford to get sacked.

The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the race as the swimmers reach the side. It’s close, but we lose. Portland takes first and second place, as Aldo and Wes take third and fourth. Not fucking good enough.

“Commiserations, old chap,” the Portland coach says in a really shitty British accent as he claps me on the back.

I haven’t lived in England since I was sixteen. Just over fifteen years ago. My accent is a muddled mess, where Americans think I still sound British as fuck, but Europeans are convinced I’m either American or Australian.

I grimace, pasting a smile on my face before I turn to him. “Congratulations, Dave. It was a well-deserved win.”

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