Page 23 of Golden

I shake my head, suppressing a smile. “Damn. You’re wasted.”

“It seems so.”

I crouch, glancing at the door over his shoulder as doubt starts to trickle in. Should I have left Sol? Maybe I should have stayed. Did he want to talk? I wouldn’t have been able to just talk. Even now, the pull to go back inside and find him is like a gravitational force.

Dragging my gaze away from the house, I focus on Alex. “I know who it is.”

Alex looks over his shoulder as though I’m talking about someone behind him. “Are you in trouble? Who is it? I’m sure Sol or Zak are more sober. They could help you.”

“Look,” I say, leaning closer, willing him to remember this conversation. “I know who posted Sasha’s diary entries.”

That seems to sober him up. “What? Who?”

“I’m not telling you when you’re in this state. I tell the dean or hold off and tell you tomorrow when you’re sober. What do you want?”

“Just tell me now.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“They’re in there, aren’t they?” He stands, swaying like a sapling in a strong breeze, and I reach out to steady him. “Tell me!”

He’s trying to be authoritative, but it’s just cute. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. I’m heading home tomorrow morning, but I’ll call you. Okay?”

Alex’s hands clench into fists and I’m not sure whether they’re aimed at me, but I raise my eyebrows and take a step back. He looks up at me, and instantly sags, as he realizes there’s no way he’s getting the information tonight.

“Fine,” he mutters.

I nod and turn to the path, shoving my hands in my pockets as though it might do something to ward off the cold. Alex should really be inside; he’ll freeze out here.

“If you can manage it, go and check on Sol, okay?”

I hope that, not only will my request get his ass indoors, but give Sol someone to talk to if he needs it. Although, I’m fairly certain Zak knows what’s going on if his wingman act is anything to go on.

Maybe I shouldn’t have let the kiss happen. I told myself I didn’t want to deal with someone figuring their way out of the closet, but as the memory of the way Sol’s fingers gripped me, the way he sucked on my lip, and the way he melted against me, floods my senses, I can’t for the life of me remember why.

SOL

Lying on my childhood bed, my stomach still full of our usual Thanksgiving feast, I stare at my phone lying on my nightstand. It’s been two days since my entire world shifted on its axis, which also means two days of half typing messages to Wes and then deleting them.

I know he thinks I freaked out after the kiss. He practically backed out of the room like I was going to start crying or something. The thing is, I wasn’t freaking out about the fact I kissed a guy. I was freaking out about how much I fucking liked it.

Closing my eyes, I suck in a slow breath as I recall the feel of his long fingers on my neck, the way his broad chest and shoulders felt under my hands. Everything about him was so calm and sure, and letting go was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. The way Wes claimed my mouth had my head spinning and even now, my breath hitches at the memory.

Zak was right about my type when it comes to women. Sometimes, I purposefully go for short girls because I like the size difference. Being the one ‘in charge’ turns me on. Maybe it’s some sort of caveman shit, but I like it.

When it comes to Wes, though, it’s the complete opposite. He’s only got a couple of inches height on me, but between that and his broad shoulders, it makes all the difference. It had felt so good to let someone take control and I don’t need to open my eyes to know that I’m tenting my sweatpants right now. A groan rumbles in my throat as I think about the way we ground against each other; the friction of my cock against his, even through our jeans, a sort of delicious torture.

The fact that I’ve even rubbed my dick against another guy’s, let alone enjoyed the hell out of it, would have had my head exploding a week ago. Now, all I can think about is how I need to make sure it happens again.

My hand slides down inside my sweatpants, gripping my aching cock, and I bite my lip to suppress a moan. Breathing hard, I fumble in my nightstand for lotion, but then remember I’m not in my dorm, and swear under my breath. Spit will have to do.

As I begin to stroke, my other hand lifts my shirt, fingers trailing up my chest, as I imagine what it would have been like if Wes had let himself go. I could tell he was holding back, his hands staying firmly on my waist and neck. What would it feel like to have his skin against mine? His mouth on my body? On my cock?

I can’t keep in my moan at the thought of Wes on his fucking knees, my dick in his mouth, and I pick up the speed of my firm strokes, arching off the bed as my balls draw up, my muscles tensing. My eyes fly open as I spill over my hand and stomach, faster and harder than I expected.

Lying there, panting, in my own fucking mess, my head rolls to look at my phone again. If I don’t text him soon, this is probably as good as it’s going to get. Wiping my hand on my shirt, I reach out and snatch my phone, scrolling to his contact and typing out a message before I can stop myself.

Me: Happy Thanksgiving

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