Page 37 of Studs Up
All of it was ridiculous. A little making out, a blow job, and a hand job do not make a relationship.
“International break coming up,” he lowered his voice. The deep rumble resonated through the phone and right into my blood.
“Yeah,” I started, and my mouth moved, but no more sound came out.
“See you in Chicago,” he said and then hung up. I was left with my mouth gaping open and staring at my Oscar. I was hot and horny and needy and utterly a coward.
I jerked off first and then let myself be miserable.
In one week, we’d be in Chicago.
Nolan
I fucking loved that he called. Every time, it reminded me of how breathless he had been with my hand down his pants and the way he moaned as I stroked him.
There was a theory I needed to test before I saw him again.
A gay bar was not my scene. I didn’t want to get hit on, and I had no intention of hitting on someone else. I wasn’t sure where to go when Marcel called, wanting to go out and celebrate another call up. So that’s how I found myself on a golf course at Marcel’s Club and pretending like this was the only way I wanted to spend my time.
“You’ve never golfed before?” He asked as he handed me a bag of clubs.
“Why the fuck do I need a stick to hit a ball?”
“It’s fun,” he rolled his eyes at me and slapped my shoulder. “Come on.”
I could at least say I could hit the ball. Aiming it was an entirely different matter.
“The fuck,” I said as I watched my ball sail in the opposite direction of the hole.
Marcel laughed at me almost to the point he doubled over.
“Fuck you,” I growled and shoved my club into the bag.
“You have to find that, you know,” he said, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.
I turned back to the thick brush of untamed land that had been left for chumps like me.
Older men had golf carts, and we walked. I had to drag the bag all the way to the thicket, and by the time I got there, I was sweating and seriously considering quitting.
Did I really need to check out other men to see if I was gay? Was it worth this bullshit? Probably not. The only person in the world I had ever obsessed over was Holden Monroe. But then again, it was good to know. I guess.
“Gonna have to room with Monroe again?” Marcel asked as I stepped into the mini forest.
“Probably,” I muttered, pushing the plants around and looking for the ball.
“I could take him off your hands,” he suggested.
My gut reaction was fuck no. Possession and greed almost made me bark at him to fuck off.
“Mirren was pretty clear we need to get along.” I think I did a pretty good job sounding pissed about it because Marcel was snickering again.
“Guess you’ll be roommates forever.”
I hoped so.
“Are you going to help me or just watch me like a jerk,” I called.
“Oh, you look good from here.”
