Fake Out: Chapter 20

God, I hate coming home late. It never used to faze me, but now, knowing Maddox is at home waiting for me, I hate it. Only a few more weeks and I’ll be coming home at a reasonable hour. Of course, by then, he’ll be back in his apartment which will suck.

When I walk through the door, he drags me straight into the bathroom and starts undressing me.

“Missed you too,” I murmur.

“We’re seeing your friends tonight or did you forget?” His hands continue their assault on my clothes, and I can’t wait to have them on me.

“I forgot. When do we have to be there at?”

“Ten minutes ago,” he says. “But they’re going to have to wait, because for the last three days I’ve tried to wait up for you and passed out instead. I need you in me.”

And I’m done for. My mouth crashes down on his. He shaved today, so his smooth face is different from the stubble I’m used to, but I still love it. Love his lips, his tongue. I groan into his mouth. “Wait.” I pull back. “We need—”

“Lube and condom already in the shower. You can’t call me a boy scout; I’m just horny. I … uh … went shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“You’ll see.” Maddox pulls me in under the spray and kisses me hard.

My tongue meets his, and my hands wander over his hard body. His abs contract and harden beneath my fingers. When they go to his ass, there’s—

“Is that a butt plug?”

His newfound love of ass play is a novelty to him. It’s like a game, figuring out how many different ways he can come.

“Little to no prep time. I’m ready.” He reaches for the condom and rolls it on for me. Then he grabs the lube and massages a generous amount on my cock. I’m close to blowing already, so I have to stop him.

“Wrap your legs around me.” It comes out like an order, and I half-expect Maddox to tease me further to watch me squirm and complain, but he must be hornier than I expect, because he does as I say without demanding I use my manners first.

Maddox moves so his back is flush against the tile wall. When his legs go around my back, I hold him up with one hand, while the other reaches around and pulls out the plug, letting it drop to the floor. Then in one swift, glorious motion, Maddox’s tight heat surrounds my cock.

“You have to come fast. Not only am I close to coming, but you’re fucking heavy.”

Maddox laughs, and the movement ripples down to my toes.

“So not helping.” I breathe deep to pull me back from the edge.

“I got this,” he says. Reaching between us, he takes himself in his hand.

My head falls to his shoulder as my hips move in short and shallow thrusts. I want to close my eyes to try to make this last longer, but I have an awesome view of Maddox’s hand wrapped around his cock. He rolls his wrist on the upstroke and rubs the precum from his slit down his shaft and then repeats the same motion over and over again. If I wasn’t about to blow my load, I’d be able to watch that for hours. His thumb swipes some more precum, and he lifts his finger to my mouth. I love the taste of him on my lips.

My hips pivot forward and pick up pace.

“This angle,” he pants. “I’m gonna—” He’s cut off by his orgasm ripping through him. His ass clamps down on me, and I grunt as I chase my own release. I can’t take much more, but I don’t want this to end. It’s the perfect dilemma.

My legs threaten to fall out from underneath us when I shudder and Maddox’s ass milks my dick. Maddox grabs onto my shoulders for leverage as I pound into him with what I have left. When I finally still, my arms are heavy, my legs weak, and I notice a pain in my right hamstring. “Fuck, I think I pulled something.”

“If it doesn’t cause an injury, it isn’t fun.”

I slip out of him and practically drop him, but he finds his balance fast when his feet hit the tiles. “We need to get cleaned up and go.”

We rush as fast as we can and are out the door in five minutes, but Wyatt’s place is on the Upper West Side near Columbia, so we’re forty-five minutes late when we finally arrive. It’s not a big deal considering our catchups are always casual, but with the way I’m now limping, thanks to the shower romp, they’re all going to know why.

“Whose place is this again?” Maddox asks.

“Wyatt’s. Blond guy, long hair.”

“Ah, the surfing analyst.”

“Except he doesn’t surf. And I don’t think he’s an analyst. I don’t understand his job.”

Wyatt’s building is so old the buzzer to get in only works to let the people know you’re there. They have to physically come out to let you in, so I hit the buzzer and wait.

“Now, am I going to have to remind you that you will be around other humans tonight, and Wyatt lives in a one-bedroom apartment, so most likely, someone will be listening at all times?”

“Are you implying I’m not able to keep my mouth shut about your sex injury from dicking me out—”

I sigh when Wyatt laughs. Of course, he had to open the door in the middle of Maddox’s sentence. “Yo, Noah,” Wyatt calls out down the hall to his ground-floor apartment. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

Maddox’s cheeks pinken. “I’m never speaking again.”

I frown at Wyatt. “What are you talking about?”

“I bet twenty bucks that Maddox was a bottom. Noah reckons you’re too straight for that.”

“Uh …” Maddox’s mouth opens but nothing else comes out.

I shrug. “If they’re betting on you, it means they like you,” I say to him.

“Okay … thanks? I think?”

Wyatt’s dining area and kitchen are small, but he has a loft bed in the corner, so he turned his actual bedroom into a large living room—large for New York anyway.

Rebecca and Skylar are on one end of the couch, and Noah and Aron are on the floor, sitting close together. Noah and Aron have a weird relationship, and they refuse to talk about it to anyone. I think they may have slept together, but they deny it.

Maddox and I squish in on the couch next to the girls.

“You’re one of us now,” Skylar says to Maddox.

“One of you?” he asks.

“Damon told Rebecca, who told me, who told everyone, you two are officially together now. So, that means you’re one of us.”

“One of us. One of us,” Noah chants.

“Do I get to learn a secret handshake? If there’s no handshake, I’m not interested.”

“Here’s a handshake for you,” Noah says and flips him off.

Maddox laughs. I’m glad he takes Noah’s shit in stride. He can definitely rub people the wrong way. Although, half the time I expect he purposefully does it to push people away.

There’s no group of people I’m more comfortable around than these guys—not even my own family. And Maddox fits in easily. We sit there basically slinging insults at each other all night, and it’s obvious they approve of and love Maddox. Like I’m beginning to think I do too.

Two more weeks fly by, and poor Cheri is still stuck in New York. Maddox says she’s getting nausea from the treatment, and they’re trying to counteract the vomiting with other meds, but nothing seems to be working. She has the option to pull out of the clinical trial, but without it, her MS might get worse, and she doesn’t want that.

She thinks she might be here another week at least. By then it’ll be six weeks total, and I’m selfish enough to say I’m thankful for her being sick. Okay, not thankful—that makes me an asshole. I don’t like that she’s sick, but it’s the reason Maddox is still staying with me.

If there was a way to keep Maddox in my apartment without Cheri being sick, I’d take it.

You could always ask him, dumbass.

Or, I could be a huge chicken shit and hope that once Cheri leaves, Maddox will want to stay and say it himself without me having to ask.

The time living with Maddox has been better than I could’ve expected, but it’s not like he’s there by choice. Anyone would choose a big, comfy bed over sharing one room with an aunt-slash-birth-mother person and sleeping on a tiny couch.

If I tell Maddox I’m ready for the ninth inning when he’s still in the second, it’s going to get awkward.

Has that stopped me from searching apartments in between SoHo where OTS is and Midtown where his office is? Nope. Has it stopped me from wanting to make future plans and fantasizing about coming home to Maddox every single night? Nope.

I know not to say these things aloud. Maddox would run the other way. It’s only been five weeks. A great five weeks, but still. It’s way too soon. Especially for someone like Maddox who isn’t normally a long-term guy.

I text Maddox when I leave the office, because I know he went out tonight with my sister. When I walk the few blocks home, I arrive outside my building at the same time a cab pulls up.

“I think this belongs to you,” a slurred, high-pitched voice yells.

I turn to find Maddox stumbling out of the cab. Behind him, both Stacy and Eric’s brother, Julian, are squished up against the window.

“Looks like you guys had fun,” I say.

“Awthsome night. Woulda been betterer if you were there.”

I try not to laugh as I wrap my arm around Maddox’s slumped shoulders and pull him to my side so he stops swaying. “Awthsome and betterer? How drunk are you?”

“About ten and a half drunks.”

“That’s the right amount of drunks,” I say and drag him upstairs to the apartment.

He doesn’t make it to the bedroom. He falls onto the couch and breathes a sigh as if he’s comfortable, even though he’s half hanging off the thing.

“I’ll go get you a glass of water and some Tylenol.”

Maddox bolts upright into a sitting position. “Do I remind you of Eric?”

I freeze in my steps, halfway to the bathroom. “What?”

He waves me off. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

I stalk over to him. “No, what did you mean by that?”

“Hanging out with Julian … he said some things about his brother. Might’ve said I looked … wait, I want to get the wording right.” He speaks low in a mimicking voice. “‘You look a fuck-ton like my brother. Can anyone say Eric’s replacement?’”

Fucking Julian.

“Is this why you’re hammered right now?” I ask.

“Naaah. We were all drunk waaaaay before that. Seriously, wine coolers with cheap chasers is not a good idea. The chasers tasted like lighter fluid. I’m surprised Stacy was still standing in the end.”

“Julian becomes an ass when he’s drunk, so I’m sure he didn’t mean any of it. Or, he was so drunk, he actually thought you looked like Eric—”

“I thought it too, you know. When I first met the asshole. My initial reaction was to wonder why you wouldn’t hook up with me when I was clearly your type.” His speech is no longer slurred—this conversation sobering him right up.

I join him on the couch and push him down, my body blanketing his. “You are not Eric’s replacement in any way. You’re both blond and have blue eyes, but your similarities end there. You might’ve been an asshole to your high school girlfriend, but deep down, you’re kind”—I lean in and kiss his cheek—“thoughtful”—a kiss on his neck this time—“awesome. And nothing like Eric …” I take his mouth with mine, and yup, I totally get the lighter fluid taste in my mouth. “What the hell did you guys drink?”

“Who the fuck knows,” he mumbles.

“Want to go to bed?”

“Fair warning, I’m way too drunk to get it up.”

I burst out laughing. “I meant to sleep.”

“Mm, sounds good.”