Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

“I’d love one.”

I waited on the front steps as George pulled his keys from his pocket, drinking in details of a house I’d known well as a teenager.

I remembered that the sunlit living room facing the street always smelled like lemons and was rarely used, while the family room and kitchen were the hub of all activity. I had my own corner of a sectional I’d bet had long ago been replaced. I’d known where the extra batteries for the remote control were kept, and I’d memorized the family photos lined in the shelves flanking the built-in TV.

A decade ago, I’d had unlimited access to the pantry, the refrigerator, but knew it was best to stay out of the way when Mrs. M was in the midst of cooking or baking ’cause she was a talker and there was usually a video game or a movie on in the next room. I knew that the top stairs creaked like a motherfucker, and I remembered the smell of the carpet in Simon’s room when we’d lined up sleeping bags and talked about sports, kids in school, and girls we thought were cute.

If George was the black sheep of his family, I was the Baker family version. I didn’t really belong anywhere in particular, but unlike George, I wasn’t close to the people who shared my last name. I’d adopted my teammates as brothers and spent every possible moment on a field or at a friend’s house to avoid the shack my parents rented from Uncle Hank across town.

But it never occurred to me to feel sorry for myself. I had it made with the Murphys and a host of other families who’d cleared a place for me at their table.

That was a long time ago, but damn, this place still felt like home.

“You can come in,” George said, pulling me from my reverie. “Or are you having second thoughts? They’re really good cookies.”

I smiled, stepping across the threshold. “I remember.”

I followed him through the living area and into the big family-style kitchen, cataloging changes along the way. Other than a few basic updates, everything was reassuringly familiar.

George headed for the pantry and returned with a container filled with chocolate chip cookies. “Help yourself. Do you want anything to drink?”

“No, thanks.” I sat at the old kitchen table, smiling when he put a cookie in front of me, then flopped onto the chair next to mine. I scarfed a cookie in two giant bites before admitting, “Fine. I was jealous.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. The idea of you with anyone else…I don’t like it.”

His lips quirked as if he were hiding a smile behind his cookie. “I want to savor this moment.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, Aiden Baker.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I spent a lot of years watching girls hang all over you. I spied on your prom pictures from the top of the staircase, gnawing the inside of my cheek when you put your arm around your date. I used to wish it was me. But that was crazy thinking, so I fantasized about you instead.”

My hand froze over the cookies. “Fantasized? About me? Like…what? How?”

He chuckled. “The usual. I went from wishing you’d show up on the doorstep with flowers for me to wishing I could push you against the door, drop to my knees, and suck your cock.”

I gaped. “The…door. Like…the front door?”

“Yep.”

“Are your parents home?”

“No, dummy. I told you they—where are you going?”

I moved to the entry, pacing from the wall of family photos to the edge of the area rug and back. George stalked toward me with his hands on his hips and a megawatt smile on his face.

“Show me how this went. Were you standing here? Or here?” I opened the door and shook my head.

George closed the door and flattened himself against it theatrically. “Like this. You may have your way with me now.”

I braced one arm over his head and cupped his chin, brushing my thumb along his jawline before tracing his bottom lip. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.” He yanked my T-shirt from my jeans then undid the buttons on his oxford shirt. “This is my teenage fantasy come to life.”

“Tell me about it. Be specific,” I demanded, pressing my palm against his crotch.

“You were here at the house after a football game, but you were still wearing your uniform. You took your helmet off and told me to follow you upstairs.” He groaned, rocking his hips suggestively.

“And then what?”

“I sucked your cock.”

“Mmm. You’re a very good cocksucker,” I purred, fumbling with his belt and his zipper, pushing his khakis over his perfect ass.

“I am.”

I pulled him close, sliding my erection alongside his. It would be even better without the barrier of fabric between us, but this was nice too. Very nice. I slipped my hand under the elastic of his boxer briefs.