Strong Enough

“Derek,” he admonished. “Why not?”

I shrugged. “I was busy at work this week.” It was an excuse. The truth was that I’d broached the subject with my father, and he’d told me I was crazy, I’d lose my shirt, and I had no time for side projects, anyway. In fact, he wanted me to take on more responsibility in the next six months, not less.

“Call now.”

“I’m driving. And I don’t have the number.”

“Do it when you get home after dropping me at work.”

I gave him a look. “That apartment made you bossy.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. But I know you’d do such a great job on it. And I think it’s like your dream.”

“Maybe. I’ll give it some more thought.” But it was hard to think about anything that might happen after the next nine days. I didn’t want to do it.

When I pulled up to The Blind Pig, he looked at me. “What will you do tonight?”

“Nothing much.” Think about you. Feel sorry for myself. Wallow.

He opened the door but didn’t get out. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know.”

I refused to look at him. “It’s fine. Go to work.”

“Okay.” Another pause.

I gripped the steering wheel hard, staring straight ahead. Get the fuck out, Maxim, before I say something I shouldn’t.

“Well, thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.”

He got out, and I took off the moment the door was shut. In the rearview mirror, I could see him linger there on the sidewalk, watching me. I couldn’t get away quick enough, and I wished I could hit the accelerator hard. Fuck this traffic! Why can’t there be an open road when you need to blow off steam?

I decided to go for a run instead. I went home, changed clothes, grabbed my headphones and took off, my feet pounding the pavement in long, angry strides. I ran fast, too fast, sweat pouring and heart pumping and muscles aching. I ran like something was chasing me, like my life was in peril, like I could escape danger if only I could stay ahead of it.

But it wouldn’t let me be. It wouldn’t give up. It wouldn’t release me.

His arms and legs around me like vines. His head on my shoulder. His breath on my chest. His skin against mine.

After my five mile loop, I ended up in my backyard, hunched over, breathing hard, hands braced on my knees. I wasn’t at all sure I wouldn’t be sick or pass out. After a minute, I collapsed onto the grass and lay on my back, eyes closed.

Fuck. What was I doing? Trying to outrun a feeling? Trying to punish my body for what it had done? For what it wanted to do? Or was I trying to replace emotional anguish with physical duress? Maybe I thought I could distract myself from unwanted feelings by pushing my body so far it gave out. Then the ache would reside in my muscles, and not in my heart.

Because fuck my heart. It had no business here. This was about one thing, and one thing only—pleasure.

And its days were numbered.

I woke again to footsteps on the stairs. As if my body remembered what followed last time I’d heard the sound, my dick started to get hard, heat rushing my lower body. Would he come to me again? Maybe not, after the way I’d acted this afternoon. Maybe he thought I didn’t want him to. Or maybe he knew I did, and he wouldn’t just to punish me. Fuck that.

When I heard the shower come on, I decided not to wait. I got out of bed and shoved off my underwear, my erection springing free and twitching with impatience. The hallway was dark, the bathroom door closed.

I didn’t knock. Because fuck manners too.

The sight of his naked body, even blurry through the wet glass, ratcheted up the tension inside me. And the hunger—I felt almost predatory as he turned in surprise and saw me there.