Wicked Lies Boys Tell

He smirks, pushes away from the glass, and starts shimmying back down the branch like a monkey. I throw on some clothes and creep out of my room. Dad’s snores are loud coming from down the hall, so I easily sneak out. Once out the front door, Cope grabs my hand and guides me around to the back of my house. We cross through my backyard and then hop the fence. A thicket of trees lines the back of our homes, so we sneak away there sometimes.

“You have to come see this,” Cope says, dragging me through the brush.

We walk for ages until we come to a clearing. It’s the farthest we’ve ever gone. He points to another patch of woods where a small shed sits.

“What the hell is that?” I demand.

“Probably some hillbilly lives there. Wanna check it out?”

“No,” I grumble.

“Too bad.”

I follow my idiot best friend to the small shed. He creaks open the door and steps inside. It’s pitch-black inside. No windows. The air is stale and musty.

“This is creepy, Cope.”

“It’s empty,” he says as he fumbles about the space. I remain at the door.

“Why is there an empty shed in the middle of nowhere?”

“I don’t know, but it’s ours now,” he tells me as he approaches, his face once again bathed in moonlight that streams in from the doorway. He reaches forward, grabbing a handful of my shirt, and yanks me into the dark space. The door gets closed behind us.

“Cope!” I cry out, freaked out by the sudden darkness.

He laughs and pats my chest. “Calm down, wussy, it’s cool.”

It’s not cool. It’s dark and hot. And something is crawling up my arm. I swat it away, frantically searching for the door. Panic floods through me, making me dizzy. Tears burn at my eyes as I stifle a sob.

“Hey,” Cope calls out, his voice calm and comforting. His arms wrap around me. “Seriously, chill. I’ll open the door.”

I shudder against him, clinging like a little kid, my lashes wet with tears. He guides us to the door as promised and cracks it back open. I look up at him. His brows are furrowed in a concerned way, no longer teasing. He pushes the hair from my eyes and leans his forehead to mine. We’re both sweaty after only a few moments in the shed.

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my face.

I hug my best friend tight and let out a sigh. “I know.”

My memory fades and I stare at Cope. The longing in my chest is something that aches so fucking badly. I want him. I want him so much.

I drain glass after glass of Jack and Coke.

Until the pizza is long gone and the room is blurry.

And then I let my dumbass mouth run wild.

Copeland

“Do you think Dante would let me suck his dick?” Penn’s eyes are half-lidded and his lips are quirking up on one side as though the idea excites him.

I glower at him, the Jack running hot through my system. “Yeah, and then tell the whole damn school about it.”

His eyes roam down the front of my chest and he licks his lips. “You’re the only one who keeps my secrets. Maybe I should suck your dick instead.” When he bites on his bottom lip, heat rushes down to my dick.

What the hell?

“You’re not sucking my dick, asshole.”

His lips pout out and I can’t help but laugh. I rise to my feet to clean up our mess, slightly swaying from the alcohol. Penn sits up on his knees, raking his gaze down my bare chest.

“Why not?” he demands, looking up at me from his knees.

My cock twitches in my shorts.

“Because I’m not gay,” I remind him.

“Well, unlike you, I haven’t had any sexual experience and I’m fucking tired of it,” he snaps. “I’ll call Dante—”

I snag a handful of his hair, keeping him in place. “You’re not calling him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

He wets his lips with his tongue and it sends fury raging inside of me because my dick aches with need. His stupid lips only make it ache more.

“Cope,” he rumbles, his thumb hooking into the top of my shorts. “Let me suck your dick.”

Is he fucking insane?

I nearly killed his ass for kissing me.

We’ve finally made up and now he’s going in for way more than a kiss.

“Penn,” I warn, my grip tightening in his hair.

“It’s not a kiss,” he taunts. “You told me not to kiss you. You never said anything about your dick down my throat.” He looks up at me again, a wicked grin on his face. “Did Ivy swallow?”

Ivy didn’t like to suck dick, much less swallow.

But that’s beside the damn point.

I’m about to open my mouth to tell him to shut up when he pulls down the front of my shorts, revealing the root of my dick. He bites on his bottom lip, begging with his eyes for me to let him do this.