Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(20)

Hayes knows me better than pretty much anyone in the world.

We’ve been friends a long time, an entire decade between our time at Centre Prep and here. I’d tag along on vacations with him to the beach or the mountains, seeing as my parents never took us anywhere during the holidays. We’d stay up at all hours of the night, binge watch horror movies or trash talk to each other while playing video games. Hell, I even helped him sneak out of his parents’ house so he could get laid for the first time.

If all that doesn’t make him my best friend, I don’t know what would.

So this is something I should be able to trust him with, right? To talk about with him while I try to get my head on straight?

Or not-so-straight?

Scrubbing my hand over my face, I decide to keep this to myself. For now, at least. There’s no use in telling Hayes I got on my knees for the one guy in the world I can’t stand and blew him—to completion—when I doubt it’ll ever happen again.

With Oakley, or with anyone else.

“I’m good, yeah. Sorry. Just realized it’s late, and I need to get some shut eye so I don’t play like garbage again tomorrow night.”

His blue eyes—more royal blue compared to my icy ones—narrow on me, searching for my lie. But thankfully, if he finds it, he chooses not to call me out.

“Okay. I’ll still be out here for a while, as long as that’s cool.”

I nod, seeing as he’s such a quiet roommate, he might as well be a mouse, and start for my room again. As I’ve reached the door, he hollers for me again.

“Hey, Q?” When I turn, I find him looking at me from over the back of the couch. “Don’t be so hard on yourself about the game tonight. You’re fucking good at what you do, no matter what anyone says.”

Hayes doesn’t know a ton about hockey, even if he is my best friend. He’s got just enough knowledge to come to games whenever he’s not busy being the wicked smart, always studying, lives-in-the-library nerd he usually is. And I say those things with all the love in the world.

But the knowledge he lacks when it comes to hockey, he makes up for with knowing me. My life, my history, my family. Hell, Hayes is my family more than the two people who brought me into this world.

Which is why, when he says anything like that, I know I should take it at face value.

“Thanks, man,” I tell him. “Have a good night.”

Once I’m locked inside my room, I strip down to my underwear and slide between my sheets, ready for this day to be over. But while my body is exhausted, my brain is wired. Under normal circumstances and it being the night before a game, I’d be able to crash immediately once my head hit the pillow. Yet tonight, the only thing I can do is stare at the goddamn ceiling and contemplate what made me lose all sense of reason the second Oakley said, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I love to prove him wrong and make him eat his words, all in the name of this damn rivalry he won’t let go of. But blowing him has to be taking it a step or eighty-four further than normal.

So, what? Am I bi now? Does sucking one dick make me bi?

I let out a tortured sigh, because in reality, I know that’s not how sexuality works. Like if I would’ve kissed him, it wouldn’t make me bi either.

Sexuality is about so many other things, but most of all, it’s want. Desire. Attraction.

So…am I attracted to Oakley? Do I want and desire him the way I’ve only ever wanted females in the past?

From the tent pitching my briefs just thinking about this, I’d say yes.

“Fucking hell,” I groan absently, because this is the last thing I need. Literally dicking around with Oakley is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. Which is saying something, because I love to think up stupid shit. And follow through on it, apparently.

First with letting him shove his dick down my throat and swallowing his cum like it’s a fucking Slurpee. Then again, as I yank my dick free from my underwear, spit in my palm, and start stroking.

All with two brown eyes full of hatred rolling around in my mind, the star of the show.

My fist shuttles faster as images of tonight come flooding back to the forefront of my mind, this time, without me trying to stop them.

The closeness in the bathroom, the anger in his eyes. The breathy sounds, the bites of pain from him gripping my hair tight enough to yank it right from my skull. The ruthless way he held himself deep in the back of my throat. The intoxicating scent of his woodsy body soap in my nostrils as he filled my throat with his length, then again with his cum.

I welcome each and every thought; their presence bringing me closer and closer to a desperately needed release.

But then they take a turn, and just like that, Oakley and I have traded places.

He’s the one on his knees, taking my cock all the way to the back of his throat.

He’s the one swallowing down my cum, milking me for all I’m worth.

He’s the one who’s left a panting, breathless mess on the floor.

He’s the one who can’t get enough.

He’s the one destroyed by what we just did.

Him.

My feet dig into the mattress below me, a mixture of memory and fantasy swirling and blending in my mind. Building my climax until the only thing left to do is to fall over the edge…and I come.

I come harder than I have in my entire fucking life.