Page 18 of Slick Trip

“That was so good,” he groaned softly, licking a smear of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. That sight was going to haunt me.

“I’ve never seen you eat that much before,” I said, sounding strained. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Please unsubscribe me from your assumptions,” Cooper snapped.

“I was just marveling at your appetite, that’s all. You’re tiny.”

“I’m not tiny,” he snarled, full of righteous indignation. “I’m perfectly average. It’s not my fault you’re ginormous.”

I snorted, which made him glare at me even harder. “You’re way smaller than average, little Cooper. Don’t start lying to me now.”

“Don’t call me little.”

He was pouting. Actually pouting. It was the most endearing, infuriating thing, and it shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did.

“Sorry,” I said, not sounding sorry at all.

“What are you, then?” he demanded.

“Six-three.”

“That’s just stupid,” he muttered. “It must be awfully impractical.”

“Tragic, really. Reaching things. Seeing over crowds.”

He snorted. “Shut up.” Then he eyed my salad. “Are you going to finish that?”

“Are you still hungry?” I asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “I just had ten thousand carbs. I need protein too.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” I said, but I was already pushing the salad toward him. “Help yourself.”

I watched in awe as he polished off the plate, letting out little hums of approval around each forkful. Watching him eat felt strangely satisfying. The feeling intensified with every bite he took, making it easy to pretend he was letting me take care of him. I knew he wasn’t—he was just eating what was left of my salad—but still. Watching him swallow my food hit something primal deep in my chest. It felt like a big fucking deal, like I was providing for him, nourishing him, filling him up. It was a reckless but satisfactory delusion.

When Cooper was finished, his eyelids started drooping. He yawned, and I caught a flash of his pink tongue and the soft roof of his mouth. For fuck’s sake. I should’ve seen this coming and dealt with it. When would I even get a chance to jerk off? Not in a shared motel room that was for sure.

“Can we go?” he asked, softer now. “I really need that nap.”

He yawned again, looking close to curling up right there in the booth. I wanted to look after him without having a clue how to take care of another person. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Yeah. Let’s go.” The sooner he was asleep, the less likely I’d be to do something stupid. Like kiss him.

* * *

JON, 21, one year before the trip

Cooper followed me upstairs. I opened one of the bedroom doors, not caring whose room it was. All I cared about was the lock on the door and Cooper stepping in after me.

“Sit,” I told him.

Of course he didn’t sit. He leaned against the dresser, a mischievous smile on his face, acting like this was a fun game.

“I don’t take orders from you,” he said, studying his nails.

“You do if you want me to give you a ride home,” I snapped.

He smirked. “There’s no need for that. I can always ask Luke. I’ve heard he gives really good rides.”