Page 31 of Pieces of Me

Scott cast him a sour look and then grinned. “I know, right? I sounded like a fuckin’ asshole, but it worked. I got the clothes!”

“That was brilliant,” Rylan said admiringly. “Absolutely brilliant. I’ve never seen anyone think on their feet like that.”

Scott straightened, and blew out another breath. “I’ve always been able to do that,” he admitted. “Smile at people and figure out what they want to hear and say it. Got me out of lots of shit over the years, for damn sure.”

“It’s a good talent to have.”

Rylan picked up a bag, leaving the other one for Scott, and they headed for home. When they got back, Bob was sitting on the porch with Cara as the younger boys kicked a soccer ball back and forth. He seemed relaxed and happy, and Rylan knew he’d made the right decision in not ratting Heather out. All of that would have to be between his dad and his dad’s wife, and maybe it really was an isolated occurrence.

“What’s all that, boys?” Bob asked as they trudged past him with the bags.

Scott answered before Rylan could, “School project, Bob. Gonna go to our room and work on it.”

“Carry on,” Bob said with a smile. “Good to see you working together.”

Scott closed the bedroom door behind them as Rylan dumped the contents of the bags out on Scott’s bed. He started sorting the clothes into piles as Scott flopped down on the futon.

“So I figure G can come over before and after school to change,” Rylan said, setting the neat stack of cargo shorts aside and going to work on the flannel shirts. “I can tell my dad to go ahead and keep my allowance since washing all this every week will take up more electricity and water than normal, so it’s only fair. I’m not sure how to explain why I’m doing more laundry, but―”

“Whoa,” Scott sat up straight. “G’s laundry isn’t your responsibility. Let him worry about that. You’re doin’ more than enough.”

Rylan paused in the middle of folding jeans. “How do you figure?” he exclaimed. “I know I’m lucky, Scott. My dad accepts me. Grudgingly, but he accepts me. I’m not being forced to live a lie. How can I not want to help?”

“You are helping,” Scott rejoined. “Givin’ him a place to store his clothes, and a place to change into them safely. Givin’ up your allowance to do his fuckin’ laundry is too much. G can figure out how to get to a Laundromat and do it his damn self.”

Rylan gave up on the clothes and went to sprawl next to Scott on the futon. “But what if he doesn’t have any money for a laundromat? How will he get there and get back home? What if he’s not allowed to go anywhere on the weekends?”

“What if? What if?” Scott countered. “You could ‘what if’ till the fuckin’ cows come home. It’s not your job to figure every little thing out, you know. Let him do some of the figuring, man.”

Rylan shook his head stubbornly. “But it sucks. It sucks so bad for him.”

Scott scooted a little closer, slinging his arm along the back of the futon behind Rylan, the warmth of it touching his shoulders. “Yeah. Sometimes life fuckin’ sucks,” he said softly. “And sometimes there’s nothin’ you can do but let it suck.”

Rylan looked at him. “But if it sucks, and I can fix it, why wouldn’t I want to? At least I can say I tried. At least I can say I cared.”

Scott’s green eyes were warm. “You care more than is good for you. Way more than is good for you.” He brushed his thumb over Rylan’s shoulder, and Rylan tried not to react, fiercely willing his body to behave.

He forced a shrug and went for a breezy tone. “I’m too nice, and I know it. It’s stupid.”

Scott chuckled, his thumb moving in lazy circles. “Nah, not stupid. I like it. Not too many nice people in my life, you know? I think you’re pretty great.”

Rylan couldn’t help but shiver, biting his lip. His body starting to thrum from the caressing touch, Rylan tried to ease away, put some distance between them, but Scott tightened his arm, not letting him move. “Where are you going?”

Rylan took a deep breath, hearing how ragged it sounded. “Scott, I―it’s―” He decided he had nothing to lose by being honest. “I’m having a really hard time being this close to you,” he blurted. “You’re just too―overwhelming.”

There was no notebook to conceal his lap this time, and his burgeoning erection tented his jeans; there was no hiding it. He wanted to die as Scott dropped his eyes down, taking it in.

“A hard time,” Scott said, a teasing thread of laughter in his voice. “Literally.”

Rylan’s face burned with embarrassment, and he tried to get up, but Scott held him in place, bringing his free hand up to stroke the backs of his fingers down Rylan’s cheek. “Scott,” Rylan choked as Scott drifted his fingertips over Rylan’s lips. “Stop it. Let me go.”

“Why? Because you’re not Saint Rylan after all?” He pulled down on Rylan’s lower lip and let it go, his eyes avid.

“I’m obviously no saint. I’m wicked!” Rylan gasped as Scott leaned even closer, his intentions clear. “Scott―” he moaned helplessly. “Stop teasing―”

Rylan’s words were cut off when Scott’s mouth covered his in a soft, clinging kiss before he pulled back, but only slightly, his words little more than puffs of air against Rylan’s lips. “You’re not wicked, Ry. You’re sweet. You look sweet, act sweet―” He swiped his tongue over Rylan’s bottom lip. “―taste sweet. So fuckin’ sweet.”

Rylan closed his eyes. “What―what are we doing? Tell me what we’re doing.”