Page 16 of Striking Range

Fuck you, Kelly.

As I defeatedly make my way back to the living room, a loop of Skylar’s sweet groans fills my mind.

Chapter Four

Everett Young

It’s well past midnight by the time everyone has left, leaving just Skylar and me in his apartment. I’m shutting the door behind Henry—the last straggler—as he heads to his Uber, trying to imagine how the rest of this night will go.

I mean, we’ll just go to bed, right? That’s exactly what would happen on any normal night. It’s late, and there’s not much else for two male best friends to do at this hour.

Right?

Skylar is fresh out of the shower as I come into his room. He’s now completely clean of the drink I spilt on him earlier in the night, and in a pair of basketball shorts. He is not wearing a shirt.

Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?!

His hair is wet, a few curls dripping water down the nape of his neck as he digs through his dresser for pajamas that I can wear.

As he feels me enter the room, he turns to face me, his arm outstretched with a pair of briefs and gray sweatpants in his hand.

“Here,” he prompts. “You can wear this.”

“Thanks.” I take the clothes, making my way to the bathroom.

While I shower, I ignore the image of us sharing a bed, the same way I ignore the image of his bare chest and hard nipples. Neither of these things are new to me; in fact, both are very frequent in my life.

They are only significant because of… the kiss.

Sleeping in Skylar’s bed or seeing him shirtless never meant much before. Sure, it was nice being close to him, and sure, sometimes I would lie awake and stare at the smooth skin of his chest and imagine it under my fingers—but now I know what the inside of his mouth tastes like, and sleeping next to him sounds a lot more intimate than it did before.

I’m getting dressed post-shower as I tuck myself into the waistband of my borrowed briefs, unwilling to acknowledge how affected I am by my own thoughts.

Skylar is sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as I enter. “Hey, ready for bed?”

I nod, keeping my gaze away from his chest, albeit a bit painfully, and drop down next to him on the mattress. He clicks the bedside lamp off and lies down.

As I lay in the dark, in the quiet, my mind wanders back to the bathroom earlier in the night. To Skylar’s voice, his eyes, his mouth—the little groans and his hips pressed to mine.

Skylar has always been a very confident guy, maybe even a bit overconfident. I imagine he’s the same in all areas, including… intimate ones. That thought alone is driving me nuts.

I need therapy. Maybe some kind of conversion therapy. Do they have therapy like that? To keep you from wanting to lick your best friend?

I turn my head, trying to find Skylar in the dark, only to find his blue eyes already trained on me from where he’s lying on his side to face me.

“Hey,” I say, startled.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

If I want to lie, I’ll need to be very convincing to fool him. Which, if I’m honest, I can’t really do. So, instead, I’ll skirt around the truth. “Nothing I’m supposed to be thinking about.”

This makes Skylar laugh, a soft and breathy sound. “You’re such an asshole; you can never directly answer a question.”

I settle on shrugging, watching his eyes follow the movement before they shift back to mine.

“So annoying,” he adds.

“Happy birthday, Skylar,” I say in lieu of a response, because yeah—I can never answer a question directly.