Page 25 of Give Me What You Will

Apparently, I like torturing myself.

I’m a fucking masochist.

Mikey’s hand slid over his leg, squeezing his upper thigh. “Want another drink?”

He hesitated. Mikey was a good guy, attractive in a boring, average kind of way. A bit too tall for his taste. Granted, Sam had flirted and teased poor Mikey the entire night, knowing it pissed off Frankie because he had never liked him.

And the sad reality was, Sam was lonely and horny and really didn’t want to go back to his hotel room and jerk off pathetically in the shower, thinking, yet again, about Frankie.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, unable to resist temptation as his gaze slid, one last time, at his former best friend, who was playing ping pong with Tony, Brendon, and Joel. Tony scored a point for team Casavani, and Frankie grinned boyishly, grabbing Tony by the shoulder triumphantly and pumping his paddle tauntingly in the air at Joel and Brendon.

Sam nearly smiled. Frankie was always a competitive asshole, no matter what game they played.

Envy washed over him, and he wished he were the one on his team, like he normally would’ve been, getting all those affectionate pats and playful, powerful neck grabs. He loved how affectionate Frankie naturally was. He had lived off those touches for years.

Now he felt starved for his touch.

Ravenous, even.

Goddammit. I need to get away from him.

Sam saw the determined glint in Frankie's dark eyes. He licked his lips as though hungry for more, spinning the ping pong paddle in his hand. He sighed, averting his gaze and thinking about the last time he let a man touch him who hadn’t been Frankie. It had been out of pure desperation when he had let some nameless guy last year during the holiday season fuck him. Anything to take his mind off of Frankie, of Boston, of home, of his lonely fucking heart. It helped ease some of the tension in his body, and the orgasm was sweet and good, but it didn’t last.

Maybe to get over Frankie, he needed to get under Mikey.

“How about something else?” Sam asked Mikey, eyes flickering over him, making it clear he didn’t want another drink.

Mikey flushed and leaned in close enough for Sam to recognize the desire written all over his face, which wasn’t hard, considering Mikey had looked at him this way for years.

Fuck it.

Sam clasped his chin and dragged Mikey Blue-Balls in for a deep, thorough kiss.

Mikey moaned, which nearly made him draw back at the over-enthusiastic sound, but he forced himself to stay, demanding himself to try. And he did, slanting his lips over his, tasting the beer and flavor of his mouth and waiting for the thrumming pulse in his veins to start.

Except nothing happened. No jolt of arousal or anticipation.

No spark.

Flat-line.

Jesus fuck, I’m dead inside.

A loud, exaggerated whistle and holler of approval echoed from across the parking lot, and he recognized Joel's voice. “Finally, Blue-Balls! Good for you, man!”

He broke from the kiss, glancing at the ping-pong table, and saw his friends had stopped their game to watch them kiss. Including Frankie.

Sam averted his gaze, recognizing the flash of disgust on Frankie’s face, and quickly stood, heart lodged in his throat. It didn’t matter what Frankie thought because he didn’t fucking matter, he told himself firmly as he watched Mikey leap out of the lawn chair, fumbling for his car keys in his pocket.

He bit back the urge to sigh.

Sam was already regretting this. But he couldn’t care anymore. He needed this tonight. He needed to forget how close Frankie’s lips had been to brushing his. How tight his ass had looked in those stupid pink swim trunks that molded to those perfect, round cheeks. How hard his dick had gotten when Frankie whispered the taunting flirt into his ear at the bar.

But what Sam really needed was to throw his broken heart into the Charles River and fly back to LA without it, because it was ruining his life.

“Leaving?” Brendon asked, eyes bouncing between Mikey and him like a ping-pong ball.

“Hell ya, they are,” Joel grinned, drunk and swaying on his feet.