“Same,” I grunt out. “It was a good night…” I let my words drift off so she can repaint the picture in her head.
“Very good,” she whispers. “Thank you. I needed that.”
The line goes silent and her breathing soothes me.
“How do you normally cheer that asshole up in there?” I ask. “Last night was hell.”
“Feed him. Ashton loves food.”
“For someone who has such a sweet tooth and eats everything in sight, he’s extremely fit. It makes me hate him a little.”
We both laugh.
“I agree—hold on. Someone’s at the door. Probably my mom.”
I smile as I think about what comes next.
“Brayden! Oh my God! What are you doing here?”
Her squeal of delight and then giggles warm my heart.
“Drew, I have to go. Call me later.”
“Bye, short stuff.”
The phone clicks off and I rub at the ache in my chest. It’s bittersweet knowing Brayden is happy. He likes Mia. Mia deserves someone like Bray. Just sucks when you’re on the outside. I’m attracted to Mia and obviously we had a connection, but Bray is just…
He’s everything I’ll never have.
After a quick shower, I start on breakfast. Ashton hasn’t surfaced from his room until I begin cooking the bacon. Then, like the human garbage disposal he is, he stumbles out of his room following the scent of food. His hair is wet and he’s dressed, but he still looks like shit thanks to his obvious hangover.
“Hey,” I greet. “Hungry?”
“Like a hippo.”
I smirk because sometimes he seems so much younger than me. Truth is, we’re the same age.
“Grab us some juice while I finish up,” I tell him.
Ashton starts some coffee and then roots around in the fridge for the orange juice. We move in amicable silence until it’s all done and ready.
“How do you like your coffee?” he asks.
“Two sugars and a teaspoon of creamer is fine.”
He makes a face but obeys. “Just like Mia.”
I watch in absolute horror as he dumps way too much sugar into his own glass. Then, he pours in the creamer until his coffee can no longer be considered that. It’s damn near white. Fucking sick. It reminds me of how Brayden likes his. The total opposite. Straight with nothing. Black like his hair. I’d find this humorous in some way or even ironic since I kissed them both this week, but it only makes me miss Bray.
“What?” he asks.
“You. I bet your dentist hates you.”
He flashes me his pearly whites. “Dr. Redkin loves me.”
“Because he makes a shit-ton of money off you.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Used to send me home with suckers after each visit. It’s probably his fault I’m this way.”
We both chuckle and set our plates down at the coffee table. He flips on the television, landing on a music station while I bring in our coffee and juice. As guitar riffs fill the silence, we eat. Even hungover, Ashton is a sight to behold. His black T-shirt fits him well and his holey jeans look good on him. He’s what I’d call effortlessly cool. Guys probably want to be him, but can’t pull it off because they don’t have his devil-may-care attitude.
“Want to hit the gym with me later?” I ask. “After eating this, I’ll need it.”
He inhales his pancakes, shrugging, and talks over his mouthful of food. “Maybe.”
We make it through breakfast, and Ashton surprises me by cleaning up. His apartment stays fairly clean now that I think about it. It’s just him that’s messy.
He makes us more coffee and then turns on his Xbox.
“Here.” He tosses me a controller. “Time for you to eat your words.”
NHL 20 comes on and I grin. “Man, this is my game. Sorry about your loss.”
“We haven’t even started yet,” he says, laughing.
“I’m about to whip your ass. Apologizing in advance.”
We start the game, and I learn very quickly that video games and real hockey aren’t the same. You can be Ashton, having never played a day of hockey in your life or even understand the rules, and annihilate.
“That’s another one, loser,” he says after every goddamn goal he gets.
He starts pissing me off and I shoulder check him. Not in the game, but on the couch. His smile is vicious and taunting.
“That’s another one, los—”
He doesn’t finish his statement because I steal his controller. We wrestle over it until I have him pinned on the couch.
“You’re such a sore los—” he starts, but I don’t let him say the word again.
My lips crash against his, noting how he tastes sweet like syrup. He groans in surprise, but then his fingers are sliding beneath the hem of my shirt and skating up my bare ribs. I’m hard as fuck and greedily grind my hips against him, noting he’s just as excited as I am. Our dicks rub together through our clothes, making us both moan.
Bad idea.
Such a bad idea.
But, goddamn does it feel good.
His tongue dominates mine and it only makes me want to take control more. Ashton is used to winning at everything he does. I kiss him like he’s mine and he has to obey me. His fight for the upper hand is a ruthless war done with his lips, tongue, and the taunting way his hands now grab my ass.
Fuck, this guy makes me crazy.
Last night, he grabbed my dick, clearly satisfied as fuck with himself over making me squirm. This morning, I don’t let him get there first. I nip at his lip and then jaw and then ear. He freezes when my hand tugs at the button on his jeans.
“I don’t like to lose,” I murmur against his ear.
His hips buck up. “Me neither.”
I manage to get his zipper down and then my hand is diving into his boxers. We both breathe heavily as I grip his thick cock.
“Fuck, Drew.” His voice is gravelly and sounds like a complaint. Everything out of Ashton’s mouth sounds like he’s bitching, but I’m starting to learn more about him. It’s just the way he is. His eager fingers ripping at my shirt
