#Junkie (GearShark, #1)

by Cambria Hebert

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” E.E. Cummings

“You taking advantage of me?” I cracked. “You smell like puke,” he rebutted. Then in a more sarcastic tone, he said, “Besides, you couldn’t get it up right now even if you wanted to.” “For you I could.” Instant sobriety.

And in cars, talk was half the battle. The other half? The way a man drove. Hell, the kind of driver you were was more important than the actual thing you drove. Because when it came right down to it… It wasn’t the size of the engine in the car. It was the size of the engine in the man. My engine? It was so big it was limited edition.

It was like freaking Swan Lake with engines. We were a fucking beautiful driving sight. The other drivers on the road weren’t as impressed, but they were just jealous.

Sometimes when it was really quiet, I thought about the stuff only I recalled. Alcohol often admits things people are too afraid to say sober. Sometimes I wished Trent remembered that night. Sometimes I was glad he forgot.

I reached out toward his styled hair and made a sound. “Dayy-uum, is that gel? Hairspray? You’re looking awful purty tonight.” “Eat me.” He knocked my hand away. I bet you’d taste good.

Hope was a dangerous emotion. It made a man believe in possibilities. It whispered in the back of the mind, even on the darkest of days, even when I was sure the me I thought I was had faded away.

I pointed to his plate. “You’re out of ketchup.” “You have some on your plate,” he pointed out. “Tastes better on yours,” I retorted quickly.

There was a constant war inside me. A constant fight. Be near him. Stay away. Both were equally hard. He was my best friend. But he was more.

Have I mentioned how blue his are? The color of a sky on a perfect summer day. The kind of day that didn’t come around very often. Perfection rarely does.

Currents of electricity passed between us. It was unmistakable. It was like he knew I was checking him out. He knew and he liked it.

I felt Drew bristle. Immediately, my attitude shifted to compliment his. He was on defense now, so I was on offense. That’s the way Drew and I worked, two sides of the same coin. If he was hot, I was cool. If he was mad, then I was reason.

Something changed. The excited, celebratory hug turned into more. His body relaxed, and my arms moved, pulling him tighter, towing his chest right up against mine. Drew’s chin dropped onto my shoulder, and his hand stopped slapping my back. Instead, his fingers dug in. So this is what it’s like. This was what it was like to be held by Drew. To hold him. Damn.

The man he was with, a total tool, was totally buying whatever T was selling. He was dressed in a freaking flannel shirt, a pair of jeans, and boots a lumberjack would own. And his hair… Dear God, his hair. It was in a man bun.

What was supposed to be an experiment turned to desperation. The floodgate of feelings suppressed so long was now burst open, and I declared to never go back again.

Kissing him was like seeing the ocean for the first time. Meeting something so big it made you feel small. It was like standing beneath a galaxy or being the red “you are here” dot on a map of the world. It was like finally understanding the answer to an impossible question.

My knees went weak, and I actually (embarrassingly) began to sag toward the floor. Trent was there. He tightened his grip on my waist, and I discovered I was right. He was a really strong net and with him I would never fall.

We kissed just to try. To see if maybe there was something more between us than friendship. We had an answer now. An unequivocal, resounding reply. There was definitely more between Trent and me than just friendship. Way, way much more.

Once I was totally turned, I reached into my jeans and adjusted my junk. I was still rock hard. Clearly, my dick didn’t agree it was a good idea to give Drew some space.

My name is Drew Forrester. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with my best friend. Who’s a guy.

Goddamn, he was so brave. Brave even though he was clearly barely holding it together. Strong in the face of a hurricane. Solid in a crumbling world.

I held as tight as I could in that moment. If he were crumbling, I would hold every single piece of him in place.

“My turn.” I wasn’t about to turn down a blowjob. Especially not from him. His powers of deep-throating were the stuff books should be written about. On second thought, I didn’t want anyone to know how fucking fantastic he was at sucking cock. That was only for me.

“I’m naked,” he announced, and as if he needed to prove it, he lifted the blankets to show me that yes, indeed, he was naked. He also was hard. “Forrester.” I gasped. “What kind of depraved person sleeps butt-ass naked?” “The kind who hopes someone might sneak in their room to take advantage of them.”

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself gay. I wouldn’t say I wasn’t either. I just don’t want to be labeled. Labels were for food, and while I’m mighty tasty, I did not qualify as food.

When he snuck in this morning, I’d known almost instantly. I might not be a morning person, but I was a Trent person.

I felt lucky to love him in that moment. I understood exactly why I could. I tucked that feeling deep down inside me, because I was sure I would need it later.

I was checking out T. I liked the way his jeans hugged his narrow hips and cupped his butt. I liked the long strides he took when he walked. He was powerful-looking, almost intimidating. His heart was kind. His lips were soft, and I liked the feel of his skin against mine. He was basically everything I could ever want in life rolled up into a single person.

“You gotta go to class this afternoon?” I asked. “Not if you don’t want me to.” “I don’t want you to,” I whispered. There it was again. Sparks, currents of attraction between us. It was a force all its own, so tangible if I had a spoon, I could likely scoop it out of the air.

After that, we grabbed some food. I ate all of T’s fries. He ate my tomatoes.

We fused together like two halves of a whole, bonded by want, inspired by need.

“I don’t like the way that sounds. It’s kinda weird.” “If you don’t want me to be your boyfriend, what do you want me to be?” This was highly amusing but in a kind of appropriate way. It seemed like there was nothing traditional about Drew and me, so why should the way we referred to our relationship be? “You’re my person,” he concluded after a moment of silence. “My exclusive person.” I laughed. “Your exclusive person, huh?” He nodded. The scruff on his jaw scratched against my chest. “And I’ll be yours.”