Page 32 of Teach Me To Sin
“We can totally replace it. I think Target’s still open.” My grin widens when he takes an angry step toward me, heat swirling through my body. But he catches himself and lets out a slow breath.
“You’re going to clean that up. Lucky you. There are paper towels and trash bags in the kitchen.”
It seems fair, so I gather supplies while Colson hoists Alek up and guides him through a door that must lead to the bedroom. He’s in there a while, probably making sure Alek won't be sick again, and emerges when I’m finished and washing my hands.
With just the two of us, the air feels heavy and charged. Colson fills two more glasses with water, but I start opening cupboards looking for something more exciting. “I bet you have some top shelf stuff around here,” I hint.
“No.” He leans against the counter next to me, and angles his head until I have to look at him. “I don’t know if you set this whole thing up, or what you think is going to happen, but we’re all drinking some water and sleeping this off.”
I slide my hand along the cold marble countertop until my fingers bump his. Just that slightest contact makes my dick start to wake up and harden. “You sure?” I murmur hoarsely.
He pulls his hand away and grabs my wrist when I reach for him. I try to twist away, but he just tightens his grip. My cock likes that too. “I’d rather have a conversation about you.”
I blink innocently. “What about me?”
He’s close enough that I can feel his breath brush my cheek. “Oh, I don’t know. How about you start with your name, who you are, and why you wouldn’t answer questions at the interview.”
My heart is pounding so loudly I can barely hear him. I could pour out everything right now. Maybe he’d offer to help me. But I’d lose both Alek and swimming, the only good things I’ve ever found ripped away. Colson’s eyes drop to my mouth as I stick out my lower lip. “Maybe I’m just shy.”
He snorts, looking down at my arm trapped in his hand. “Yes, you’re so meek and soft-spoken. If you care for him at all, if that’s not a lie too, then–”
“Fuck you.” I jerk away so roughly that he has to let go. “It’s not a lie.”
His dark eyes hold mine calmly. “Are you sure?”
“None of this fucking matters. Come back when we’re famous, when I’ve won all the championships for him and we’re packing for the Olympics. I bet you won’t have anything to say then.” I can’t exactly leave with no car, so I do the next best thing and storm into the bedroom, banging the door hard enough to make a point but not hard enough to wake Alek.
Colson took off his jacket, shoes, and pants, then tucked him carefully on his side under a puffy gray duvet. Even with his mouth hanging open, his face pale, and his hair a mess, he looks attractive. Trying to ignore the guilt squeezing my chest, the rising sense of panic, I kick off my shoes and crawl into bed next to him. I’ve imagined this a lot of times, but in my dreams Alek was naked and in his right mind and I wasn’t halfway to crying. This is probably as close as I’ll ever get, so I sneak toward the middle of the bed where I can feel his body heat. I shut my eyes and try to remember the perfect story I tell myself, where my swimming is so perfect that I single-handedly force everything to turn out alright in the end.
Alek
When I jerk awake, gasping for breath, my mouth tastes like sick and my head throbs with the kind of agony I haven’t felt since my drug-fueled party days. The bed cradling my body doesn’t smell like mine. It has hints of lavender detergent, dog, and the faintest suggestion of the smell I got when I buried my face in Colson’s chest. A skylight in the ceiling lets in enough moonlight to outline the unfamiliar furniture around the edges of the room.
I roll over and almost scream when I realize there’s another body pressed up next to mine. Heart thundering, I tumble backward out of the bed and fumble with the bedside lamp until it spills enough yellow light to reveal Benji’s sleeping face. Tipping my head back, I try to catch my breath while my vestibular system struggles to remember which way is up. Something in the blank fog between arriving at the bar and now makes me pretty sure this room belongs to Colson.
Benji doesn’t stir as I perch on the side of the bed and take in the TV against the far wall, a dog bed on the floor covered with hair, and a massive art print of a vintage Porsche hanging above the bed. His bed. Where he fucks people. When I glance at the headboard, I can see a worn spot on the slats right where someone would grip while they were being railed. That image, paired with the hangover, makes my face feel like it’s on fire.
I vaguely remember the interview, followed by blurry glimpses of an upscale bar. It’s a vulnerable feeling to teleport from one place to another, with nothing in between but the certainty that I must have embarrassed myself. Impulsively, I pull out my phone and text Victor, who tends to sleep in the afternoon and stay awake all night.
Me: I’m in Colson’s bedroom.
He answers instantly.Tell me you didn’t. I can’t handle any more therapy than I already have.
Me: Of course not. I got blackout drunk and he let me sober up at his place.
V: Does he have a BDSM stash in his closet?
Me: I’m not going in his fucking closet.
After a pause, he offers a compromise.Look in his side table for dildos and shit. Send me pics.
I frown at the tantalizing bedside drawer, telling myself how inappropriate and ungrateful it would be. With a glance at the unresponsive Benji, I tug it open. A bottle of lube rolls around between a few condom packets, but most of the drawer is occupied by books and paper. I pull the stack out and balance it on my knee, checking the covers of the books. Whatever I thought Colson would read about, it wasn’t native plant gardening and sustainable ecology. He has the latter book dog-eared to a page about digging and stocking your own pond.
He’s into gardening, apparently, I text Victor, who just responds with an eye roll emoji. The folded sheet of paper tucked inside the front cover unfolds into a questionably drawn but very detailed house and landscaping plan. Instead of working carefully, it looks like Colson threw down a bunch of bold marks, then came back to aggressively scribble out ones he didn’t like with dramatic notes likenoandwhat is the matter with you?It makes me smile, even though my whole body hurts.
Tucking the books away, I slide on my pants and pick up my jacket and shoes. My legs are still a little wobbly as I cross a heated floor that radiates a gentle warmth against my skin. If Victor and I hadn’t poured all our money into the nonprofit, we could live in places like this. But I wouldn’t enjoy the heated floors because I wouldn’t have a reason to get out of bed anymore.
I ease the bedroom door open and stick my head out into a softly-lit living room. Colson is lounging on the couch with a laptop, still dressed in his slacks but with his shirt completely unbuttoned. Two funny-looking dogs I recognize as borzoi are snuggled on either side of him. The black one is draped over his lap with the computer resting on its ribs, while the red one has its head on his chest. I might have watched him for a while, but the red dog lifts its head and lets out a small warning growl. Colson glances up at me, shuts the laptop, and puts it aside. “Feeling better?”