Page 62 of Dangle

I walked out of the room, slamming the door behind me. Downstairs in the gym, I changed into my workout gear, stepped on the treadmill, and punched the buttons until blood pumped through my veins and sweat poured from my body. It didn’t help.

Trey Malachek lived in my head rent-fucking-free. Thoughts of him plagued my days and my nights. My last sight of him, watching him climb into his truck and drive away, fucked me up. And I wasn’t any better two months later.

“Hey,” Ewen said when he appeared in front of the treadmill. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded in response. Anything else risked me screaming at him like a madman. He didn’t deserve it, and I hated losing my shit.

He held out his hand, a bright purple Post-it note pressed between his crossed index and middle fingers. “An olive branch.”

What the hell had he done? I must’ve asked out loud because he said, “I called Will.”

“Fuck no. Absolutely not. The kid knows?—”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Take the damn number and call him.”

“No!” I yelled, smacking the treadmill’s stop button and snatching the Post-it out of his hand before stomping over tothe smoothie bar and beverage center. Electric purple paper turned dark plum when doused with water, but it did nothing to hide the numbers scrawled diagonally from bottom to top in permanent fine-tip marker. A rubber spatula shoved the offensive square into the garbage disposal, and I flipped it on.

“Slone. Buddy, I’m worried…”

The spatula bounced off the backsplash at the sound of his pleading voice. I threw the switch to shut off the grinding metal racket of the disposal before whirling around to face him.

“I said no. I meant no. I’m not a fucking stray dog. I won’t beg for scraps.” I turned to leave only to stop, and without looking over my shoulder at him, I gritted out between clenched teeth. “Do not follow me. And do not bring up his name again.”

And with that, I strode out of the gym, up the stairs, through the front entrance to the sidewalk that ran along the street EDGE sat on. The moment I stepped outside, I took off at a dead run despite having put in at least half an hour on the treadmill in the basement.

An intense workout had always been where I found peace, but when things got bad, I always turned to my salvation: running. For as long as I could remember, the rhythm of my feet striking the pavement and the burn of oxygen entering and exiting my lungs was where I found comfort and relief and, sometimes, answers.

I didn’t expect to find any of that this time. I shot my shot, and I missed. Horribly. Maybe I pushed too fucking hard. Maybe I didn’t push hard enough. Maybe I should have asked for his number instead of leaving the ball in his court. Maybe if I kept running, I’d eventually come to my senses and realize the kid was only sowing some wild oats with an older man, like a taste test or some such nonsense. I didn’t know, and I told myself I didn’t care.

I did, though. I cared—a lot.

It was the lie I told myself so that the rejection didn’t bite so hard.

That was also a lie. What was one more? I’d told myself so many since Nashville. So fucking many.

The connection between us wasn’t what I thought it was.

Lie.

The chemistry wasn’t as volatile.

Lie.

The blowjob wasn’t that great.

That was probably the biggest one of all. The kid sucked my soul out of my dick, and I just handed it over. The sight of him on his knees in front of me, my cock stretching his mouth wide, the noises he made, the way he came undone without a touch—all of it lived rent-free in my skull. I’d woken up covered in cum several times in the last two months as if I were still a pubescent teen who barely knew what his dick was for.

The scenery passed in a blur. The historic downtown changed to skyscrapers of the business district and then to the lush, manicured outdoor spaces of… Fuck.

The U.

I stopped, my gaze sweeping the area.

Double fuck.

I stood on the street where downtown and the business district met the campus of Manchester University—Trey’s school. The hockey arena sat just up ahead, and across the street sat Trey’s dorm. Or what I assumed was Trey’s dorm. Will mentioned once that, unlike some schools, The U required college athletes to live on campus. So, it would make sense that he lived in the dormitory closest to the rink unless The U took after the Marine Corps. Sure, you’re assigned to a Navy ship in San Diego, but we’re going to house you an hour north on a good day and on a completely different military installation.

The door to the building opened; voices carried toward me, but it wasn’t any of the guys I knew from the trip to Nashville, so I breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was fine. Or it would be as long as I got my stupid ass off this street and back to the club.