Page 55 of Scoring Chance

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s not.” He throws his head into his pillow.

“What’s going on?” We spent last night talking about my fucked-up family, when we should’ve been addressing this, which is more pressing. “Are you still in mourning?”

“No! I mean, yes I am. I’ll always miss Katie. But that’s not why I haven’t had sex. I’ve done a little bit of dating since she passed, but no relationship ever got serious enough to get to that point.”

“Dude, we’re not talking about dating. We’re talking about fucking.” My balls ache just thinking about going two years without sex. “There are apps out there. Hell, you could walk down the street and probably pick someone up.”

“I don’t want to have sex with a stranger. I have to know the person.”

“Right.” Tanner is demisexual. He has to have a connection with someone in order to be sexually attracted to them; whereas a connection is the one thing I steadfastly avoid in choosing my sexual partners.

“I’m trying to find someone. Believe me.” There’s a vulnerability in his voice I don’t often hear. Tanner is steady. He keeps things in control—for his kids, for everyone. But now, in the dark, in this shared bed, he’s not hiding. “Dating with kids is hard.”

“So is your dick right now. If you’re hard all night long, it might be an emergency.”

As an ad man, I get ideas all the time. In order to be a working creative, I have to allow myself to be open to any ideas that pop into my head. Most of them are bad, but some are good, and it’s hard to tell the difference in the moment. Bad ideas can lead to good ones. And sometimes good ones can go off the rails and become bad ones. It’s an art.

All this is to say that an idea pops into my head in the moment, and before I can determine whether it’s good or bad, I say it out loud.

“What if I gave you a helping hand tonight?”

Tanner teepees his eyebrows at me in utter confusion. “What?”

“You obviously need a release. You’re not getting to sleep with that thing, which means I won’t sleep. I can help you out, make sure we both get some rest.”

“You’re seriously suggesting this?”

“Uh-huh. I doubt we’re the first two friends to help each other in this department. Look, man, if you roll over, you could send yourself to the emergency room.”

Tanner snorts out a laugh.

“You need an emotional connection in order to get off. Would friendship work?”

He doesn’t answer right away. I can feel the war inside him—guilt, probably. Uncertainty. But also something else. Need. Hunger, even if he hasn’t felt it in a long time.

His eyes snap to mine in the dim light. “Des…”

“I mean it,” I say. “You’ve been carrying a lot. Maybe you don’t have to tonight.”

“Isn’t this weird for you? Why would you do this?” he asks finally.

“Because I care about you.” I pause. “And we’re best friends. We’ve done a lot of weird shit over the years. What’s one more?”

His breath catches. The weight of my proposition hangs between us. Then, slowly, Tanner nods.

I move closer and let myself greedily fist his hard cock through his boxers. I pull back the front slit of his underwear and maneuver his cock out. He’s thick and warm. The tip is already coated with precome.

I don’t rush. I touch him like a secret I’ve been keeping, something I finally get to share. He lets out a shaky breath as I guide him back, as my hand wraps around him, careful and sure.

It’s quiet, save for his breathing, the subtle creak of the bed. He tenses and relaxes in my grip. My thumb slicks over his cockhead, and I feel him shiver.

His fingers clench the sheets. His head tilts back.

There’s something holy about this. After everything he’s been through, the fact that he trusts me with this moment. The fact that I’m the one here with him now.

I dip lower, kissing the hollow of his throat.