It takes me a second to follow him from whatever we’re doing tonight to whatever else he’s planning for the future, but I get there and nod slowly.
“For everyone at Trailhead?”
“Of course,” Darren says. “And Adrian could invite Mason. Maybe Mason knows someone who can finally turn Noah. Oh, maybe Mason knows someone who’d be good for Riley. Plus, there’s a hot guy Mason was talking to at Adrian’s thing, who I also saw at the bar one night, so maybe we could all get to know him a little better. And then Beau is basically the equivalent of three other people, so—”
“Beauis, huh?” I chuckle.
Still amused, and warmed by wine and water, I tip my head back to look at the stars and take some time to think about what to say next. As much as I’d love to understand more of Riley’s situation, I was raised with the belief that some things are none of my business, and it might apply to them above everyone else I know. And Mason is always talking to everyone, so the hotguy Darren mentioned escapes me entirely, though I have no doubt Darren could get to know him very, very well. But there’s something else on my mind when I look at Darren again, and his cheeky grin isn’t enough to keep my mouth shut.
Some things are none of my business, but occasionally I’m curious.
“What happened between you and Beau?” I ask.
He’s unbothered, but the corners of his mouth fall a little. “You were around for all of it. And I don’t believe for a second you weren’t paying attention.”
“I know you cheated on him, he wanted to work things out, and you said no. Then he moved out, and you stayed in your house. Things were bitter for a while, but he never stopped hanging out at the bar, and you both suffered—probably unnecessarily—until you figured out how to be friends again.”
“And that’s the story,” he says, his head cocked. “What do you think you’re missing?”
I shrug. “You’ve loved him all along, but did you get to the point where you didn’t want to be married anymore? Or did you not want to be married in the first place?”
The lights just barely catch something ugly in Darren’s eyes, and it makes me think he’s asked himself the same things often. Maybe even recently.
“I’m reckless and arrogant. I don’t know how to commit to anything. I tried to convince myself I could be better than that for Beau, but it was a lie that had no chance of making me believe I could keep from screwing up. And yeah, he would’ve stayed andlet me hurt him over and over again, but while I have a long list of faults, I sincerely hope cruelty isn’t among them.”
With a closer look at Darren’s list, I’m sure I'd find a lot of faults that shouldn’t be among them. It sounds like he’s delivering a speech he’s rehearsed for years, but his loyalty to Trailhead, V, and his friends is close to unmatched, and his reckless arrogance is likely a combination of confidence and a short attention span. I’m not going to argue with him now, though I wonder what I’d put on my own list if I were asked.
And whether Darren might argue withme.
My curiosity vanishes when he lifts his perfect body out of the spa, his trunks clinging to him when he sits on the tiled edge with his legs dangling in the bubbling water.
“Too hot for you?” I ask.
“Maybe I just felt bad that you couldn’t properly objectify me while I was mostly underwater.”
“And am I supposed to feel guilt or gratitude in response?”
Darren’s teasing turns into something startlingly serious. “I hope you never feel guilty about this. Any of it.”
There are ways I can respond to that—ways to offer reassurance most people wouldn’t think he’d need—but I say nothing yet. Instead, I slowly cut through the water and let him track my every move. I kneel where he’d just sat, and bring my hands out of the water, my wet fingertips starting at his knees and dragging along the inside of his thighs from there. I’m probably shaking some, and I wonder when that will change, but Darren doesn’t seem to mind, nor does he care when I finally make it to hiswaistband and tug.
“Take them off.”
He does, with none of the cocky commentary I would’ve expected, wriggling under my loose grip until he’s naked and breathing more heavily than necessary. He’s on his way to aroused already, whether it’s his default state or the result of my command, and my hands land on his thighs again, braver than either of us thinks I am.
“What now?” he asks, licking his lips. “What do you have planned?”
“I want to try again. I want to get this right.”
“I don’t think you got it wrong last time.”
“Maybe not. But I didn’t get to finish.”
Darren whimpers, though I don’t think it’s a conscious thing, and I almost ask how many times he’s gotten off to the fantasy of coming in my mouth. I say nothing though, and I’m not sure whether it’s because I assume he has other people on his mind or because I’m not up for another confession of my own sins. Either way, we’re relatively quiet when I take his length in my hand, slide the extra skin out of my way, and lower my mouth to his tip, the chlorine only doing so much to disguise the taste ofhim.
It's addicting, and I’m the next one to make a desperate little sound, able to take him deep when he’s still shy of fully hard. That’s addicting, too—feeling him grow in my mouth—and I already know I want to tell him that another day.
For now, I focus on what I’m doing, and moan when his hand moves to the back of my head, gently encouraging as I find animperfect rhythm. The last thing I want Darren to do is treat me like I can’t take whatever he gives anyone else, but I don’t think this tender touch is a condescension. It’s the freedom to explore with nothing expected of me before, during, or after, and I hum my thanks before I tease him with my tongue and then suck in earnest all over again.