Long Pass Chronicles 01 - Outing the Quarterback (6 page)

He kicked off the shoes and left his pants in a heap. Slowly, he maneuvered through the side door of the closet that led to the bathroom. The cool marble floor felt good under his bare feet. Using just the night-light to see his way, he angled up to the john and managed to aim. When he was done, he washed his hands and ran a wet washcloth over his dick and ass. Not that she was likely to suck it. Did he care? The idea made him kind of queasy. But so did breathing.

“Will, dammit, what the fuck are you doing?”

Okay, she was out of patience. He looked down at his very limp cock. Last time he’d fucked Tiffany, he’d stolen a Viagra from his dad’s medicine chest. Too late for that now.

He splashed water on his face, slapped his cheek, and turned to face the firing squad.

In the bedroom, Tiffany sat propped against the headboard with the sheet pulled up over her boobs. Her shoulders were bare. No bra straps. Only one lamp was lit.

“Hey, baby.” She dropped the sheet to her lap. Here was a sight many men would kill for. Tiff had great breasts. Large but really firm. Perky, with large, rose-colored nipples. She kept those suckers strapped during cheerleading because she said too much bouncing would destroy her muscle tissue.

Will crawled onto the bed. Mr. Cockamus dangled without any visible interest in the goodies on display. Will progressed on hands and knees until he could lean in and kiss her. He stroked his tongue along her slim lips. There, that was nice. Convincing. She grabbed his head, burying both hands in his curls, and devoured his mouth, pushing her tongue in as far as physical laws allowed.

“Ach.” He ripped his head back. “Uh, sorry. I realized I forgot to brush my teeth. I must taste like crap.”

She frowned but stroked his cheek. “No, baby, you taste like my William. All yummy and good.” She leaned back against the headboard and took hold of one of her breasts. “But if you’re worried about your breath, here’s something else you can suck on.”

Okay, you like girls
. He turned up the corners of his lips and scooted closer.
Don’t think. Just suck
. He took the taut nipple between his lips and licked. She moaned and whimpered. Clearly, she was way ahead of him. The warm bead felt familiar and foreign at the same time. She pulled her breast away and moved the other one into range. He latched on. She grabbed his hand and directed it to her wet pussy. Holding his fingers in place, she rubbed her clit as her hips bobbed and bounced. “Oh, Will, yes. Right there!” He couldn’t really go wrong since she was running the show. But that was fine. He didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Oh baby, oh baby. Yes!” Her body shuddered as she came.

He released her nipple since she didn’t like being sucked once she orgasmed. She fell back against the headboard with her eyes closed. “Oh wow, I needed that.”

He smiled.
Ignore your stomach
.

Her eyelids fluttered open. For a second, she looked dreamy; then she glanced down at his lap and his very limp cock. “Oh. Did you come too?”

“Uh, a little. I think I drank too much. Uh, lost my control.”

She grinned. “Tiffany can handle that, baby.” She rolled over to the nightstand and pulled a bottle of lube from the drawer. With a squirt, she slicked up her hands, then grabbed his very lazy dick and started pulling and rubbing. He made a few appropriate sounds.
Come on, Cockamus, do your stuff.

Nothing. She frowned in concentration and rubbed harder. “You must have come more than you thought.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” Seriously? He was twenty years old. His cock ought to be doing backflips after all that stimulation.

She sat back, defeated. Then she grimaced. “I know what to do.” She took the sheet and rubbed the lube off his cock, then crouched down and tentatively licked his cockhead with the point of her tongue.

“You don’t have to, Tiff.”

“Hey, we got to wake this guy up somehow.” She wrapped her lips around his shaft and sucked.

Okay, now that felt good. Boy, girl, who the fuck cared? Head was head, right? It would have felt good to thrust a little, but he didn’t want to scare her. She didn’t really like giving oral, though she loved getting it.
Don’t discourage her
.

What would this be like if it was Noah? Bet he loved giving head. Oh man, Will wanted to suck that guy. Since he only got to have sex with men when he paid for it, he was always on the receiving end. Sure, he’d gotten a couple of boys off in prep school when he wasn’t famous and they all had the same amount to lose, but next to nothing since then. Noah had this beautiful cock, which he’d been fortunate enough to see. Bet he could paint it from memory. Bet he could suck it til Noah screamed.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doin’ it.”

What?
Tiffany’s voice popped some big brain bubble.
Shit
. She wasn’t Noah. Not even a little. Did he even like Tiffany anymore? Had he ever? His dad liked Tiffany. The newspapers liked Tiffany. He was exploiting this girl who only wanted to please him. Well, please him, marry him, inherit his family’s money, and live happily ever after. But still.

“Wiii-lll. He went squishy again.”

He stared at her pretty, perky boobs. A year. A year of pretending, trying to get it up, faking it, tasting the lips on both ends of a girl he didn’t like and who didn’t deserve his contempt. Being a goddamn asshole, taking shit from everybody under false pretenses.

Urp. Shit
. His mouth filled with sour bile. He clapped a hand to his lips, threw his legs off the side of the bed, and ran for the bathroom. The flood arrived as he fell over the toilet bowl and barfed a year of sadness from his rebelling stomach. A mouthful of lying, a belly full of deceit. A lifetime of never being who he was. Flushed.

“You are one sorry sight, Mr. Ashford. Why did you have to drink so much?”

He rested his arm on the toilet seat and plopped his head on it. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Want me to tuck you into bed?”

He picked up his head. Oh, that hurt. “You should probably go home, Tiff. I suspect I’ll be spending more time here than in bed.”

She put her hands on her hips, which thrust her breasts forward. Her carefully groomed light brown pubic curls winked at him. “I’m sure glad you don’t drink much most of the time. You are a sad drunk.”

“Just keeping up the family tradition.”

“Oh, Will. So call me tomorrow, okay? Let me know how you’re doing.”

“Okay.”

She walked back into the bedroom. He rested his head and listened to the sounds of her leaving: clothes swishing, the hard clomp of shoes against the hardwood.

“Bye, Will.” She didn’t come in.

“Bye.”

The door opened and clicked closed with emphasis if not anger. Man, she deserved to be pissed. And she deserved somebody way better than him. He was just an idea. The quarterback idea. The promising business career idea. The rich family concept. All fake.

He raised his head. Spinning a little but manageable. Slowly, he stood and stumbled to the sink. Toothpaste in large quantities was required. He loaded up the electric brush and stuck the sucker in his cheek, then let her run. He had a lot of bad tastes to get out of his mouth.

What the fuck was he going to do? Clearly, the plan to ride this year out with Tiffany and football and shit was enough to make him barf. He leaned on the sink and kept brushing. Why was he on overload now? Hell, Tiffany had been his girlfriend for half a year. He’d fucked her a few times. Usually, he just gave her oral or used his fingers, or she took charge like tonight. But why was he limp-dicked now when he only had less than a year to survive this crap? Noah’s cock flashed in his fuzzy brain. Shit. He did not want to think about that.

Another wave of nausea washed over him. He shut off the toothbrush, spit, rinsed, and managed to make it out of the bathroom and into his bed without losing more cookies. He had a hell of a lot of shit to shovel but tonight was not the night.

O
H
G
OD
,
kill me now
. Will continued his slow walk toward the bedroom door. A mile away. His head hurt, his mouth tasted awful even after three brushings, and forget his stomach altogether. The only saving grace for this day was he’d get to paint. Masterson’s class. He stopped and held on to the dresser. A class that also included Noah. How did he feel about that? The guy had pretty much told him to take his life and shove it. Noah might also mean the loss of the scholarship that could finally get Will out of this lying life. That was bad.

Will stared down at his crotch. Didn’t matter. Mr. Cockamus did a happy dance at the mere idea of getting to see that guy’s cute ass. That was worse than bad.
Shit, get on with it
.

Trying not to tilt his head, he walked out of his room and down the stairs. Coffee. The smell pulled him like a rope. He dragged himself into the kitchen. Anna stirred scrambled eggs at the stove.
Gag
. But oh God, for coffee he’d kill. He grabbed a cup.

Anna looked up and grinned. “Good morning. You look like
mierda
.” She laughed.

“Feel worse. I don’t know how people drink and enjoy it.” He poured the coffee into the cup, fetched half-and-half from the refrigerator, and lightened it up. The trip from cup to lip was shaky, but finally caffeine and milk poured into his battered stomach. He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes while he sipped.

“Will?”

Eyes open. “Morning, Dad.” His mother shuffled past his father with a glass in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. She made his condition look mild.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Uh, morning.” She went to the counter, opened the refrigerator, and added tomato juice to the ice already in the glass. He didn’t have to look to know that vodka went on top of it. Ten a.m. on a Monday. Nice. But just your regular.

His dad stared at her back for a second longer, then looked at Will. “Where’s Tiffany?”

“She went home last night.”

He smiled. “Not on our account, I hope. I was looking forward to seeing her.”

Do not sigh
. “I made myself sick on a little too much cachaça so I wasn’t very good company.”

His mother turned toward him as she drank deeply from the glass. With the liquid half gone, she said, “That stuff’ll kill you. Be careful.”

She ought to know. He tried to grin. “Now you tell me.”

His father smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. The old man was a big drinker, but he was functional, unlike his mother, who drank all day and had no spleen or much liver left. She was only forty, though she looked fifty on a good day and seventy at that moment.
Pay attention, asshole. That’s what a lifetime of disappointment and pretense can do to you.

His father downed the last of his coffee. “Will, the marketing staff has a big project at the office today. I know you’re not on the schedule, but Bert Helstrom mentioned they sure could use you. Can you come in and lend a hand with the direct mail layouts? He says you’re better at it than anyone else.”

Shit.
He had class and he needed to work on a painting for his portfolio. “Uh, I’m committed, sir. I might be able to get in at the very end of the day.”

His father frowned. “No. They need the layouts first thing, I gather. It’s a good thing for you to have the department head counting on you. You sure you can’t cancel your engagement?”

He shook his head but stared into his coffee cup. “Sorry.”

His father raised his eyebrows but didn’t say any more about it. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Yes, sir.” How many more people could he disappoint before lunch?

His father walked out of the kitchen, and his mother staggered a little but managed to make it back into the breakfast room.

Anna scooped a few eggs onto a plate, then looked at him. “You want some eggs, Will?”

Yuk.
“No thanks, doll face. I think my stomach needs some rest.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, though. See if you can force some into Mom.”

She smiled but under her breath she muttered, “Not damned likely.”

“Gotta go. See you later.”

“Have a good day.”

“Thanks.” Would it be? So far, it added up to crap.

N
OAH
LOCKED
the door to his one-room apartment, hitched up his backpack, and trotted across the lawn past his landlord’s house to the street. Long walk to school. Time to think. Or think about not thinking. Because he sure as hell couldn’t get that damned jock out of his mind.

He negotiated the steep street that led down to the Pacific Coast Highway, then upped his pace on the sidewalk. It was ten thirty. He had an hour to get there and get set up.

Tired. Four hours’ sleep did not make for a happy day. The painting until midnight had been great, but tossing and turning while trying not to dream about Will Smith was crap, man. What was it about the guy that made Noah give him any thought at all? He hated rich, entitled assholes. But those eyes when he’d said
You’re beautiful
kept showing up in Noah’s mind. Jesus, he’d finally given up, gotten up, and painted those deep green eyes. Then sketched in the rest of the face. Will looked mostly like a million other all-American boys. But just mostly. There was some hurt, pain that gave interest to the otherwise too-handsome looks.