How I Got Carter

Chapter 13

By Roe St. Alee


It only takes about a minute.

From first contact to Carter’s last pump into the back of my throat, I would be surprised if even sixty seconds go by. Short and sweet.

Best fucking minute of my life.

In my haste to make this happen, I don’t waste any time on subtlety or foreplay. It’s a full on blowjob from the second I go down on him. I’ve fantasized about this moment a hundred times and as soon as I make contact, I’m sucking for everything I’m worth.

Technique? Not really. It honestly isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.

Giving a blowjob, I mean, not Carter’s dick. That’s plenty hard.

As I said, I’m not wasting any time or energy. I don’t want to give Carter a second to think that he might not want to go through with this. His only thought can be how good it feels to have me ravishing his cock.

Without much effort. I take a little more than half of Carter’s cut dick in my mouth and start bobbing my head up and down. I keep my right hand on the base of his shaft and follow the motion of my head. I remember Sam doing that for me, and I remember it feeling really good. My other hand runs up across his smooth stomach, feeling the faint outline of his abs every time he moves. I don’t want to freak him out with something so intimate, but I’m enjoying myself way too much to worry about it.

After a few seconds of that, and getting no feedback except an occasional gasp of pleasure, I start easing my way farther down his shaft with every long, determined motion of my head. Three inches. Three and a half. Four inches. Four and a half. Carter, for his part, is thrusting up to meet each movement which only encourages me to go deeper.

When I hit five inches, things get a little trickier. I know my mouth is only so big, but I didn’t realize it would take any special skill to get all of Carter inside me. Sam made it seem effortless when he did it, and Carter’s seven inches aren’t that much bigger than me. When I watch porn they don’t have any trouble, unless they’re dealing with something huge.

I feel Carter’s cut cockhead hit a sort of wall in the front of my throat with a little over two inches left to go. I’m sure I could finish the job with a little more work at this level, but I want it all. I want to feel Carter entirely inside me, buried to the hilt. I relax my throat as much as I can, but still can’t get it all the way in. There has to be a way.

On my next pass I relax and sort of breathe in as I reach my limit. Suddenly, my throat gives way all at once and before I know it there I am, with my nose pushed up against Carter’s shaved pubic bone.


Part of me wants to back off. I need to breathe, but a hundred times more than that, I want to keep Carter calling my name, keep him in the throes of pleasure as long and as hard as I can.

“Jackson… fuck… I’m… I’m gonna…”

His breathing punctuates his words erotically and his hips buck wildly into my mouth as I feel his cock start to swell. He puts his hands on the back of my head and pulls down, not roughly, but enough so I know there’s no doubt what’s about to happen.


Carter cries out as he shoots pump after pump of hot boy cum deep into the back of my throat. Amazingly, I feel my own dick unload into my pajama pants untouched. That’s never happened before, but then again Carter has never cried out my name while he’s blasting a load into my mouth.

Once the deluge subsides, I finally pull off to breathe. That was ridiculous.

Lightly gasping for air, the first taste of Carter’s juice coating the inside of my mouth, and looking down at the greatest cock in the world, glistening wet and still twitching from my ministrations - that was the greatest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Carter’s eyes are closed and he looks like he’s somewhere a million miles away. Hell, he might actually be unconscious for all I know.


It’s Carter, and just barely louder than a whisper. He’s not asleep, he must just be in a sort of post-blowjob trance. Remembering from the time Sam went down on me, I can relate.

“That was…”

He pauses and sighs, leaving me to wonder. What was it? Was it wrong? Was it gay (or maybe “too gay” is what I mean)? Was it the last time he’s ever coming over? What does he think about what I just did?

“That was amazing.”

You’re goddamn right it was.

It was amazing for me. If Carter enjoyed himself half as much as I did, he’ll never forget it in a million years.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I look over at Carter. At this point he’s completely passed out, with his boxers still around his ankles. If it wasn’t such a turn on to see him naked lying in my room, I’d almost have to say it’s just plain cute. Carter all tuckered out from a long day of school, football practice, and then a steamy blowjob. Now he can’t even keep his little eyes open.

I get up and turn off the lights, and from the dim light of the bathroom, I can’t help but marvel at the sight before me. Two months ago, I never could have guessed that anything even remotely like this would occur. Not in a million years. Carter was the hot but nice jock on the swim team, cute as hell but impossibly out of reach.

But then something happened. We started talking, we hung out a few times, and we became friends. And then something else happened. Somehow, inexplicably and without either of us realizing it at the time, a door opened to a sexual connection between us. I could never have dreamed up a plan to make this all happen. It just did.

And now Carter’s passed out on my bed with his shorts around his ankles. Every inch of his body that I used to watch from afar, marvel at from across the pool, and lust after in the locker room, is comfortably exposed to me and barely a foot away.

I can’t help but think it: I got him.

I sigh and frown as the thought really settles in.

I’ve come a long way, but I don’t have him. Not by a long shot.

This should be the part of the night where I curl up next to Carter’s naked body and hold myself against him. He would wake up just the slightest bit from the movement and half open his eyes to look at me. A smile would appear ever so faintly, welcoming me to exactly where I’m supposed to be. I would lean in and we would kiss, a tired but content peck before bed. We would belong to each other in that moment and both drift off to sleep, fully comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That’s the part that isn’t going to happen. No matter what, no matter when. It is not going to happen.

I sigh again as I lie back on my side of the bed.

Some of my wildest dreams have come true. But until the rest of them follow suit, it’s a bittersweet kind of a victory.


“I know it’s here somewhere!” I mutter under my breath. Where the hell is it?

My room isn’t that big. I don’t understand how I can lose a sock. Especially one that I had on yesterday.

Don’t judge me.

I only wore the socks for about an hour while we ran a few errands in town last night. It’s perfectly ok to wear them again today for school. That’s not weird. What’s weird is the fact that one of them was in plain sight at the end of my bed, waiting to be put on and stuffed into a shoe this morning, and the other is nowhere to be found. Maybe the twins can help me out, with their penchant for vanishing socks.

Still grumbling, I do another sweep of my room and come up short again. The only other place they could be is the laundry basket, which hardly makes sense since I was wearing them last night and I clearly didn’t put the other one in the hamper. On second thought, however, I suppose it is the fate of most worn laundry to wind up in there.

I dig through my clothes and turn things over a few times, hoping that a short black sock with blue trim will appear, when something else catches my eye. A flash of blue. Light blue. Something about it sparks in my mind and tells me to stop. What was it?

I rummage around a bit more, now just as keen on finding the blue thing as I am on locating my sock. What is it about this thing that made me notice it? I finally give up, and in an act of desperation I turn my hamper over and dump its contents in the middle of my bedroom floor.

And there they are.

It wasn’t my sock that I saw, although I was already quite sure of that. It wasn’t some other item I was looking for. It was so much more than that, and now they’re sitting right on top of my pile of dirty laundry.

Right here, in the middle of my room: Carter’s boxers.

They were the same ones he was wearing the other night. The same pair I pulled down to his ankles before I sucked his cock. The same pair he left around his ankles as he slept. A perfect complement to his perfect body, and now they’re here.

I look over my shoulder a few times to make sure I’m alone. I’m not sure who I expected might be sitting in my room at this hour watching me, but if I’m about to do what I think I’m about to do, I want to make absolutely sure that no one else is going to see this. I reach out and pick up Carter’s boxers.

The thin, cotton fabric is well worn. Carter has had these for a while, and he clearly uses them a lot. Just holding them sends a jolt of electricity through my body. Despite how simple and understated they are, they’re so damn sexy. Part of that, of course, is imagining the guy who might be wearing them.

I run them through my hands a few times, imagining (and even remembering) what usually resides inside. I pull open the fly, thinking about the way his cock pushed through like an iron rod before I stroked it up and down. And then how it looked and felt when I pulled them off, finally revealing Carter’s naked body to my eyes for the first time…

I can’t jump down that rabbit hole right now.

I still need to get ready for school, and while I could without a doubt sit here thinking about Carter all day, if I don’t get moving I’ll miss my ride. My mother is not known for her patience in the morning.

Tossing the boxers on my bed and scooping up the errant sock, which finally revealed itself to me from my pile of dirty laundry, I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for another day of high school.

Once all my hygiene is sorted out for the day, I come back into my room and pick out the rest of my clothes. Today I’ll wear one of my shirts from the summer swim team, a pair of dark gray jeans, and…

There they are, sitting on my bed. I was just about to grab a pair of maroon Polo briefs to put on underneath those jeans, but suddenly I have a much better idea. And by better, I mean hotter.

I shuck off my pajama pants and spread the upper opening of Carter’s boxers, giving me a good view of the insides. This is what he must see every time he’s about the wear them, I think to myself. Here goes nothing.

I pull the underwear on and as they slide into place, it feels amazing. They fit like a dream. A big, sexy dream. They have all the right space in all the right places, and for being boxers, they’re incredibly form fitting, but not restrictive. Damn, I feel… sexy. If Carter feels this good when he puts them on, it’s no wonder he’s so cool and confident all the time.

And that’s not the half of it. It’s not just the cut and style of these that are having an effect on me. These are Carter’s boxers, and not only that, he’s already worn them. It’s a rush that I’m wearing his underwear and I can feel blood coming into my cheeks, as well as a certain other part of my body...

No, this will never work. I shake my head and sigh at the mere thought of it. No way. I need to take them off.

As erotically charged as it might be to wear these all day, there’s no way I could make it. I’ll be hard at school every time I think about it, and that’s the last thing I need. Not happening.

But on the other hand…

Before I can change my mind, I put my pants on and finish getting dressed. It wasn’t easy stuffing my semi into my jeans and making sure it’s not sticking out for anyone to see, but I’m not going to let an opportunity like this go to waste. This might be the one and only time I ever have a pair of Carter’s boxers, and there’s no way I can’t do this. I’ll take the risk, because this might just be the hottest thing ever.

“Jackson, are you ready?”

My mom’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I check the clock. I grab my backpack and run out the door. It’s too late to go back. Mom needs to get to work and she’s dropping me off on her way. Good idea or bad, it looks like I’m rocking Carter’s sexy blue undies for the rest of the day.

In the car on the way to school, I’m already thinking it was a bad idea. I can’t keep my mind off it, and every time I think about it, I swear I can feel an extra tiny jolt of blood rush into my penis. I try to think of other things. Schoolwork, the traffic, what might be for lunch today. Nothing seems to help. I move my backpack to my lap and pretend to dig something out, but in truth I just need to adjust myself and don’t want my mom to notice.

Plus, I don’t like the way she’s been looking at me all weekend. It’s entirely too Mom-ish for my liking. Almost a knowing sort of smirk. She gets like this any time I mention a boy at school or someone I think is cute. Usually I can handle it, but now she looks like she knows something. Speaking in terms of the last three days of my life, there is plenty she might know.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“Did Carter have a good time at dinner?” she shoots back at me with the same feigned innocence. We know each other too well to play these games.

“Yeah, he liked it a lot,” I reply in earnest. “Thanks for making dinner, it was great.”

Sunday morning Carter got picked up for football practice a little before 8, while I woke up a bit after that. It was probably better that way, after what happened the night before. Bittersweet might be my new favorite word, because while I didn’t get a chance to talk to Carter and see what he thought about everything that went down, I also didn’t have to talk to Carter about everything that went down. Pros and cons.

The rest of the day Sunday I went over to Ko’s and played video games, while Mom ran errands and went to some school event with the twins. Sunday evening she was out with a friend while I watched Randy and Sarah and worked on homework. I could tell Mom had something on her mind, but she never had the time or opportunity to pull me aside and bring it up. I was hoping it would never happen.

“Carter seems like a very nice young man,” she continues, “and he’s welcome over anytime you want to have him.”

“Uhhh… Thanks.” I’m not sure what she’s getting at. I’ve never talked to my mom about Carter and all my feelings for him, so she doesn’t know about any of that stuff. And all we did Saturday night was have dinner, which is not something unusual for one of my friends. At least that’s all we did that Mom knows about. Suffice to say she would never bring this sort of thing up about Katy or Ko.

Not sure where the conversation is going, or if we’re even really having a conversation in the first place, I decide to look out the window and assume we’re not continuing her interrogation.

“Jackson,” she says. Mom takes her eyes off the road for what seems like a dangerously long time. While she’s still sporting her knowing smile, her eyes have a more serious look to them now.

“I want you to be sure…” She trails off again, searching for the words she’s trying to say. “If you… When you think you might…”

In all my memory, this might be one of the first times I’ve ever seen Mom flustered. She took my coming out with limitless grace and never misses a beat anywhere. When my dad left, she was stronger than anybody. And now, whatever it is she’s trying to say is bothering her enough to fluster her. This can’t be good.

Finally she nods to herself and looks straight into my eyes. Even if it’s only for a second, I know that I’d better listen, and listen good. She’s back in control, and you would never know from the seriousness and intensity she’s radiating now that she was floundering for words a minute ago.

“Jackson, I am your mother,” she begins. I’ve heard a few speeches over the years that start like this and I know Mom means business. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear this from me, but I am your mother and I need to say it.” She pauses, and I nod in deference before she continues.

“You’re in high school now, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time you bring someone over for dinner…”

“Mom, it’s not like that,” I argue in a panic, trying to play it off. “We’re just friends, and we got put in the same chemistry lab this year, and…”

“Young man,” she cuts me off, “I may be your mother, but I am not blind.”

That shuts me up.

We pull into the school parking lot, as though right on cue, and Mom is able to turn and face me fully before continuing.

“I don’t want to snoop in any of your business, but I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” She reaches over and grabs my shoulder commandingly. “I’ve always trusted you to make good, responsible decisions, and you’ve never let me down. So just remember to be safe and smart about any decisions you’re making now.”

I nod.

“Do you understand what I mean when I say that?” The intensity of both her gaze and her grip on my shoulders has increased to a critical level.

“Yes,” I reply, not that I have much of a choice.

“Jackson,” she reiterates, “do you understand exactly what I mean?”

“Yes!” I reply again. I’m not sure how else to safely beat around the bush, so I just come out with it. “Condoms… and stuff.”

My mom blushes, but nods approvingly.

“Ok,” she says, pulling me in for a big, awkward hug over the bucket seats. “Now you can go to school.”

I can’t help but laugh a little as we embrace. You can’t head off to school on a Monday morning in the Willard household until we’ve had a quick chat about condoms. As awkward as it is, in a weird way it feels good to know that my mom is looking out for me. Plus I can take some amount of comfort in the fact that it was just as embarrassing for her as it was for me.

“I love you, Mom,” I say.

“I love you too.”

Well, if there’s one upside to this, it’s that an awkward, emotional talk with your mother kills an erection faster than anything else in the world. By the end of our conversation I’m sufficiently “relaxed” enough to exit the car and walk into school without anything to worry about. Thanks, Mom!

I manage to get through homeroom and precalculus without incident, the former because it’s only five minutes, and the latter because finding limits could compete with “talking to your mom” as a surefire way to keep your sexuality in check. By the time I sit down next to Ko at study hall, I’m starting to think that today might not be so crazy after all, whether I’m wearing Carter’s boxers or not.

Some days, study hall is dead silent, and everyone is putting their noses to the grindstone, hammering out the last of their homework, or studying desperately for a test. Today, however, is not one of those days. On days like today the mood is totally different, and it’s perfectly ok to have a dull murmur of conversation going on in the room. I’m thankful that my Aunt Kathy, our study hall teacher, can tell the difference.

I’m especially glad, because today Ko and I have a lot to talk about. Most of the day Sunday we spent playing the hottest new shooter that just came out for the XBox. We got into a serious argument about what the best weapon and strategy is for taking out a Colossal Beast, one of the hardest enemies in the game. Ko thinks you should use the minigun, but I am one hundred percent convinced that the concussion rifle is the way to go. We both had plenty of time to think about it since, and neither of us is ready to budge.

“But that’s exactly why you can’t use the minigun,” I contend. “The reload time is way too long. It starts regenerating. Or if it has enough health, it’ll just do a bunch of power attacks.”

Ko shakes his head in frustration. “You can just back away while you reload. And so what if it regens some health? The extra damage is worth it.”

That’s a solid point.

I’m trying to think of a way to refute his argument, at least in a more convincing way than, “I’m better at using the concussion rifle,” but Ko beats me to it.

“What’s with you today?” he asks.

He catches me off guard. There’s nothing weird about today, is there?

Oh shit.

I’m wearing Carter’s boxers. In the midst of our argument, I had forgotten all about it. The sexy blue boxers that were on Carter’s unbelievably hot body only a few days ago - the boxers I stripped off before…

“What do you mean?” I ask, entirely unconvincingly.

My mind is racing. I’m trying to keep it focused on important things like “acting normal” or “not seeming like I’m incredibly turned on right now,” but my scumbag brain seems more inclined to be barreling at a thousand miles per hour into thoughts of “how big exactly is Carter’s cock” and “noises Carter makes as he blasts his load down my throat.”

“There’s just something different about you today,” Ko reiterates. “I noticed it this weekend, but I wasn’t sure. Today though, I’m definitely sure. You’re just a little… different.” He squints his eyes and studies me intently. “I’m not sure what it is though.”

I try to think of anything except Carter and the boxers, which has the opposite effect.

Ko’s eyes suddenly go wide.

“Holy shit!” he hisses under his breath. He glances around to make sure no one can hear us. We’re several places away from our nearest neighbor, a scrawny little sophomore with his earbuds in. “Did you get laid this weekend?!”

If I was flushed before, I’m sure my face turns fifty shades darker.

“No! That’s…” I try to calm my racing heart while I think of the right word for exactly what that is. “That’s stupid!” I finally conclude. It’s utter bullshit, and I’m sure Ko knows it. Or at least, I hope he thinks that he knows it.

“Well,” he says jauntily, “if you don’t want to talk about it now, you just let me know…”

He’s egging me on, and I know it, but I can’t help myself.

“How would you even know anyway?” I ask.

Ko chuckles. He scrunches up his nose and sniffs the air dramatically. “I can smell it.”

We both start laughing, but I’m still not sure if he’s joking. Or maybe just half joking. I am a little different today, but I would blame it on the boxers and not on anything that happened over the weekend.

I risk a glance over at Carter and immediately regret it. He’s talking to a few guys from the football team, and even just looking at his back from across the room I’m reminded of all the angles, muscles, and sinews of his body, twisting around as I pleasured him. The sounds of his breath and the light moans, and finally the way he grabbed the back of my head and thrust up into me as he came.

And for fuck’s sake I’m wearing his boxers!

Unfortunately for me, the bell chooses that exact moment to ring. It’s good that I won’t be in a room with Carter for several more hours, but I’m sure I’m packing half a stock right now in my pants. If only these were briefs, they would be helping to hide the issue as much as they were causing it.

Small blessing that I’m wearing jeans, and before I get up I pretend to rearrange my books in my backpack. I’m actually figuring out how to rearrange my dick in my pants. It seems like it’ll work, at least as long as it takes me to walk over to English class. I say goodbye to Ko, who still won’t spare me a so-called “knowing” look, and head out into the throng of students moving through the hallway.

I make it to my next class and surprisingly manage to stay engaged enough in our discussion of Lonesome Dove that my mind doesn’t wander to any hot, steamy places. Without a doubt you can add Gus and Call to the list of things that keep me from getting a boner. I’ll be glad when we’re done reading the book, but today I am nothing but thankful.

Having survived English, I make my way across the school to my next class, Drama. We’re starting to gear up for our fall production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The official tryouts are in two weeks, and I have my eye on the role of Puck. I already have a good amount of the lines memorized, and I’m hoping to work with Katy a little bit today, as she’s a shoo-in for one of the other lead roles.

Unfortunately, as I’m walking down the hall, something about the motion of my steps combined with the cut and fit of Carter’s boxers makes me acutely aware of what I’m wearing. While it’s not anything I can put my finger on, I can just tell it’s a little bit different. Sort of like when I go commando in basketball shorts and I start to notice the string dangling down and rubbing against my package. Normally it’s not something you can feel, but once you do it just drives you crazy.

Every step I take, I can feel the boxers rubbing me in different places. Places I’m not used to, because my normal underwear doesn’t reach them or stretch and contract in the same way. And of course those feelings make me think of the fact that usually it’s Carter’s parts swinging around in them instead of mine. In fact, just three days ago, it WAS Carter’s stuff occupying that space.

For the third time today I’m getting riled up, and it’s only third period. I briefly contemplate taking a few minutes’ detour into the bathroom to let off some steam, but I can’t risk it. I only have about another minute to get to class, and even though our drama instructor likes me a lot, she won’t hesitate to give me a tardy if I show up five minutes late. Not that it would take me a full five minutes right now. Hell, I might not even be late at all.

But no, it’s too risky. Our bathroom stalls don’t all have the best fitting doors on them, and someone might see or hear something. Plus it’s between periods, and there will probably already be someone in there. No choice but to discreetly tuck it down inside my pants and make my way to class.

Much to my relief, by the time I walk through the door, my little “problem” has receded and all is right with the world. Not a moment too soon on both accounts, as the bell rings just seconds after I take my seat. As I suspected, we’ll be practicing monologues for tryouts today, which usually means we get to partner up and work with a buddy for a good amount of the period. At the end, a few of us will perform and get notes in front of the class.

Naturally, I pair up with Katy, and after a few warm up activities and some chit chat, we get to work. Since we’re doing a Shakespearean comedy, I’ve narrowed down my monologue choices to other comedies by the Bard. Since Puck is a little dark, I’m thinking I might go for one of Shylock’s. He’s an asshole, which is at least a large part of being a trickster.

“He hath disgraced me and hindered me half a million…”

I won’t bore you with a full retelling of my recitation, but after a few read throughs, Katy stops me and gives me some pointers. As good of an actress as she is, she might be an even better coach. She helps me a little bit with pacing and when to breathe and then guides me through a few emotions and expressions I can try to get across while I’m reading. I give it another try or two and we’re both feeling good about my progress.

I’m glad I went first, because as Katy starts her first monologue, I can already see that she’s going to blow it out of the water. Her performance is spectacular, as usual, and I don’t have much to offer in the way of criticism. A few tiny details here and there, but other than that, I’d be ready to give her the lead role. Hell, she can even be Puck if she wants.

“So what did you think?” she asks after her third flawless reading.

I shrug. “It looks good to me. You’re perfect, as always.”

She smiles at the compliment and bats me playfully on the shoulder. She glances furtively around the room and then slides a bit closer to me and lowers her voice.

“If you don’t have anything to say about my acting, maybe you want to talk about something else.” A mischievous grin spreads across her face. Puck, indeed.

I shake my head. I already know exactly what she's getting at, but I can’t let her badger me like this. On Friday I told her all about how Carter was coming over and how nervous I was before it happened. Call it a moment of weakness. But now I’m ready to play hardball.

“Nothing,” I answer with a shrug. “I have nothing else to say about anything.”

“Ok,” she says, flipping her hair dramatically before locking a fierce gaze down on me. “We’ll do it the hard way. Did you-know-who actually come over on Saturday?”

I was in a sort of post-coital daze all weekend and never got around to texting Katy any of the details. Starved for juicy gossip, she’s as nosy as ever. I decide that playing dumb is the best option.

“Did who come over?” I ask.

Apparently I’m not that great of an actor. Certainly not good enough to pull that off. Katy rolls her eyes.

“You know exactly who I mean,” she says.

“Yeah,” I shrug. “He came over for dinner, it’s no big deal.”

“That’s it?” she says arching her brows quizzically. “Because you’re acting a little funny today…”

Not this again.

How can she tell? I was so wrapped up in what we were doing that I haven’t thought about Carter since I came in the room. Or these stupid blue boxers. Or the fact that everyone seems to somehow know that something is going on with me and Carter, even when I’m not thinking about it at all. What is with that?

“Well?” she repeats. “What happened?”

“What do you mean ‘what happened?’” I fire back. “Carter, a straight boy - who, yes, I happen to have a crush on - came over for dinner. We hung out, played video games, and he went home in the morning. Not much to tell. Typical Saturday night for a boy.”

I look back at Katy and instantly realize the mistake I made.

“Excuse me?” she asks rhetorically. “He went home when?”

I sigh and resign myself to telling her the rest of the story. “His dad was busy and couldn’t pick him up, so he had to stay the night.”

I keep it simple. No need to mention the driver, or the handjob, or the fact that I went down on him. But while I don’t say it, I certainly am thinking about it, and Katy knows me a little too well to not notice when I’m holding in a whopper of a secret.

“Look at you,” she says almost proudly. “You’re turning all red.” She smiles her evilest, most shit eating grin. “What happened with you two?”

Just like Ko, she can read me so effortlessly, and I can feel my cheeks getting even hotter at the mention of what exactly might have happened between the two of us. Ko can at least respect that a gentleman has his secrets and he won’t badger me past a certain point. Katy, however, is not likely to stop until she draws blood.

“Mr. Willard! Miss Miles!”

We’re both jerked abruptly out of our conversation by the booming stage voice of Mrs. Monaco, our drama teacher. Busted.

“Are we practicing our monologues today, or are we gossiping about the events of the weekend?”

That’s one of those questions you aren’t supposed to answer.

We both send apologetic glances back to Mrs. Monaco before resuming our recitation. The rest of the period flies by. We practice a few more times before we take a few volunteers to perform for notes in front of the whole class.

I am not one of them.

My mind is still on Carter, the transgressions of the weekend, and a sexy blue pair of boxers, so I decide not to stand up in front of everyone. When the bell rings, I do my best to not make it seem like I’m running away while still getting as far from Katy as possible, but she jumps up and runs out the door almost as fast as I do, hungry for more info.

“You’re trying to tell me,” she says as we walk through the hallway, “that a cute boy you have a big crush on came over to your house, spent the night, and then went home? No big deal and nothing to report?”

I swallow hard and try to be a better actor. Katy’s turning the crank, but I need to be cool. “Nope,” I lie. “Nothing at all.”

We’ve reached my locker, and as soon as we stop and turn to face each other, Katy pokes me in the chest and almost knocks me down.

“You’re lying,” she declares loudly.

“No, I’m not!” I insist.

We both look around and see that a small cluster of students has stopped in the middle of the hall to watch us yell at each other. Katy laughs and snaps back to her normal self. All the intensity is gone, like it was never even there. I have a lot to learn from this girl.

“For starters,” she says, “try not to look so nervous with your eyes. You look like I’m about to hit you.”

Technically, she already did. But I’m not about to bring that up, or she might try to do it again.

“Secondly, maybe I might believe you if you weren’t sweating so much.”

With that, she saunters off to her next class, leaving me to pack up my books in a huff and double check my armpits for excess moisture. For all the excitement it’s generating, I’ll be glad when this day is over. Wearing the boxers wasn’t a fatal mistake, but it doesn’t seem to have made my life any easier.

Just a few more classes, soccer practice, and then I’m home free...

“Well, well, well… Look who it is.”

A voice from behind me, very sassy in nature. I know who it is before I even turn around.

“Hey, Sam!”

The smile I usually have for my friend fades instantly when I see his face. It’s not that he looks unfriendly, angry, or mean. The only way to describe his look is ‘knowing.’ It’s like my mom all over again, and I don’t like it one bit.


He unfurls his most pregnant pause, but I refuse to indulge him. If he wants any information out of me, he’ll need to come right out and say it.

“How was your weekend?” he finally asks when he sees that I’m not taking the bait.

I shrug, still hanging on to a shred of innocence.

“It was fine.” Keep it simple and admit nothing.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“I could say the same for you.” I raise mine right back at him. Two can play at this game. “You seem to be hanging out a lot with-”

Before I can drop any names, Sam cuts me off. “True,” he says. “And believe me, it’s pretty goddamn amazing.” Then it’s back to the interrogation. “But enough about me. What about you? Who, er, what have you been up to lately?”

How the hell does he know? Even though I only mentioned to Sam in passing that Carter might be by for dinner on Saturday, it doesn’t surprise me. Ko seemed pretty sure that I was up to something with somebody. Katy seemed damn sure. But Sam? Sam always seems like he knows way more than I do.

“Not much,” I say.

“Ok, sure. Not much.” He leans in closer and lowers his voice. “Spit it out, what happened?”

For the hundredth time today, I can feel my cheeks betraying me. Damn them. “Nothing happened with anybody. Or anything.”

Sam cuts me off before I can make an even bigger fool of myself. “Jackson Willard," he declares, “I can sniff out this sort of thing from a mile away. And you, sir, got laid this weekend.”

“Shhhh!” I try to shush him, but it doesn’t look like anyone walking by heard anything. That’s the last thing I need. Even less than I need all these nosy friends.

“Ok, something happened,” I finally admit. If I’m telling anyone, it’s going to be Sam. It’s only fair.

He practically squeals with delight when he gets confirmation.

“See? Was that so hard? Be proud.” He pulls out his phone and checks the time. “I need to run to my next class, but I want to hear all about it at soccer.”

“Uhhhh…” I’m not sure I want to promise that. What, am I going to yell across the pitch all about how I blew another dude from school?

Sam doesn’t seem bothered by my lack of agreement. He shakes his head happily. “Straight boys,” he laments. “They break your heart every time.”

As guarded as I’m trying to be, even I have to smile at that.

Sam’s been with who knows how many guys from our school, and who knows how many more before that. He chews them up and spits them out (sometimes quite literally) without a second thought. What’s he doing complaining about heartbreak and all that? If it’s par for the course, get me a tee time.

“Straight boys,” I mutter to myself as I close my locker. I smile, remembering that through all this, I’m still wearing Carter’s sexy blue boxers. “They sure will…”

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