I looked at the punk’s Instagram. James was in a small apartment in most of the pictures, working out on his own. We’ve talked every now and then, sending the odd meme or conversing about our love of basketball, which I took every chance to shit on his favorite team, the Lakers. Growing up in the area, I was obligated to be a Golden State fan. James’ pictures were harmless enough, but then I scrolled down to see a November post of him trying on jeans…
Only they were too small, making sure to scrunch up his ass and bulge in his already tight gray briefs.
The caption: ‘Workout paying off…’
You bet it is, asshole.
How the fuck is that even allowed on Insta?
I got out of the app and pocketed my phone, breathing out cold air as his figure stuck to my brain. Lucky me for having a good-looking friend, I thought. Once again, a hit of guilt hit my stomach again, and I felt bad for thinking such a thing. Carter was right there, right?
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My break was over, and the rest of the working day was a blur. Jim gave me another speech saying how proud of me he was and blah blah. After that, Carter and I got in the car, driving as I cut on the radio. They were playing Selfish by Slum Village. Fitting. I rolled my eyes as I listened to the lyrics, relating to every word.
“So…” I started. “You seem happier.”
Carter nodded, leaning back. “Yesterday was good. I didn’t see my parents all day. So, I can safely say I had a good day. How about you?”
“Eh, could be better, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Carter sucked her teeth and smirked. “Since when did you get all gushy?”
My eyes widened in surprise. I usually just say something flirty laden with sexual tension. I wasn’t even thinking about the words that spilled from my mouth. “Uh…”
She laughed out. “Falling for little ol’ me. How cute,” She joked. I laughed along, nervously doing a tip-toe around the subject at hand.
You could guess what we did when we got home. We cut a few jokes, a few kisses, and sex all over my room. I’m usually aggressive with her as she requests when I get in control on those nights. However, I wasn’t feeling up to smacking her ass red or pulling her blonde hair. I wanted to go slow, kiss her, embrace her. I still felt this pit in my stomach, though. I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted. I was suffering, but I felt amazing as I pinned her against the bed, the room echoing our noises of sex hitting the walls and the depths of my brain. I came in another condom, prayed for no children to make my year worse, cleaned up, and went to bed together.
I tried to enjoy it, but the thought of her leaving in the morning would disappoint me as I came.
I needed help.