Yearn A. Ellis (carter reed .TXT) 📖

guy wasn’t a new thing for me. And I’d had sex—good and bad—with a few men, despite never being able to make a relationship work. Although, in retrospect, hookup apps are probably the worst place for a newly out gay man to go looking if you’re really wanting to attempt a relationship.

But jacking off to Khi—the housemate and work partner who’d hated me for a decade? Bad idea. Very bad idea.

Grabbing a dirty t-shirt from the floor, I wiped myself clean and made my way to the bathroom to shower. My little morning voyeur jerk-off session would have to be a one-time thing.

My goal was to get Khi to at least tolerate me so we could work well together and co-exist in my aunt’s house for as long as necessary without the thick weight of awkward tension.

My goal was not to make things even more tense and awkward by adding a renewed crush and guilty masturbation to the mixture.

Which was why, after tucking my braids away from the shower spray and doing a quick wake-up wash and rinse, I most definitely did not treat my cock to a second round of stroking myself to completion imagining Khi’s noises as I plowed into him.

Because that would have been dangerous—a very slippery slope indeed.

After I dried and pulled on underwear, I went back to my room and flopped bonelessly on my bed. Covering my eyes with my hands, I took a few deep breaths. I needed to focus on my goals, not get hot and bothered imagining Khi now that I’d seen a few shadowy bits and pieces of him.

Focus.

A return crush was not part of the plan.

Deep breath.

Focus.

This was a one-off…okay, two-off…but nothing that couldn’t be pushed aside and forgotten.

Unbidden, an image of Khi floated before my eyes.

Damn it.

No.

Shit, shit, shit.

Maybe the resentment, bitterness, and awkward tension was a safer way to go?

No, I needed—hell, Khi and I both needed—to work this out. For a lot of reasons.

I could be mature enough to stick to the plan without boning up every time I thought about him.

I could. Definitely.

Fuck.

I was so screwed.

Six

Khi

“For the love of God,” I growled, “stop making me coffee and shut up.” I stalked past a smiling Dre and escaped out the kitchen door. Making my way to my car, I gritted my teeth.

A few days earlier, Dre had suddenly gotten even more annoying than usual. The guy used to piss me off just by being in the same vicinity because he was a spoiled, rich, condescending, closet-case. Now, though, I could admit that Dre had changed a lot, but he was still irritating the shit out of me.

Ever since we’d started working together, it was impossible to avoid him. We were together at work, together at home, together when we slept. So, I did what any self-respecting guy would do and clammed up, figuring Dre would eventually get the hint that we’d work best together if we spoke as little as possible.

For a smart guy, Dre sure didn’t pick up on what I was laying down.

I swear, the more I ignored him, the more he talked.

I’d told him to stop making me coffee.

He kept making me coffee.

I’d told him to stop telling me things.

He kept telling me the most random shit.

I’d told him to stop asking me questions.

He kept peppering me with the most ridiculous questions.

I’d told him to stop buying me food when he stopped to grab something.

He kept throwing to-go bags my way every time he picked up a burger and fries.

He. Just. Wouldn’t. Stop.

And I was losing my God damned mind.

Part of me wanted to just give in and clear the air with Dre. Maybe it would be easier. But the anger and annoyance and distance were giving me something to hold onto. The thought of letting go and opening myself up to any kind of emotions or connections or healing was scary as fuck and continually brought me to thoughts of Blaine.

Fucking Blaine.

We’d met when I was playing basketball in college. He was a medical student and I was still taking as many general education and elective courses as possible because I had zero idea what I wanted to do outside of playing ball.

Blaine and I started dating a few months before I blew out my knee at the last game of my sophomore year. Surprisingly enough, he stayed by my side and we somehow survived the surgery, recovery, and me losing basketball all while he participated in his residency.

I’d never thought I’d make it to the pros, but I’d wanted to play for as long as possible. Basketball was the great part, the required college enrollment to keep playing basketball was where I’d suffered. So, losing the ability to play brought me down, but I pulled myself out of the doldrums by celebrating that I no longer had to torture myself with college courses and the inability to choose a major.

With a serious boyfriend newly employed in the medical field and my own adrenaline-junky personality still firmly intact, choosing to become a paramedic became a logical option.

Lord knew I’d seen enough of the good side of what EMS workers did over the years when they’d have to show up at our junky little house because my dad was unresponsive or injured himself in some sort of drunken mishap.

So, Blaine and I settled into our life together with him finishing his residency and me beginning my paramedic training. We had a decent little apartment close to the hospital and I’d thought we were happy.

In hindsight, Blaine was controlling, egocentric, and emotionally detached on the best of days. During the bad times, he bordered on verbally and emotionally abusive.

However—and I now cringed at the thought of how shallow and willing to settle I was—the sex was good and he was bringing in enough money to keep me in food and shelter while I completed my paramedic courses. I figured what we lacked in romance and communication we could make up for in having