I looked at his dick. Jesus Christ, I’m losing my goddamn mind. But I can’t take how much she clearly shook his confidence. How upset and broken he looks because of the nasty things she said, trying to hurt him.

And it was, for sure, just trying to hurt him. His cock isn’t monstrous or anything—I’d say it’s an average length—but it’s thick and mouthwatering as fuck, with a prominent head and a bulging vein that runs through it . . . And I have to stop picturing it. Guaranteed Kennedy had no complaints.

Now I know my best friend has a really nice dick. One I’m going to have to fight not to think about during my many jerk-off sessions.

Not to mention him coming up with that totally insane plan I have to hope he was kidding about. There is absolutely no way I’m going to test out what kind of lay he is. There’s no fucking way I’m falling into that trap.

And it would be a trap, whether he actually means to be setting it or not. It would be pure torture to touch him, knowing I’m not what he wants. Knowing he’d be thinking about Kennedy or some other girl. I can’t do that to myself, and he has to know that deep down.

We haven’t talked about me admitting I’m in love with him—both of us knowing it’s a moot point. He’s straight. There’s no reason to go there. But doing this weird sort of experimental thing where I get gay practice, as he calls it, and he gets me to grade his sexual skills and maybe help him improve? Yeah, no way in hell.

Not happening.

He followed me to go pick up Lucy before we headed back to my place. After making her a snack, we play with her in the living room until my mom comes home. She greets us all, not at all surprised Kingston is here—he is more often than not—and has a chance to sit down for a moment.

“Are you working at the tavern tonight?” I ask her, and she nods her head.

“Yeah, just until midnight though.” I know I’m frowning. She goes into her job at the distribution plant at ten in the morning and works until six. Then when she picks up a tavern shift, she usually goes in around eight.

“That’s a lot, Mom.”

She shrugs, holding Lucy in her lap. “It is what it is, Camden.” She’s young. I mean, really young. She had me when she was sixteen. But she’s starting to get wrinkles around her eyes and looks tired every single day. And it’s no damn wonder, since she has no time for herself.