CHAPTER SIX
I took a long sip of my coffee behind the register at work and nearly jumped when a customer dropped a heavy art book on the counter in front of me. It had been a few days since my panic attack at the track, and getting to sleep the last few nights hadn’t been easy. That first night back home, I lay in bed for hours while my phone buzzed and rang and went ignored beside me.
I knew it was Derrek, but I didn’t know what to say. After hours of tossing and turning, I fell asleep only to bolt back up barely two hours later because of a nightmare.
The next two nights weren’t any better. I was doing everything I could to keep myself awake and my mind off things, but my phone was a relentless reminder that I couldn’t ignore the problem until it went away. I couldn’t text Derrek. I couldn’t answer his calls. Hell, even just thinking about him at work took my mind back to Motorsport Park, and I didn’t want to have another panic attack.
“So sorry, someone will be along to help you in just a moment,” I said to the customer, offering a weak smile as I left the register and signaled to an employee to take over before I slipped into the back room. I sat on the same pile of boxes that seemed to be a permanent fixture in the corner and let out a long sigh at the ceiling.
Whenever we had boy problems, Oliver and I would always talk about them together. Unfortunately, this was more than just a boy problem, and Oliver still wasn’t speaking to me.
During my sleepless hours since qualifying, I thought about getting up to interrupt his furious late-night writing sprints, but figured he’d probably just keep his headphones on while I stood there. I hadn’t even tried to tell him about my panic attack. How could I? He’d just drift further away as a friend if he knew I still wanted to be with the man whose entire career would always be a trigger.
He’d probably say something like why would you hurt yourself like that, or I won’t help you if you won’t help yourself. He wouldn’t be wrong if he did say those things, but it didn’t calm the storm inside me.
I stood up and began to pace along the back wall, running my hands along the spines of shelved books as I went. When I had first taken over the store, I would do the same thing to calm myself down, making a song out of the rhythmic tapping. Now it was just a series of annoying thuds.
Cursing under my breath, I grabbed my jacket from the nearby rack, asked someone to lock up when it was time to close, and left for home. The day was already a write-off. I’d just go home and try—and probably fail—to sleep. I was so tired, I’d probably sleep through the night regardless of how early it was.
The wind pricked icily against my face as I walked to the bus stop, and soon I was rushing into my building and through the door to my apartment, leaving a trail of outerwear across the living room as I slouched toward my bed, stripped to my boxer-briefs, and climbed under the weight of my heavy blankets.
My head had barely touched my pillow before my phone buzzed again. Flipping onto my stomach, I reached over to my nightstand and thumbed at the screen. A few texts and six missed calls, all from Derrek. Covering my head with a pillow, I took a deep breath in and screamed the loudest scream I could into my mattress.
My chest felt like it was going to squeeze my heart until it burst. My head throbbed with the pain of having slept so little for the last few days. I turned onto my back and thrust the pillow under my head, closing my eyes. If I couldn’t sleep, maybe I’d just pass out for a few hours or something because of the fatigue.
Several deep breaths in and out later, it must have worked. When I slowly blinked my eyes open again it was considerably darker outside my window. I groaned as I sat up, blearily rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Yawning, I could taste the thick, dry feeling of deep sleep in my mouth. I ran a hand across my lips and shook my head as I stood up to get a glass of water.
I hesitated at the bedroom door, my hand white-knuckling on the knob at the faint tapping sounds coming from the living room. Oliver would be home and working on his book, and I didn’t think I could get to the kitchen without him noticing.
The power nap must have helped to clear my mind, though, because I shook the thought from my head. I was a grown man; I could have a serious conversation to save my longest friendship. Scrunching my face, I twisted the knob, threw the door open, and marched toward the kitchen.
Nobody was there.
The closer I got, the more apparent it became that the constant tapping was just a steady dribble of water from the faucet. Oliver must not have turned it all the way off. Running a hand through my hair, I spun to take a glass from the cupboard and pour myself some water. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head when I caught the time on the oven clock.
It was four in the morning.
I had slept for fourteen hours.
The sound of a creaking door from down the hall made me jump, and I immediately crouched down behind the kitchen counter. Shit. I’d woken Oliver. All the courage that helped me pull open my bedroom door was gone, and I nearly laughed at myself, a twenty-seven-year-old man, hiding from his roommate at four in the morning to avoid a conversation.
If I was being honest, I just didn’t want to admit that Oliver might actually be right. Things had moved fast with Derrek, and it wasn’t like me to be reckless. My eyes flashed and I grinned a wicked grin, tapping a finger on the mouth of my glass.
Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Derrek was a high-profile celebrity in the racing world. There had to be more information about him online. I’d look him up just enough to decide if it was worth getting in too deep and then reply to his texts.
I waited until the shuffle of Oliver’s feet disappeared back down the hall and I heard the satisfying click of his door, then padded my way back to my own bedroom as quietly as I could. Leaping into bed, I grabbed my phone and opened Derrek’s texts.
Derrek: I placed first! The final race is a few weeks away. Let’s celebrate?
Derrek: We should meet. I miss you. I hope you’re okay.
Derrek: Call me?
Derrek: Stopped by bookstore today. You weren’t there. Need to see you.
The last text was sent while I had been asleep. I bit my lip, my thumbs hovering over my phone, but I just didn’t know what to say. I typed and deleted at least four different messages before finally turning the screen off and tossing my phone aside. It would have to wait.
It made my chest hurt to want someone so badly without really knowing who he was. Our last serious conversation was the surprise lunch date he took me on, and we had only seen each other once since then. I couldn’t make a decision without at least trying to learn more about Derrek first.
Leaning over the side of my bed, I picked up my laptop from the floor and swung it open, hastily typing ‘Derrek royal blue race car driver’ into the address bar of a new tab. I opened two more tabs, one to look up accident statistics on professional tracks and one for general information about professional racing. The deeper I got into the racing vortex, the more often I told myself it was worth it for the peace of mind—mine and Derrek’s.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, it was still dark outside and I had become as much of a walking encyclopedia as I could be about professional racing—as if memorizing statistics and being relieved at how infrequently accidents happened was going to stop them from happening at all.
Still, it didn’t sound as dangerous as I thought, and everyone on Derrek’s team was pretty insistent about him being a smart driver. Maybe I was overreacting after all. Maybe it was just a one-off panic attack because I was so close to fast-moving cars, already upset and concerned and thinking about the worst-case scenario.
My eyes darted over to the first tab I had opened, the one I ignored until I absolutely had to know what I could find. It was time to learn about Derrek.
I laughed as I combed over the first few search results, thankful that Steven had told me about the nickname Royal Blue. I wouldn’t have found the right racing Derrek without it—I didn’t know his last name. Well, I thought to myself, you know it now.
Derrek Luna.
Racing since he was twenty-one, nearly record-breaking lap times, winning more than just a few major races over the last seven years. He was sponsored by some big names in racing, and I blushed when I read that he was a spokesmodel for a pretty popular underwear designer. I bit my lip and let a hand trail down my body, gently massaging myself as I thought about Derrek modeling jock straps.
My laptop slipped to my side as I closed my eyes and dropped my other hand to climb slowly over my abs, then my chest, then brush gently against a nipple as I imagined Derrek standing in my doorway, confident in his jock strap, eyeing me with an animal desire. I began to run one hand across my body again while the other pulled my underwear down to my ankles, my cock begging its way out to slap against my body.
I began to breathe deeper as I lay there with my eyes closed, hands roving across my body, stroking and pulling and lingering. I sucked in short breaths through my teeth as I worked each nipple in turn, sending waves of heat through my core, the throb of my swelling cock getting harder to ignore.
I imagined Derrek joining me in bed, smiling through the waves of pleasure rocking my body as I pictured him climbing over me, kissing me, pushing me harder onto the bed, working my cock with his firm hands.
With slow, gentle strokes, I worked my cock until it was rock hard, running a soft thumb over my nipples with my other hand. Low, quiet moans escaped my lips, and I began to stroke faster, imagining Derrek and I on our knees, his hands pleasing every part of me as he thrust deep into my ass. My back arched, and I let my cock pulse on its own as I worked my balls, running a hand over them back and forth, letting my fingers slip closer and closer to my ass.
Finally, I turned to take the bottle of lube from my nightstand and squirt some into my open palm, hurriedly snapping the cap shut, tossing the bottle aside and turning onto my hands and knees. As I teased a finger into myself, I thought about what it would feel like to have Derrek push his way slowly into me. I pushed my finger deeper, letting out a heavy breath, imagining the heat of his body against mine, all thrusting and pounding and pleasure.
My face pushed into my pillows as I took my other hand and began playing with my nipple again, flicking and twisting and teasing until I finally fell onto my side, pushing a second finger into myself with the first, harder and stronger. I abandoned my nipple and wrapped my free hand around my cock, pumping as fast as I was fingering myself. My voice came out in louder moans now, and I didn’t care if anyone heard it. My thoughts were all of Derrek, of him and me together.
I saw the heated grin he’d be wearing if he knew I was masturbating to just the idea of him. I felt the sweat beading on my forehead and imagined him running a hand over it and into my hair as he pulled it, taking me from behind.
As I lay there, fingers buried knuckle-deep inside myself, stroking my cock in rhythm with my heavy breathing, I let out a final gasp as I came. I tightening around the fingers still inside me, my cock practically bouncing as I shot across my abs. my chest, my cheek, soaking myself in a stream of hot cum.
My breath was heavy as I slowly pulled out of myself, wiping cum from my cheek with my other hand and taking a taste from my thumb. I wondered if it would taste better having Derrek fuck the cum out of me, my already-flushed face growing impossibly hotter at the idea. I climbed off my bed and ran the nearest t-shirt I could find across my body, wrapping a towel around myself before I dashed to the bathroom for a shower.
The hot water was a welcome balm after so many hours of anxiety and sleep and…stress relief. It was exactly what I needed, and as I gathered handfuls of water and splashed them into my face, I thought I had the answer I was looking for. I shook my hair out under the stream of water, feeling stupid for handling things without thinking.
So I’d had a panic attack. It wasn’t my first one, and with or without Derrek in my life, it probably wouldn’t be the last. They’d been happening since I was eight, and I was only reacting so poorly because it had been so long since the last one. I reached for the body wash and ran my hands across my skin, stopping to run a careful hand over the scar on my lower back.
It wasn’t Derrek’s fault.
It wasn’t my fault.
I could live with the fact that he raced professionally for a living. I felt…well, I probably felt more for Derrek than I should after one short date, but it was more than I’d felt about any of the guys I’d dated for a while, so I didn’t care. I was into him.
As I turned to let the hot water hit my back, I smiled and thought about our conversation on the rooftop. Even then, I was ready to admit, even if not out loud, that I wanted to be his boyfriend.
I hadn’t changed my mind.
Turning off the water and toweling off, I dashed back to my bedroom, dove back under my blankets and picked up my phone, dialing Derrek’s number. It was nearly six o’clock now, and I had no idea if he’d be awake. I nibbled at my thumb as my phone rang and rang, finally going to voicemail.
High on the strength of my resolve, I dialed two more times, and just as I was about to hang up the third call, Derrek’s voice broke the silent morning.
“Four days, Aiden,” he muttered as sternly as he could. I must have woken him up. “Four fucking days. I’ve been going nuts. Some boyfriend,” he mumbled.
I shuffled against my blanket.
“Hi,” I finally said after a few painfully quiet seconds. “I, uh…sorry.”
He let out a long breath, and I heard the rustle of pages before he spoke again.
“You said you felt something between us when we kissed on the roof,” he said. “You looked at me before qualifying and smiled when I called you my boyfriend. You liked it. You like me. You should be sorry for ghosting. I thought we were starting to care about each other.”
My tongue felt heavy and dry in my mouth. Derrek went on.
“Listen, I’m not mad, okay? I…fuck, I’m still just worried about you. You weren’t responding to my messages. After Steven told me what happened, I almost drove to every hospital in the city to ask for you. I couldn’t even find you at work, Aiden. I…” he took a deep breath in and let it back out. My heart was sinking.
“Let’s go on another date,” I said suddenly, my hand clenched tightly around a bundle of blanket beside me. “Like, a real date. A long one. I don’t want to explain things on the phone. I didn’t respond because I didn’t know what to say,” I said in one long breath, my mouth trembling.
The static separating us filled the silence for too long before Derrek finally replied.
“I need to know what this is, Aiden. I wasn’t just making a show of calling you my boyfriend. I want it to be real, and I want it to be you.”
I lifted a hand to wipe a stray tear from my cheek.
“So…”
“So, yes,” he said. “You idiot. Dinner tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up?”
My chest tightened.
“Text me the details, I’ll meet you there.” I hoped he didn’t think that was strange.
“Great,” he said. “Aiden, I…” he began again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I smiled in the darkness of my bedroom.
“I can’t wait.”