Sleeping with the Enemy Read online

  We end up working out in absolute silence. The gym is so small, I can smell him. The air becomes tense and full of something I can’t quite place or name.

  “So,” Thomas says.

  “Yes?”

  “That was…interesting. The fall thing.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah? That’s all?”

  “Um…thanks.”

  “What was that?” he laughs, cupping his ear. “You were thanking me for something?”

  “No. Not if you’re going to be like that.”

  “Whatever.”

  As I watch him, I get annoyed at how much he’s showing off. He never even had to try to be more athletic than me – he was just a natural specimen. Even now, I’m struggling and panting while he is barely breaking a sweat. Everything about him drives me crazy sometimes, actually. He gets more girls than me, he always got better grades than me. Just being here now, near him, is making my teeth grind. Why can’t I just get him the fuck out of my head?

  Probably because, no matter how much it scares me, Lo was right. We’re obviously trying to push back on it with everything we have, but something is happening again.

  Growing.

  Sparking.

  All over again.

  Or maybe it never went away at all…

  At one point I get all discombobulated and almost fall off the treadmill, but I recover. He notices, though, and I throw him a dirty look as he laughs at me.

  “Oh,” he says, “sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the past.”

  “What about it?”

  “Remember when we were sleeping over at your grandma’s retirement village, and we tried to act like mature old teenagers, and work out in her complex’s gym?”

  I smile. “We didn’t make it ten minutes before you fell off the treadmill.”

  “God,” he laughs. “The good old days, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I say sadly, then mutter to myself: “if only we’d known they were the good old days when we were actually living them.”

  “What was that?”

  “Oh. Nothing.”

  I move to the bench press and lift one hundred and eighty-five pounds, my current max, since I’ve been seriously neglecting the gym because of a vague sadness that just drives me into bed sometimes. Thomas watches me with some interest, and when I’m done he motions for me to get up. As I watch, he adds ten more pounds to each side – and then lays across the bench and, very performatively, lifts more than I was able to. Very easily.

  This fucking prick. I’m not that strong, and I know that. But he doesn’t have to show me like this. As I watch his neck tendons twitch, his biceps bulge, his midsection ripple and buck as he lifts the bar, I am overwhelmed with rage and something…well, it’s red, whatever it is. Whatever I am feeling, it is red. That’s for damned sure.

  I swat him off the bench and buck up, really attempting to lift the weight. I know I can embarrass him if I try. I’m strong – inside, at least.

  So I wrap my hands around the bar. Three…two…one…

  I get the bar off the rack and then, to my amazement, complete a very clean lower-and-lift of the weight. I return it to the rack and jump up, a new energy in my bones.

  See? He’s not the only badass here. I can do anything he can do.

  But then my happiness is punctured. He adds twenty more pounds, jumps on the bench, and completes the weight easily – which enrages me for some reason. Everything about him enrages me. I get back on the bench and try…try…try…but I can’t get it done. Not at this weight. I can’t get there.

  I sit up, annoyed. That’s when we both notice it at the same time: I’m hard, completely hard again, and there’s no hiding it this time. Jesus, if only I had a cup, like I used to wear in baseball, to protect my honor in moments like this…

  Our eyes meet, and something ignites. My body lights up from toe to eyelash. Someone is about to snap – I can feel it. And then he shocks the hell out of me by groaning, letting out some air, and then saying the following sentence: “Okay, I’m done fighting it.”

  “Fighting what?”

  “You know what. Meet me in the locker room.”

  And then he gets up and leaves.

  6

  My whole body warms, from the inside out. I don’t know what he wants, but…

  I do know I won’t be able to resist it.

  The gym is on one side of the pool, and on the other is a locker room with two public showers. I noticed yesterday that there wasn’t even a curtain hiding the shower areas – both of them are just open, out there for everyone to see. Why would he want to go there?

  I wait five minutes and then head into the locker room. I hear the water running, and round the corner to see hum rubbing body wash all over his chiseled body in one of the stalls. I freeze, but he turns to me.

  “What? Never seen a dick before?”

  Fuck, I hate this dude. I hate him so much I want to fuck him.

  I try to sound cool, but my voice wavers. “Nah, I’m cool. Guess I’ll shower, too.”

  I undress and walk into the shower across from him. But it’s even more erotic than I expected – I’m ten feet away from him, and we’re both naked. But at the same time, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t handle this, and immediately I start to get hard.

  But I try not to let him phase me. Careful not to let him see, I squirt some body wash into my hand and start cleaning myself. My dick is getting harder, and since I can’t turn around I refrain from washing my back. But wait – what if I looked? I really want to see his body. Would he notice?

  I glance over my shoulder and gasp. His cock is in his hand, and he is looking right at me.

  “Turn around,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Turn around. I want to see. Come on, be brave.”

  “Um…I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  I turn back around, and when I look down I see I’m so horny, my dick is dripping clear pre-cum. Fuck, I want to explore his body again…

  I feel his eyes on me, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I drop my watch, then bend down to pick it up – and he inhales sharply behind me.

  “What?”

  “Your ass is just…nice.”

  “Um…thanks?”

  “Look at me, Wade.”

  Finally I do it. I turn slowly around, showing him how hard I am. His eyes grow three sizes as he peers down. Before I know it, he goes from semi-hard to harder than a rock.

  “I reach down and take out my dick, panting as hard as he is. He watches, red-faced, as I start stroking myself.

  “You know why I called you here. Working out didn’t work. This has to be finished. I can’t take this anymore. Neither can you. Let’s just get this over with, please. I need a release.”

  “A release?”

  “You remember what happened that day. We both do. And the fact that we’re ignoring the tension is making me want to fucking punch a hole in the wall.”

  “I’m not ignoring anything.”

  His mouth flattens into a horizontal line. “Yes you are. The air in this room is about to explode. We are either going to fight again, or do stuff. Admit it right now.”

  I try to look away and act unperturbed, but again, my dick is hard – and he can see it.

  “Exactly. I need you to get it all out for me, in the literal sense, or else I have a feeling we’re about to kick each other’s asses. I mean, fuck, I’ll just say it – I’ve gotta watch you make yourself cum again. Your dick has been hard all day, and I want you to take care of it. While I watch.”

  My mouth drops. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

  “You…want me…to do that? Here?”

  “Come on, this place is deserted. And I mean, we’ve done it once before…”

  He’s right. Before the big event that drove us apart, there was an instance when we were at a sleepover party and I walked in on him jacking off a
lone in the bathroom in the middle of the night. But instead of jumping back in horror when I opened the door, he just kept doing it, until he silently came into his hand. Then I walked away. Probably a week later was the final hurrah.

  “So do it,” he smirks. “For old time’s sake. So we can just move on with things and be normal again. Finish what we started.”

  The memories flash in my head, erotic and dangerous. And in that spirit, knowing it’s not the first time, and knowing I can’t resist him anyway, I agree. I’m already throbbing down there, anyway.

  “Fine,” I say. “But only because you’re being a dick, and I want to diffuse the situation.”

  He crosses his arms. “Get going, then.”

  I reach down. Then I stop.

  “Wait – no,” I say. “There’s nothing in it for me. I’m not doing it unless you do it, too.”

  “Fuck you. Why should I?”

  “Because I said so. I need to see something, too. What’s in it for me?”

  He glares at me, then does as asked. He backs his long, lean, tanned body against the wall and falls back against it. Very slowly, I take my erect cock in my hand. His eyes large, he does the same.

  And then we start jacking together.

  Our eyes lock together again. What happens next is nearly spiritual. I don’t know what’s more of a turn-on – watching him do this, or having him watch me do it. I take the pre-cum on my tip and use it as lube on the rest of me, my hips rocking back as the feelings hit. With him watching, and doing the same thing, the ecstasy is pushed to the eleventh level.

  “Fuck,” he says as he rubs himself. “Why did we wait so long for this?”

  I twitch from head to toe – energy is flowing between us like we’re conduits of each other. His face looks mad and aroused and frustrated and hungry, all at once.

  God, I hate him.

  And love him.

  And want him.

  And need him.

  And hate him…

  His rubbing speeds up. His back arches, and I know he’s about to cum. So am I.

  But suddenly he stops. “Hey. Come help me. I can’t quite get there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Make yourself useful. We’re trapped. What else is there to do? Jack this dick off.”

  I glance to the side. “But…this place is so public…anyone could walk in.”

  “Dude, we’re in a blizzard.”

  “Good point…”

  “Come on, we’ve both got dicks. You know what to do.”

  I walk over, heart pounding, and sink to my knees. Then I hold my breath and, for the first time in four years, place my hand on his cock.

  “Like this?” I ask, starting to rub him up and down.

  “Yes, oh, yes…”

  Fuck. As I pump him, water runs down his golden skin, and his muscles twitch and throb. I don’t want to be vulnerable for him, I don’t want to moan and show him the effect he is having on me, so I just keep my face impassive and stare straight ahead at his dick. But oh, this is heaven, to have my hands on him here. I have dreamed about this hundreds of times, but it’s happening again. In real life…

  “Hey,” he asks, pausing and moving my hand away from him. “Remember when I licked you out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wanna feel it again?”

  “I mean…”

  “Come on,” he begs. “I chugged a beer earlier. I want to.”

  “Ha, so did I. And…sure. It is Valentine’s, after all. But if someone walks in, I’m blaming everything on you.”

  I turn around. He pushes me, very slowly, up against the wall. Even though we’re pushing the boundaries, we’re both still trembling, holding back – it feels like we’re two volcanoes that have not yet blown.

  I spread my legs further apart and take a breath. Then I feel his tongue against that part, and, God – I’ve never experienced anything like it. It is wet and ticklish and heavenly. Undone, I reach around and shove his face further into me.

  “Yes,” I groan as I feel the graininess of his tongue deeper in there. “Yes…”

  He licks and explores and caresses, and it is a sparkling heaven between my legs. Oh, I could get so, so used to this. I bite my lip and just try to focus, but very quickly I know I am about to blow. But before that happens I still want one more thing. So I turn around one last time.

  “Wait. I don’t want to finish yet.”

  He pouts up at me. “What?”

  “Remember what you did last time? When you…when your cum got on my face?”

  “Yes…”

  “Do it again. I want it. I liked the warmth on my skin.”

  “Come here, then,” he says, standing up. I crouch under his dick, which – fine – is exceedingly beautiful. He slaps it against my lips.

  “Ahhh, fuck, Wade,” he says, and then, whoa – he’s jerking and stilling and twitching, and then his hot product is pumped all over my face.

  I wait to feel weird as it oozes down my skin. I wait to feel awkward. I wait to feel like this was wrong. But all I feel is the most aroused I have ever been in my life. And just as I lean back and spurt all over my own abdomen, too, we hear a door open and a pair of shoes against tile.

  Oh, fuck. Someone just walked into the locker room.

  Thomas yelps a little and stands up totally straight. I look up at him, panicking, and then before we can do anything else, he reaches down, picks me up, and holds me. There’s a gap of about six inches between the floor and the shower partition, so this was a good idea – unless they come back here, they won’t know about us.

  We both hold our breath. His cum is still all over my face, and mine is all over my body. I hear some tinkering around, but I can’t see anything – he’s six-two, though, and he’s peering over the partition into the bathroom. And we wait, wait, wait…

  And then nothing happens. Nobody comes. I hear some footsteps, and then the door opens and closes again.

  “Holy shit,” he says, putting me down very gently. “It was a lady! She didn’t know it was the men’s room. She washed her hands, then looked over and saw the urinals, and got all embarrassed and ran out.”

  “Fuck,” I sigh, relieved beyond belief. Still, this has knocked some sense into us. We shouldn’t be doing this here.

  We shouldn’t be doing it at all.

  He knows it, too. But before I can move, he does something shocking. He walks forward, rubs his finger in some of my semen, and then lifts it to his mouth.

  “See?” he asks, tasting me, tasting the liquid I produced. “The bad energy wasn’t that hard to diffuse. Not at all. I’ll see you in the condo – I’ve got a little surprise in mind for us. See you there, kiddo.”

  “A surprise?” I ask, and he pauses.

  “Just…think of it as your Valentine’s gift from an old friend.”

  7

  I know it’s early, but I chug a beer from the snowy porch, anyway, where we’re keeping them since there’s no room in the fridge. Whatever is happening, my body is supercharged with emotions, and I want to stay cool enough to deal with whatever comes.

  Apparently, Thomas wants to take a walk in the snow, as he “doesn’t want to get arrested for murder and/or risk becoming a raging sex monster for the rest of the day” – his words, not mine. When we finally bundle up and make it outside, I’m shocked. It’s snowed so much that normal signifiers – sidewalks, bushes, benches – are becoming invisible, or just lumps on the barren white landscape.

  It’s a little awkward at first. So I speak up to break the proverbial ice.

  “Remember when we used to come here, with both of our families?” I ask as we head down the main road, which was plowed recently. “One year we didn’t have a tree, and our cabin happened to have a saw next to the shed. Caitlin climbed one of the pine trees next to City Hall and cut off the top, to use as a Christmas tree. My mom was so horrified she almost made us leave early.”

  “Well it’s no surprise we w
ould come here for Christmas. It looks like a snow globe.”

  Beech Mountain is such an adorable little town, it doesn’t even look real – there’s a little sledding hill next to Town Hall, and all kinds of little shops and restaurants along the main road. The winding trails of the ski resort tower over all this, rising out of the clouds some days like a snowy mirage. Today it’s even better than usual – I’ve never seen something that looked, so literally, like a winter wonderland. We’re both from Raleigh, and “snow” for us is usually a two-inch coating that paralyzes the whole city. This is on another level.

  I start feeling a little freer, more casual. For a while we talk about the good times. We laugh about summer trips to St. Simons Island to see his grandma, we share stories about Christmas-ing in this very town. Soon I start to remember all the things I always liked about him – when we’re not fighting he’s so easy to be around, so laid-back and easygoing. He’s also so smart that he’s constantly one step ahead of you, and you’re always trying to catch up and impress him. Eventually I begin to wonder how I ever lived without him in the first place. Underneath it all, the past few years have been as lonely and as desolate as the frozen countryside around us.

  At one point I’m avoiding an ice truck passing on the road when I knock into Thomas a little, once again. But this time, he reaches up to steady me, and he doesn’t let go. Actually, it turns into one of the longest hugs I’ve had in a while.

  “What’s the deal?” I ask as he holds me, his scent filling my nostrils, and filling my head with memories, too.

  “Sorry,” he says, pulling back again and smiling at me with bright eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that. I missed you, kiddo.”

  My heart doesn’t resume normal function for at least a tenth of a mile.

  Soon we’ve walked the short distance to Fred’s General Mercantile, the most charming little country store anybody ever saw. It carries anything you’d ever need, and we wander the shelves for a while, just warming up from the misery outside.

  I stop and look around at the decorations, the streamers, the hearts everywhere. Two couples near us are even holding hands. If this was a normal situation, I’d almost feel like I was on the perfect Valentine’s Day date.