Pretty Dogs by Riley Nash

Author:Riley Nash [Nash, Riley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798987684153
Published: 2023-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

12

BECK

Pissing in a hot shower is better than sex.

I close my eyes and let the water flow through my hair and down over my sore shoulders, while basking in the total relief of an empty bladder. Showers are me-time, where I can do and think about anything I want. I want to jack off thinking about Dallas, but that seems like a sick thing to do when he hasn’t agreed to a physical relationship yet. So instead, I rock out to The Killers on my phone. When it hits a chorus, I strum chords on my wet abs and headbang along, flinging droplets all over the walls.

As I dance around the shower, I can’t stop thinking about Calvin. I wanted to hate him for attacking Dallas, but I can’t stay mad when his sweet, smart, ornery nature reminds me so much of my favorite person in the world. Dallas doesn’t need to have all the answers, but I know first-hand how much it can matter for a lost boy to meet a strong older guy who understands what he’s going through. Pascal and Alex pulled me into gang life, but I wouldn’t have lived through my teens if they hadn’t been my two big brothers who loved me the best they could and kicked my ass into line when I messed up. Dallas had to go to work when we got back from the river, so I’m trying to figure out how to explain all this when he comes home.

I never heard the bathroom door, but my music cuts off right in the middle of the last chorus, leaving nothing but the sound of dripping water. Before my brain can react, the shower curtain flings open. Dallas is panting and flushed, like he just ran from somewhere. He stands there holding the curtain open, staring at my fully naked self and trying to catch his breath.

“Uh, hi?” I scrunch my face up and wipe the last remnants of shampoo out of my eyes. “You’re letting in the cold.” The longer he waits, the more droplets bounce out of the tub, spraying a wet pattern on his gray chinos.

He blinks, like he’s waking up, and gives me a strange, reckless look. Instead of shutting the curtain, he climbs into the tub on bare feet and pulls it closed behind him. I watch blankly, my mouth half open, as water starts to darken and drench the fabric of his clothes. “Dallas?”

His nostrils flare as he tips his chin up firmly and takes another step toward me. The spray soaks through his lavender button down until it’s plastered to the shape of his body and so transparent I can see every detail of his scars. If Dal ever steps in a puddle or splashes dishwater on himself, he whines and yowls like a fussy little cat. Tonight, he doesn’t even react when water drops scatter across his face, making his eyelashes flutter and his light brown skin sparkle.

When he pulls in a deep breath, I wait for a rush of words.

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