The First Taste by Crystal Kaswell

Author:Crystal Kaswell [Kaswell, Crystal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-27T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

Holden

I blink my eyes open. Roll over. Away from the brightness.

It's not enough. The blinds are up. The wall is all windows. I'm in an east facing room.

Sunlight floods the space.

Casts shadows over the opposite wall.

I reach out to the other side of the bed, but it's cold. Empty.

I slept here alone. Daisy insisted. She's right—there's no reason to start a fight with Oliver—but it still feels off.

Sure, we aren't doing anything wrong. But he won't see it that way.

And I—

Fuck, I've gone insane.

Officially lost touch with logic.

Not that it was my strong suit to begin with.

I toss off the covers. Head to the bathroom. Piss. Wash my hands. Brush my teeth.

Toss an extra four tissues on the trash can. To cover the condom sitting at the bottom.

It's out of sight, more so now, but it feels like it's shining.

Like it's screaming Holden Ballard has no concept of loyalty.

I know it's bullshit, that whole bros before hoes, I won't sleep with your sister just because you say so thing.

But I did agree. I meant it. And now—

I can't say I regret last night. I don't. Fuck, the thought of Daisy's blue eyes brimming with pleasure—

Of her thighs squeezing my hips—

Her nails digging into my back—

I'm never going to regret that.

Fuck, if it somehow got erased, if she came to me right now, the two of us sober…

I don't know what I'd say.

My cock answers for me. Fuck, her groan is melted into my brain. I need to step into the shower. Fuck myself now.

It's the only way I'm going to survive today.

But there's music downstairs. One of Oliver's favorites. Some moody, mumbly shit that wants to be grunge even though it's half as good.

He's awake.

I need to be somewhere else.

I pull on running shorts. Head downstairs.

My best friend is lying on the couch, half-awake, t-shirt pulled over his eyes.

"Drink too much?" I don't wait for an answer. I head straight to the kitchen. Fill two glasses with water. Bring him one.

He tosses his shirt aside. Squints just enough to reach for the glass. "Why's it so bright?"

"It's almost noon."

"No fucking way."

I nod way. "Time difference."

"Yeah." He finishes his glass in one go. Drops it on the coffee table. Leans back. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"What about you?"

He groans as he grabs a pillow, holds it over his eyes. "Didn't make it to my bed."

"Too drunk?"

"Fuck off." He holds the pillow over his head, blocking the light from the windows—the ones that face the ocean. "Where the fuck did you guys go? We waited for you for… that place poured them strong."

What is strong to Oliver? I've seen him enter a party with a full bottle of bourbon and leave with an empty one. Sure, he's not downing every drop.

He does share.

Makes a point of it even.

And where the fuck do I get off pointing out his lapses in judgment?

I fucked his sister last night.

I took her virginity.

My balls tighten at the thought.

Blood rushes to my cock.

So not the time.

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