I helped both to the shower one by one to wash them off, then dressed them up. Cassie could barely move, legs wobbling like she had tried to do squats with a truck strapped to her back. Trixie was worse. She kept giggling, then slumping like her spine had checked out mid-orgasm and filed for disability.
"You talk big, then can barely stand." I shook my head as I slipped Cassie's tank top back over her head. She groaned but didn't argue. Trixie sat on the bench, bra halfway hooked, mouth open like she forgot how language worked.
I sat with them for an hour. I gave them water, wiped the leftover sweat off their foreheads, and leaned back on the wall. If I tried to move them like this, people would suspect I put something in their drinks. Both of them looked like they got hit by a truck train loaded with ruffies, orgasms and poor life choices.
Cassie blinked at me. Her voice was rough. "Did we break a record?"
I nodded. "You broke the mat. You broke each other. You even broke the clock."
Trixie lifted a hand like she was raising it in class. "I saw God. She said I was going to hell."
"Tell her to bring ice," I said, tossing her a towel.
Their legs were still shaking when I helped them dress properly. Hair messy. Thighs sticky. Cassie hissed when she pulled her skirt up. Trixie just threw her top on and called it a win.
"Can you walk?" I asked.
Cassie took two steps and leaned on the wall.
Trixie muttered, "Carry."
They limped beside me out of the gym, slow as hell. I made sure no one saw. If a teacher caught that post-fuck shuffle, it would be game over. We took the back hallway, ducked past storage, and out the side door like it was a secret mission with sex flashbacks.
I split from them at the parking lot. Watched as they slipped into Cassie's car, both sinking into the seats like jellyfish. Windows up. Engine on. No movement. They would probably sit there for an hour pretending to talk while trying to remember how their pelvic bones worked.
I walked home with my hoodie up. If I had not paced myself, both of them would have needed a wheelchair and a therapist.
[System]: Baby... you just destroyed two teenage egos and rearranged their souls. That was not sex. That was an educational seminar. I should issue certificates.
I kicked open the front door. Aunt May was in the kitchen, back turned, humming something that probably came from a 90s radio station. As I stepped inside, she moved closer and sniffed subtly. Her eyes narrowed. That little squint she gave when something smelled off.
But not this time.
This time I was clean. Scrubbed, rinsed, deodorized, and flossed like I just walked out of a nun's dream journal. No trace of gym-floor sins or the symphony of moans that had echoed through that locker room like pornographic applause. I even used her fancy soap. The lavender one.
Still, she stared.
"Wash your hands. Dinner is ready," she said, pointing a wooden spoon like it doubled as a lie detector.
"Yes, ma'am." I saluted with two fingers and walked in, dropping my bag by the chair.
May moved back to the stove. The smell of garlic and onions filled the kitchen. She stirred the curry. I dried my hands and dropped into my chair. The first bite was damn.
"Mrs. Thompson wants you to visit her again," May said after her first bite, "This time the bathtub is acting up."
I raised an eyebrow. "And you are okay with that?"
She sighed like I had just asked her to relive a trauma. "You fucked her once. Second time will not change anything. You can help her and get rewarded. I don't want to gatekeep you from..."
I cut in. "Pussy?"
She glared, "I was going to say some Mommy fantasy, but sure."
I bite back the dark joke, instead, I took another bite. Damn again. "This is good."
"She pays well too. I doubt professionals earn this much," I said, tilting the bowl slightly as I scooped another bite.
May rubbed her nose, not looking at me. "Don't really know the market rate."
I chuckled at that. "That is relieving."
She frowned like I had poked a nerve. Oops.
'System, did I make it clear I am lusting her?'
[System]: Sugar, you could not make it any clearer.
But, probably, for both our sakes, she didn't say anything.
Good old pretend-it-never-happened. Family survival strategy 101. Sweep the lust under the rug, bury it under casseroles and passive-aggressive spoon-pointing. Works every time.
May, as usual, acted like dinner was supposed to cleanse sins and not stir them. But her eyes flicked to me more than usual. Like she was checking for guilt on my face. Or hickeys. Probably both.
After dinner, we settled in the living room. May chose some old drama with way too many wine moms and betrayal scenes. I didn't complain. My stomach was full, she deserved it after that meal. We were barely twenty minutes into the movie when the doorbell rang.
I stood up. May barely glanced away from the screen, her hand flicking toward the door. "Get it."
I opened it and saw MJ standing there. Her eyes flicked up to mine, "Hey," she said. "Can we talk?"
I sighed. "Sure." I turned back toward the living room. "I am heading out," I called.
May waved her hand without looking up. "Stay close."
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. MJ walked ahead a few feet, like she had picked a spot to argue from. I followed after, with my hands in my pockets. She stopped near the gate. One hand holding her phone, the other tucked into her pocket.
"You came here to talk, not mime," I said, leaning against the fence.
She rolled her eyes. "I was not sure if I should."
"You already walked over."
She gave a small shrug. "I figured… maybe we left things bad earlier."
I nodded. "We did."
"I didn't use you," she said finally.
I didn't say anything. We had this talk twice.
"I cared about you," she said, her voice lower now. "Still do."
I waited. She looked at me. Her face was caught between guilt and something painful. "But I took you for granted," she said. "Like a bauble I loved, but never protected. When it broke, I was sad. But I never showed how much I loved it."
"You broke the bauble I got you for your twelfth birthday?" I said, out of reflex. Damn old Peter memories, popping up like uninvited flashbacks.
She blinked. "That isn't the part you should focus on."
I raised both hands. "Right, right. Go on."
Her eyes dropped to her shoes. "I knew," she said. "I knew you liked me. I just... liked having you there."
"Safe," I said. "Reliable. Background. Yeah I know."
She winced. "I am not proud of that."
"Good. Because it was shitty."
She sighed. "You were the only person I could trust for a long time. And I used that. I leaned on you more than I should have."
"Like a crutch."
"Like home," she said. Then, quieter, "And I never said thank you."
"You never needed to," I replied. "Back then, I would have taken a smile and an accidental brush of your arm as proof we were soulmates."
She looked up at me. "Did you really feel that way?"
"I felt everything," I said. "Crushed on you so hard it made algebra class feel like a goddamn soap opera. Every time you asked me to walk you home, I thought it meant something. Every time you laughed at my jokes, I memorized that shit like it was a script. You were the center of the show. I was just... background music."
"You were more than that."
"Not to you."
"I see that now."
"Do you?" I asked, stepping closer. "Because I am not the same kid anymore. You keep talking like you are still dealing with that version of me. The one who would carry your bag and pretend to not hear when you gushed about some guy who treated you like dirt."
She didn't step back, she looked up to me, "I know. I don't deserve to like you anymore. Not after you changed. Not after you got people around you. Not when you needed someone and I didn't even notice. I just hope we can stay friends. I like you, Peter. You are my childhood friend. My safe harbor. The place I can always come back to and feel like it is okay to breathe."
"You want to stay friends? Fine. Say it. Mean it. But don't feed me lines about safe harbors. You had a harbor. You lit it on fire every time you walked away and let me sit in the smoke."
MJ looked away, she was clenching the phone so hard I could hear the plastic creak. "You were my best friend," she said. "You still are. I just..."
I raised both hands halfway, I raised my hands, "Fine. I believe in second chances. Life gave me one, and it is better in every aspect. But let me make it clear. Old Peter died. The friend you knew is no more. That guy left the day Flash made the mistake of reminding me where rock bottom was."
She bit her lip. Probably without realizing it.
"So, I don't think you can find your best friend in me, but if you want to become friends, study, walk home together occasionally, sure, why not. But let me make one thing clear."
I stepped closer. "If you ever treat me like some backup option again? If you make me feel like the spare you pull out only when things fall apart?"
I shook my head, "Don't expect a conversation. Don't expect closure. You will not get it."
She took a deep breath, nodding. "I know. I will not."
She stood there like the weight finally settled, like maybe the truth finally landed. I turned toward the gate.
"Peter," she called.
I looked over my shoulder. She was still standing there, arms loose by her sides, her mouth opening like she had something else to add but no idea how to say it.
She closed it. Then tried again. "Thank you."
"Yeah."
If she meant it, she would show it. And if she didn't, then it would stay exactly what it was.
Back inside, May was on the couch. Still watching the show. She glanced at me, eyes flicking over my face like she was checking for signs of emotional blood.
"You good?"
"She needed to talk."
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You can read up to Chapter 85...
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