Topping the Jock

Chapter Eighteen

A.N. RETURN OF REMY'S MOTHER! Idk how to feel about her. I wanted to make her bitchy, but with like a layer of kindness that pokes out every once in a while. Anyway, Rhonwen Rutherford returns, played by Uma Thurman! Vote and comment and keep reading. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - REMY'S DARLING P.O.V

By the time I'd gotten home, my once divine and breath-taking hair was now flat and wet and sticking to my face. My clothes were officially soaked, I was dripping from head to toe, and I don't think I'd ever felt as cheesy as I did right then. To be kissing in the rain like the lame ass that I was just felt somehow so unreal, like I'd literally just plucked it from Netflix and was watching it play out before me. 

But as if it couldn't get any more cliché, not only was I kissing in the rain, but I was kissing the one person on the entire planet that I should never be kissing. The enemy. I was like Julia Roberts in that lame '90's film, Sleeping With the Enemy.

As I slouched my way back into my house, I heard my mum rattling around in the kitchen. She hadn't heard me enter, being overwhelmed with single-handedly perpetuating the steretoype of the typical housewife. That was my mother, put simply.

"I'm back!" I announced.

"Whatever."

"Love you too, Mummy!" 

I'd taken off my soaked coat and tossed it at the foot of the stairs, climbing straight up them so I didn't have to deal with any of my family's shit. I couldn't be bothered with my whiney, bitchy, bipolar mother, and if my sister was home, I'd ignore her too. Most of my family were just upper-class, stereotypical bitches. We didn't like each-other and we didn't care. That was how it went and that was how we all liked it. That was how it had to stay. 

When I reached my bedroom, the door was already slung open, and splayed out on my bed was a person I never expected to see in my house. Not because it was because we hated each-other or whatever, just because I'd only ever spoken to this kid maybe once in my entire life. Why he was getting all cosy on my bed, I couldn't begin to imagine. But it was creeping me out, and turning me on at the same time.

"Gabriel Leclerq?" I asked, slowly closing my bedroom door behind me. Why was my maybe-boyfriend's best friend on my bed? If he was after sex, he would most definitely get it. I mean, let's be serious. Gabe's hot. "What are you doing here?" I asked him, at least attempting to be polite. And that was the hard thing. I was not a polite person. 

He smiled. "I'm here because of Milo."

"What about Milo? Come to tell me he's a dick?" I made my way over to my desk and sat in my computer chair, swivelling it around to mask the awkwardness of this situation. 

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to pretend that Milo and I weren't smooching and touching and rubbing up against each-other like we were, outside his house, about a half hour ago. I decided it would probably just be best to pretend like we were still enemies.

"A dick you like sucking," he relayed. I stopped swivelling in my chair to take a look at him. His face was deadly serious. He knew.

"Yeah. Okay," I laughed. "Wait... huh?"

"You heard me, Remy. I'm his best friend, he tells me everything. Everything. And I'm just here to tell you not to hurt him," he warned. Then I realised. I was getting that speech. The dreaded best friend speech.

"I won't," I replied instantly. "Why would I hurt him? How would I hurt him? If anything, he's more likely to crush me like a bug. Whereas, if you mean sexually, I make no promises. I aim to top that jock like no man has ever topped another man ever before in the history of homosexual existence."