All Chapters of GOLDEN BOY, BAD BOY: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

THE WAY SHE LOOKED AT HIMRoseanne swallowed, pulling the duvet tighter against her chest as she tried covering herself as best as she could. She forced her breathing to a slow rhythm, blowing off the strands of hair clinging to her wet lips. She felt her pussy twitch with everything that was happening as her cheeks burned pink. This… was turning her on. Ethan, on the other hand, remained on the floor for a long moment, staring at the door behind him before finally pushing himself upright. Adjusting his glasses, he wiped his nose, trying to chaise the thick smell of sweat and sex settling above his lips. He grunted, avoiding looking directly at the bed now as his jaw clenched. The embarrassment he felt from barging in had shifted into a strange heaviness that sat inside his chest. Anger? Anxiety?Or was he just jealous?Unable to handle the awkward silence anymore, Roseanne swallowed and grunted loudly as she tried to smile.“Hey,” she said again, softer this time. “How are you?”

HARDER THAN A PUNCHEthan stopped a few feet from Blake, the distance close enough to feel the warmth of his breath pouring over his skin. He noticed the slow rise and fall of his chest and the way he tilted his head when he stared at him. For a long moment, none of them said anything. Then, before his brain could stop him, Ethan raised his trembling hands and placed them flat against Blake's chest. His body shuddered at the contact as heat rushed violently through him. Even his breath turned uneven. He half-expected Blake to shove him away. Or worse, punch him just like he did in the detention room. But the brute didn't even flinch. Instead, he slowly unfolded his arms, letting them fall silently to his sides. Then he stood there, quiet, while Ethan stared up at him through fogging glasses. The nerd swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he dropped one hand down. Blake watched as it ran down to his belly, then to his waist before slipping into his draws. A soft gasp left E

BACK TO RUNS: A NEW JOBThe morning sunlight scattered across the city, filtering through grey clouds that rolled over from last night's rain. Even with the sharp rays, everything felt dull and colorless to Jake as he slowly drove through downtown. His old sedan rattled over every pothole and its engine coughed louder than it did last week, but he barely even noticed. He just sat on the seat, tapping anxiously against the steering wheel while a cigarette burned between his fingers. Hell, he hadn't slept in days. He tried so hard, but every time he closed his eyes, Ethan's bruised face would pop up. He would recall the way his little brother looked at him and those sorry eyes would chase every ounce of sleep he had. Sighing hard, Jake turned down another street lined with graffiti-covered walls and dilapidating stores. A few people walked down the sidewalk despite the early hour–junkies, shipowners, dealers. The air carried its usual smokey smell, but now had something rotten under

UNDER THE BLEACHERSThe heavy grunts of the footballers practicing echoed across the field as Ethan dropped down on the grass beneath the bleachers. He spread his notebook across his laps, flipping through the pages as he sipped his soda. The metal beams above him rattled occasionally whenever someone climbed the steps, but he barely noticed it anymore. He kept his eyes fixed on the pages before him, reading the title ‘Biology’ for the tenth time. He scanned the paragraph after but couldn't grasp a single word. Across from him, Tom folded his legs, staring openly at Ethan like he had suddenly grown a second head. Finally, he lowered the bag of chips in his hands and wiped his hands against his pants. “Okay," he muttered, frowning, “I think I gotta ask…" Ethan wrote something down on his note. “I don't think you should." “No, no," Tom said, shaking his head. He leaned forward with a rough grunt. “I still wanna know why Blake's psycho brother would just punch you like that. I mean…

AN INVITATIONThe apartment felt strangely quiet with Ethan out. The moment Jake stepped in, he noticed the difference–no television, no music, no quiet thuds of footsteps running through the rooms upstairs. Instead, all he heard was the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old pipes somewhere behind the walls. Jake settled into the couch and groaned tiredly as he rubbed both hands over his face. He began unbuttoning his shirt when he felt something solid move in his shirt pocket. Frowning, he dug his hand in and pulled out the invitation card. He rolled his eyes and threw it on the coffee table in front of him. He had forgotten it was there. And seeing it now stirred up his anger more. He hated the sight of it. Hated that he couldn't just toss it in the bin even more. The black card was sleek, its paper thick and etched with gold lettering–really expensive. It was just the type of thing rich kids used to make themselves feel important. Aaron's kind of thin