If anything, it takes the attention off me. That’s a good thing, considering some of the guys were talking about women being trouble, and I happened to clarify that great sex is the problem.
I wasn’t gender specific, and I doubt anyone caught on to that, but it left my ears burning.
They can’t read my mind. They don’t know the thoughts I’ve had recently about a certain rock star. They don’t know that I left his house several days ago, after arguing with the man, with a hard-on because his anger turns me on. They don’t know that I fucking miss him, or that I can’t get his insolent little growl out of my head. They don’t have a clue about all the fantasies I’ve dreamed up about how that argument should’ve ended—him begging for forgiveness by sucking my dick wins every time.
They don’t know any of that. What they do know is that I’m not the happiest guy to be around these days.
“Did you see the way she kissed him?” Ignacio asks. “That shit was fire.”
“Definitely not their first kiss,” Wren quickly agrees.
Fuck, I don’t want to even think about kissing. I don’t want the memory of the way Archer pressed his lips to mine in my car that first day, and I don’t want to revisit the regret I felt not kissing him back in the Hot Wheels room.
The man is like a sneaky damn virus, unknowingly infiltrating my body and taking over every fucking thought.
I’m attracted to the bastard. I can admit that—to myself—not to anyone else obviously.
I can accept that the working contract we have between him and Blackbridge Security is probably the only thing keeping me from acting on that attraction, but even that flimsy excuse is becoming troublesome.
He was right the other day about the watching, smiles, and soft touches. I couldn’t tell him that I just can’t help myself, that I react to him before I realize it. Doing so would open a huge can of worms.
I was so sure you were putting off those vibes.
I denied it when he said that to me that day while we were surrounded by the most adorable addiction I’ve ever seen, decades of tiny cars and trucks witnessing my lie.
Not even a little bi?
That question I didn’t deny because I was too busy wondering if in fact I was. I never felt like attraction to someone was indicative of sexuality. I don’t question every man’s—walking the earth—attraction to Ryan Reynolds. The man is funny, good looking… he’s the full fucking package. I see the appeal as many other guys do. That doesn’t mean they want to sleep with the guy.
But you would.
My lip twitches with my brain’s ever insistence of reminding me.
“Found any hot spots lately?” Finnegan asks.
I look over at my friend as he runs his hand down his red beard.
“Not a one,” I tell him.
“We could go out tonight and look,” he says, a wide, hungry look on his face.
“Maybe.”
Another thing they don’t know is that I went out last night, figuring the best way to get Archer out of my fucking head was to focus on someone else. What started out as me on the prowl looking for a gorgeous woman with a couple of hours to kill, ended with me watching and comparing every man in the bar to the petulant asshole across town.
None of them looked as good in a pair of jeans. Their eye color was all wrong. Just a little backstory—I’ve never cared about someone’s eye color, but apparently, I now have a preference.
What color, you may ask? Archer Bremen’s eyes are the only honest answer.
It took me two drinks and forty-five minutes to realize I was watching the guys, not the women.
I haven’t done that since my sophomore year in college, and even that I blamed on my roommate’s brother. Bored one night, the guy offered to solve my problem when I plopped down on the couch, complaining about the freshman I took out on the date who shut me down the second I touched her leg. As a twenty-year-old, the kissing was enough to make my dick stand up and take notice. Although I didn’t push her any further than she wanted to go, it still left me with sore nuts.
“I could help you with that,” he’d said, not even looking away from the battle scene playing out on the television.
I’d watched the side of his face, thinking a little too long about the offer.
He grinned without even looking in my direction.
There were no drugs involved. I hadn’t had a drop to drink.
There were no excuses as to why I unzipped my pants, pulled my cock out, and scooted a little closer to him.
He kept his eyes on the show the entire time he jacked me off. It was personally impersonal if that makes any sense.