“Come on, man. Give me something. What language was that?”
“Romanian,” he says, and then his fingers are tapping against the couch again.
“Who was that?” I ask as I grab his hands and place them back on my abdomen. His fingers flex against me and then relax.
“My father.”
“Ah. Not a fan?”
“No,” he says, and then he leans his head back and sighs heavily.
I give him a few minutes and then say, “You sounded angry.”
“I am.”
Welp, he’s not much of a talker when he’s pissed. Not much of a talker in general, to be honest.
“You going to be okay?” I ask, and Whit huffs a bitter laugh.
“I always am.”
I glance up at him, my lips level with his jaw, and I nuzzle him with my nose. It’s the gayest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t help myself. And fuck if he doesn’t smell good.
“Hey,” I say when his eyes flash down to me. “Snap out of it, man.”
He licks his lips and then moves one of his hands from my abdomen to my hair, fisting it and tugging it roughly. My neck’s now exposed, my Adam’s apple bobbing in my throat. I can see his eyes, his pupils blown out as he watches me intently.
The alpha move is so surprising that my entire body lights up, and my dick thickens. If I were to look down, my shorts would be tented.
“Snap out of it?” Whit asks, his lips hovering over mine, his hand clutching my abdomen to keep me in place.
Not that I’m moving. Nope, I’m glue on this couch. You couldn’t move me if you tried.
“Do you know how I snap out of it, Caleb?” he asks, and I swallow roughly.
“Nah,” I mutter, and then he exhales shakily.
His hands flex once more, and then he’s letting me go.
“I need to go study,” he says, pushing at me to get me to move.
I’m like cooked spaghetti, though, and struggle to get my body in motion. But as soon as I scoot up a few inches, he’s up and moving into our bedroom.
“So studying is how you snap out of it?” I call to his retreating back, but he doesn’t answer.
And I’m on the couch with a hard cock and a muddled brain because I do not know what just happened. Maybe Whit leaving’s a good thing. Because it looked like he wanted to kiss me, but that can’t be right?
Right?
Because he’s not into me.
I’m straight.
I think.
Shit.
Whit reappears, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he swipes his phone off the couch.