I glower at him, and he clears his throat. “Told you I was good at this game. And to address the other comment. I have no shame, so I probably would let you fuck me.”
“That so?” I ask, and he blushes.
“That’s so. But I would probably regret it.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, starting a new game.
“Because you’re scary.”
I peek over at him and roll my eyes. “I’m a nice guy.”
“You sicced your friend on me.”
“Ah, Mal. You think I’m scary,” I reply and then chuckle. Before it’s cut off when my character dies again.
“You little…” I say, and Magnus scoots a little farther away from me.
“Don’t hurt me.”
I glower at him and then turn all my attention to the game.
“No more chatting, you little shit. You’re distracting me.”
Magnus clears his throat. “I’ll still kick your ass, you big…oaf.”
And he does. Over and over.
CHAPTERFIVE
Whit’s eager to hit the road. He moves in and out of the bedroom, tapping those fingers and glowering at me. And when I lean back in defeat, Whit practically shoves Magnus out of the apartment.
“So rude, man,” I say with a small smile.
Whit points to the room, and I give him a small salute.
“Yes, sir,” I tease.
I manage to pack my stuff in under two minutes. Whit secretly times me, trying to prove a point. I see the timer on his phone, so I just shove my shit into a plastic bag. He watches it all, mouth slightly agape.
“You are a barbarian,” he mutters as he places his small suitcase into the trunk next to my half-spilled bag and then slides into his car.
I shrug, sprawling my large frame in the passenger seat.
Despite a small pep talk, my cock is hard again because Whit in this expensive car apparently does things to me.
Filthy, pornographic things.
“Who bought you this car, fancy man?” I ask, fiddling with the window.
He puts the child locks on, and I roll my eyes.
“My parents,” he says as he pulls out onto the road.
Dark clouds gather in the sky, and the smell of petrichor permeates the air. God, I love the rain. We don’t get enough of it out here.
“Your parents rich?” I ask, placing my arm on the center console and bumping his. He doesn’t move it, though, just lets our arms rub against each other.
“Define rich.”