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Take a guess what happened when we got back to my hotel room last night.
Zip.
Nada.
Nothing.
All that suggestive talk and flirting at the bar amounted to a big pile of diddly fucking squat.
When I told Wilby I wanted an unforgettable first night in Australia, I should have been more specific and addedcourtesy of some extremely hot man-on-man sex.
Because what I ended up getting was him complaining about not feeling well as soon as we got back to the hotel room and then proceeding to throw up all over the bathroom floor. I managed to get him out of his boots and jeans and into bed, only to spend half the night engaged in an epic battle for the comforter because Wilby Linfox has never learned how to share.
It's too bad.
I was enjoying talking to him at the bar, even if I spent most of the time not knowing what to make of him. Hard to know if he was being serious or if what he was saying was just cocky bluster.
What's even more unsettling is how easy I found opening up to him. That's definitely new for me. People who have known me my whole life, like Brant and my dad, practically have to pry information out of me.
I have to hand it to him. Wilbyisintriguing.
Doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes, too. When I stepped out of the elevator and saw him properly for the first time, I was more than happy with my decision to take up a drunken stranger's offer to get a drink.
The guy I glimpsed in the dim alleyway from the third floor was even better up close and in good lighting.
Turns out, he's not just buff, but bronzed, too. His complexion is a delicious hue of burnt caramel, extending to his torso, which I was able to see since he conveniently only had time to half button his white linen shirt. I'd bet good money he left it like that on purpose.
He may have boasted at the bar about having a hot ass and being well-endowed—two things I am, sadly, unable to verify—but he was spot on about his face. It's perfect, especially when he's smiling, which he tends to do a lot. His eyes are dark gray, and they have a mischievous glimmer to them.
I only came out as bi a few months ago, and I didn't think I had a type when it came to men.
That officially changed last night.
Because everything that Wilby Linfox is physically very much works for me. Now if only I could do something about that big mouth of his…
There's more movement on the bed before a mop of unruly hair pokes through the quilt.
"Morning, sweet cheeks."
I bite back a surprised grin. "Morning, Wilby."
He's wrapped the comforter around himself so all I can see is his face.
"You sound spritely."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I can think of a few reasons."
"Before we get into that…" He lifts a brow suggestively. "I've got a question for ya."
I wheel my desk chair closer to the bed. "And what would that be?"
He breaks out into a big, goofy, lopsided smile. "How good was I last night?"
"Are you serious?" I sputter.
His smile doesn't falter. "You don't have to flatter me. Just be honest. On a scale of one to ten where one is the worst possible sex you can imagine and ten is an all-out, back-breaking, hole-destroying fuckfest, how would you rate me?"
