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Donovan.
I didn’t claim to be a good guy or even decent, but I wasn’t fucked up enough to go behind Donovan’s back and mess withhis brother. Even with the whole host of reasons why Gavin should’ve been off-limits, that was the one line I wouldn’t cross.
Or so I thought.
Because as I lay in bed that night, wide awake and refusing to get myself off out of sheer spite, I wasn’t even sure that was something that would hold me back much longer. With every hour that passed, more of my thinly held resolve crumbled, to the point that had Gavin slipped inside my room then, I’d be on him, inside him, faster than he could blink.
This was bullshit.
But I stayed put, hands clenched in my sheets and the minutes slowly crawling by. When my alarm went off, the exhaustion I expected to feel after not sleeping was nowhere to be found. Instead, it felt like someone had shot my ass with adrenaline. Clarity—or maybe it was no longer giving any more fucks—had struck sometime during the early-morning hours, and I was done avoiding the obvious.
Gavin had been right. I’d been saying no to him and denying what I wanted—fuckingneedednow—and that wasn’t me. I didn’t deprive myself. Not of anything. And I sure didn’t go to bed with my dick so hard it could pound through steel.
I wanted to make a mess of him. I wanted his body hot, sweaty, and filthy against mine, and I wanted to put a stop to the teasing and make good on all those sexual promises he’d made.
Was it a terrible idea? Yes, but I no longer gave a shit. My mind was made up, and now all that existed was executing. Something Gavin had helped with without knowing when he left the apartment before I finished getting dressed.
Yeah, run while you can,I thought as I pulled a pair of jeans on over my bare ass.
He wouldn’t be able to avoid me for long, but for his sake I’d let him get a bit of distance before I shut that shit down for good.
Impatience rode me hard as I finished getting ready, forgoing coffee and food in favor of something that would sate my hunger even better.
By the time I made my way downstairs and into the Sprinter, my restlessness was at an all-time high—so too with the rest of the guys, if the way they glared in my direction was any indication. All but Gavin, who was sitting in the back corner staring out the window and making it a point to ignore me entirely.
“The fuck are you all lookin’ at?” I said, slamming the door shut behind me.
I’d be lying if I said paranoia didn’t take over momentarily, but then West spoke up and put that shit to rest.
“For someone who doesn’t make an effort with his appearance, you sure as hell take a long-ass time getting down here. What do you do, iron your underwear?”
“Not wearing any,” I snapped, planting my ass in an open seat.
“Really?” Travis asked, while beside him, West groaned.
“I didn’t need to know that.”
I shrugged. “You asked.”
“Something I’m regretting. No one needs that visual.”
Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I saw Gavin shifting in his seat. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine, and it was clear by the intensity flaring there that West’s words didn’t apply to everyone. Gavin knew, and still wanted, what I packed inside these jeans.
“Doesn’t it chafe?” Travis asked, still stuck on my current lack of briefs. “I mean, I’ve done it with leather and chaps, but jeans don’t seem like the good kind of friction.”
“Oh my God.” Preston scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s too early for this. I don’t need to know what underwear you’re wearing. Or not wearing.”
“That’s because you have no style and don’t wanna show yours off. Let me guess…” Donovan tapped his lips as a lock of blond hair fell across his forehead. “Boring blue cotton boxer briefs. Am I right?”
Preston’s mouth parted in surprise before he recovered. “They’re not boring. Archer likes them.”
“That’s because he’s old,” East said, smirking. “And old people choose comfort over style. Guess that explains how you found each other.”
Preston rolled his eyes. “You’re such an ass. What doyouwear? Solid gold?”
East smoothed a hand down his pressed pants and picked off an imaginary piece of lint. “Only the most luxurious cashmere will do for my perfect ass.”
“I bet I can guess which ones,” Donovan said. “A hundred bucks says they’re Nice Laundry. The gold-embroidered ones.”
