By the time I’m done, my cock aches and the front of my boxers is damp. These pants are not going to keep him from noticing my erection once he sits up. “I hope that was okay. Make sure to sit up slowly so you don’t get lightheaded.” And also, to give me a minute. “I’ll grab you a cup of water.”
He starts to protest, but I’m already gone. Maybe a few yards of separation will help me calm down.
I grab two bottles of water from the fridge, leaving the door open longer than strictly necessary in the hopes the cold air will help my cock go down.
It doesn’t really, so I pull a move I haven’t done since high school and pull a pillow onto my lap as soon as I’m on the couch. The best I can hope for is that he doesn’t call me out.
“Thanks for this,” Covey says as he chugs half his water. “And for the massage. I had no idea you had that kind of skill.”
“Thanks, it’s just a bit of training.” Those courses filled a nice hole in my schedule and came with bonus massages from my classmates. Not all of them were good, but as a poor college student, I was happy to take what I could get.
“I can’t promise it’ll be nearly as good, but I’m happy to give you one, too.” He gets up and motions for me to lie down. There’s not a chance of that happening. I can picture it, and humping his couch while he runs his hands all over me until I come in my pants is not in the plans for tonight.
Or any night.
“I’m good.” I wave him off, taking the opportunity to take a long drink of my water.
“You sure? I’m not a pro, but I’ve got strong hands.” He holds them out, and all I can picture are some other things I’d like him to use his hands for.
Yep, Covey is trying to kill me.
“I’m good.Really.” The words come out a bit harsh, and I can see the confusion on his face.
“Okay, but if you change your mind…” His voice trails off as he rolls his head a few times, stretching out his neck. “Did you want to watch something? Or talk?”
Right. Tonight is supposed to be about the two of us getting to know each other better. Preparing for the big Thanksgiving extravaganza. That will be the true test of whether we’re going to pull this off; everything up till now has been merely an appetizer. “We can watch something. What do you like?”
“Anything. I’m not picky.” That’s not much help.
“There’s this new food show I like. The guy travels to these exotic places and tries the local dishes. It’s pretty good.”
Covey shrugs. “Sure. Sounds good. Did you want something else to drink? There might still be a couple of beers hidden in the fridge.”
“Water’s good.” I don’t trust myself to have a drink right now. My decision-making and control are both wavering, and the last thing they need is a reason to give up altogether.
“Okay, I’m going to make myself a cup of tea.” He stands up and stretches, his lean muscles on display. I let myself stare for exactly five seconds before I look away. Thankfully, he chooses that moment to pull his sweatshirt back on. The oversized sweatshirt practically swallows him whole. At least my dick has half a chance of going down now that he’s dressed.
I turn on his TV and find the show I mentioned, picking an episode in Europe that I think he might like. Covey’s not far, I can see him in the kitchen, but the space between us feels huge. It’s enough to break at least a bit of the spell I’ve been under and help me relax. All of me. By the time he returns,I’m able to move the pillow off my lap and be a little bit more relaxed.
As soon as the show starts, Covey’s absorbed. For him, that means staring at the screen while working himself into various positions that look wildly uncomfortable, which he claims is a way to stretch out his muscles and relax. It’s impressive, partly because I’m not sure I’ve ever even been able to touch my toes. Maybe for a whole day in first grade, before everything tightened up. Permanently.
Three episodes, two glasses of water, and one awkward goodbye later, I’m finally able to breathe a sigh of relief as I climb into my car.
One thing is abundantly clear: Silas was right. I’m falling for Covey.Hard.
CHAPTER 12
AIDAN
“Hey, Mom,” I say, turning on the speakerphone and setting my phone on the counter so I can keep tidying up my classroom.I hate stopping in the middle.If I don’t get it done, I spend the whole night lying in bed, thinking about all the things that are out on the carpet.
“Is this an okay time?”
“Yep,” I call, bending over to pick… ew, where did they get gum?
“I don’t want to interrupt if you’re busy.”
“If I’m busy, I’ll let it go to voicemail.” We’ve had this conversation dozens of times. No matter how many times we discussed it, she remains convinced that my phone would start ringing in the middle of something important. As if my phone had been on anything but vibrate for the last ten years.
