“What?!” he practically screeches. “How do you know that’s what I was doing?”
I’m cracking up now.
“Dude,chill.I came to find you and tell you we’re watching Final Destination while you were in the shower. I just happen to have impeccable timing and managed to hear the end of a successful sesh.”
“Okay, but like, howmuchdid you hear?” he asks in a panicked tone.
“D, it was no big deal,” I tell him, taking a sip of my beer. “I heard you say Julie’s name followed by some dirty shit, and then I left you to it.”
His brows pinch together.
“I didn’t say…you know what? Never mind.” He slides off the barstool and moves toward the wet bar. “Hand me a lowball glass, will you?”
For only being twenty-four, Damon’s drink preferences are as polished and refined as his wardrobe. Seriously, what twenty-four-year-old drinksScotch? And not only drinks it, butlikesit.
Fuck that.
I’ll take a shot of Fireball with a Dr. Pepper chaser, please.
Opening the cabinet that holds the glasses, I tell him to point to the one he wants. “I don’t know what the hell a ‘lowball’ glass is, bro.”
“Have I taught you nothing?” he asks, slightly more relaxed, as he points to the short glass on the middle shelf.
Handing it to him, I laugh. “You’ve taught me lots…like, pre-algebra, how to tie a tie, to never wear stripes and plaid in the same outfit, and that I used too much tongue when I was learning how to kiss.”
Damon chokes on his recently poured drink.
“When the fuck did I tell you that? And how would I know anyway?”
“Don’t you remember the watermelon experiment? You said, ‘I don’t think it’s supposed to be that wet when you’re done. Maybe use less tongue.’”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’d forgotten about that.” When he opens his eyes again, they look sad, and I don’t know why. Trying to cheer him up, I grab his hand and pull him to the couch.
“Come on. Bros before hoes. It’s movie time.”
Chapter 5
Damon
I’m not going to survive this trip. It’s been seventy-two hours, and I’m riding the edge so hard it’s a matter ofwhenI go over, notif.
ThankGodJulie’s name happens to end in the same syllable as Liam’s nickname. Otherwise, it would’ve been really fucking awkward trying to explain whyhisname was falling from my lips as I came. Julie was nowhere in my mind as I spilled my release.
And now, Liam’s long legs are stretched across my lap as we watch this movie.
Sure, I could have chosen to sit in the recliner, but Liam would’ve called me on it, and I didn’t have an excuse ready. Li needs physical touch like a fish needs water. If I had chosen the overstuffed chair, he would’ve probably climbed into it with me.
As it is, having his sweatpants-clad legs across my lap is easier to manage than having his naked, muscular torso pressing into me.
Suddenly, a piece of popcorn hits me in the forehead, and my eyes snap to Liam’s.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“Why are you staring at me? TV’s over there,” he says.
Shit.
“I don’t know. Lost in my thoughts, I guess. My bad.”
