He shakes his head. “I don’t—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I cut him off.
Deep blue eyes narrow at me. Fuck, even in the dark of night they pierce right through me and send a jolt of electricity directly to my dick.
“We’re both going to be there anyway,” I continue. “And Iknowyou have a tux, Fancy Pants.”
“Ryan—”
“No excuses.” I cut him off again. “I’m picking you up at seven.”
He studies me like he’s trying to figure out what game I’m playing. Fuck if I even know myself. I just know I want more time with him. Outside the gym. Outside this push-pull, half-joking, half-not thing we’ve been doing for months.
I want…something. I just need to sac-up and ask for it. Eventually, he exhales. “Maybe.”
Victory.
I shrug. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Then I muster up every ounce of courage I have to add, “And if I wind up with your cock down my throat at the end of the night, so be it.”
I watch him closely.
Waiting.
Hoping for a reaction.
He doesn’t give me what that deserves, but his jaw tightens just slightly. And it’s enough.
More than enough.
I’m panicking a little on the inside, but I’m surprised by how light I feel. Then I turn on my heel and start walking toward the parking lot.
But it seems I can’t help myself…
I spin around, walking backward now, watching him as he stands there with his arms folded, looking annoyed and maybe a little amused. “Seven PM!” I call out, pointing at him with both hands. “And make sure the pants are extra tight.”
Then I turn back around and blow out a huge breath, butterflies beating their wings against the wall of my chest.
Yeah, definitely time to do something about this.
I just wish I had someone to talk to about it. I’d risk spilling my guts to my best friend, Anthony. Now that he’s going to be my agent, it would make sense to have that conversation. But he doesn’t evenknowhe’s going to be my agent yet and we haven’t caught up in…fuck, in a long while. I get it—he’s all loved-up with Chance—and I’m genuinely happy for my bro. Really, I am. Those two are goals. I want that.
It’s my turn.
Thirteen
Emotions
Spencer
What the fuck am I doing right now?
Something against my will, that’s what. Persistent doesn’t begin to describe the all-out offensive Ryan has hurled my way sincehedecided we were going to Chance’s exhibit together.
The pain in my ass has stopped by my office twice—with lunch—trying to get me to confirm plans. I didn’t tell him no, but I wouldn’t commit either. Unfazed, he followed-up with voicemails, left messages with Dita, and sent texts.
So manytexts.
I had already intended on going, but the idea of showing up with him has me feeling a wide range of emotions. That alone is problematic because I don’t do emotions. Regardless, I’ve accepted my fate. I never once confirmed, but you can bet Ryan Buterbaugh will be tapping on my door at seven sharp.
