Page 3 of A Quick Pit Stop

“Anyway,” he says, pushing himself off the sink. “Drive safe.”

He walks past me, and I get a whiff of him. Something warm and masculine. Woodsy. Like pine and damp earth. I don’t think it’s cologne. I think it’s just him. For a fraction of a second, I have the insane urge to push him to his knees and take him up on that offer. To feel a hot, wet mouth on my cock. To not think about anything else.

“How often do you do this?” The words are out before I can catch them.

He stops with his hand on the door and turns. “Do what?”

“Hit on guys in public restrooms.”

He grins. “Only the ones who are as handsome and hung as you.”

Jesus Christ. I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep the corner of my mouth from twitching. “You’ve got some nerve, man.”

“You have no idea.” He winks. “The name’s Ryan, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask for your name.”

“No,” he says, opening the door. “You didn’t. But you’re still standing here talking to me.”

And he’s right. I am.

He’s gone before I can think of a comeback. The door swings shut behind him, and the bathroom goes silent, save for the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

I stand there for a long minute, staring at the door. What the hell just happened? Am I being punked? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? I look around the bathroom. Cracked tiles, a rusty drain, graffiti on the stall door. Nothing out of the ordinary.

My pulse is pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. I run some cold water, splash it on my face, and look at myself in the mirror. I barely recognize the guy staring back. Wild-eyed, cheeks still red. And there’s a bulge in my jeans I can’t seem to will away. That’s the part that doesn’t make any fucking sense.

I’m straight. I know I am. I’ve only ever been with women. I love pussy. I love the smell of it, the taste of it, the feel of it. I love tits in my hands, hearing her moan when I’m deep inside her. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’ve never once thought about being with a guy.

So why am I standing here with a semi-chub in my jeans? Why did I imagine, even for a split second, taking him up on that offer?

It’s just been a long day, I tell myself. A long month, actually. I’m all pent up. I haven’t gotten laid in weeks, not since the breakup. I’m just reacting to any kind of attention. Some silver-eyed guy says something a little forward, and my dick gets confused. That’s all it is.

And he was a good-looking guy. Objectively. I can admit that. Strong jaw, nice lips. Thick arms, veins running down his forearms. The kind of build you don’t get without putting in serious time at a gym. It’s notgayto notice these things. I canacknowledge another man is attractive without wanting to put my dick inside him. Right?

I square my shoulders. “Get a grip, Dominic,” I tell my reflection. Later today, I’ll be in some new town, drinking a beer at a dive bar with neon signs in the window. Shooting pool with some locals. I’ll find a nice girl with soft skin and a sweet smile. I’ll take her back to my motel room, and I’ll fuck her until I forget all about my ex. And this pit stop. And a guy named Ryan.

I take one last deep breath, pushing that woody scent out of my head, and head for the door.

He’s right there. Leaning against the wall outside with his arms crossed, one boot flat against the brick, squinting into the sun. He looks over at me, and those silver-blue eyes catch the light.

“Took you long enough,” he says.

“This is borderline harassment, you know that?”

“Excuse me? I’m just enjoying some fresh air before I get back on the road.”

“Next to a restroom. Don’t play dumb. You were waiting for me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Not everything is about you, man. I’m just stretching my legs. Last I checked, this is a public space.”

He’s so damn calm. It’s infuriating. I should walk away. Get in my car and go. Instead, for some reason, I hear myself say, “Where’s your car?”

He points with his chin toward the far end of the lot. “Black truck. Over there.” I follow his gaze. It’s a beast. A big, lifted F-250 with a silver stripe. Looks like it’s seen some serious miles.

“What about you?”

I nod toward my car. “The boring one.”