Page 8 of A Quick Pit Stop

“Nice. That’s my kind of road trip.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not that glamorous,” I say. “Just had to get out of the city. Needed a change of scenery.”

“Girl trouble?” He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Something like that.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Fair enough.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know, for a straight guy, you’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most guys would be freaking out right now. Punching themselves in the leg, trying to scrub the memory of another man’s mouth on their cock from their brain. But you’re just sitting there.”

The memory flashes behind my eyes. The sight of my cock disappearing between his lips. The wet heat. Him looking up at me, tears in his blue eyes, while I fucked his face. The greedy sounds he made as he swallowed my load.

“Are you always this blunt?” I ask.

“Yeah, pretty much. Blunt is better than bullshit.” He glances at me. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that it’s true. “Just never met a dude like you before.”

“Never met one like you, either.” The corner of his mouth pulls up. “And I’ve met a lot of dudes.”

“I bet.” My gaze drifts to the denim stretched tight across his thighs, to the dark spot still visible there. Then to his fingers curled around the steering wheel. Rough knuckles. A scar acrosshis index finger. Veins running up his forearm and disappearing beneath the sleeve of his white shirt.

I’ve never looked at another man like this before.

The width of his wrist. The tendons that flex when he adjusts his grip. The faded tan line where a watch used to be.

He catches me looking. “Something on your mind?” A beat. “What do people call you, anyway? Dom? Nick?”

“They call me Dominic.”

“Okay, Dominic,” he says, and the way it rolls off his tongue sends a shiver down my spine. “You can ask, you know. Whatever it is. I don’t bite.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Only if you ask nicely.” He winks, then turns back to the road. “Come on. Out with it. I can see the gears turning.”

I look out the window again, at the blur of green and gold. “So, is this, like... your thing?”

“My thing?”

“Offering head to guys at rest stops.”

He laughs, and I feel it through the seat. “No, not really. More of a ‘when the mood strikes’ kinda thing. Actually swore to myself I wouldn’t do it anymore. But I saw you, and I couldn’t help myself.”

“What was so special about me?”

“Dude, don’t you own a mirror? You’re gorgeous. You’re literally, like, ten out of ten. If nobody is telling you that on a regular basis, the women in your life are dropping the ball.”

And there it is again. That little zing of pride. The part of me that’s been feeling bruised is enjoying this. I won’t lie, it’s nice to be wanted again. To be desired. It’s just... I never thought it would be by a guy.

“That’s not everything, though,” he continues. “Look, I’m gonna lay my cards on the table here. When we were looking at each other at the urinals?—”