Page 52 of These Secret Years

“Can you multi-task?”

“Not really.”

“Then don’t be weird about it.”

I laugh again, buzzed and horny and bordering on needy. While I still can, I pull away from him, turning to lean on the counter and face him while his shaky hands pick up the sealed package of chicken again.

His cheeks look hot, and his lips are bitten and wet. “Anything you want to confess?” I ask.

“I might need to finish my drink first.”

“So, finish it.”

He gives me a long look before picking up the glass and knocking it back like any good jock should. I ask if he wants a refill.

“Sure.”

“Don’t get too drunk.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“I might need your consent for something at some point.”

“Can I consent now?”

“Don’t you want to know what you’re consenting to?”

“I mean, you’re a lot more confusing than algebra, but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna actually try to fuck me tonight.”

“Try?” I say. “I was planning to suggest.”

“In exchange for?”

“Dinner. Drinks. Four quizzes. But for selfish reasons, too. Unless you don’t think you’d be into it.”

He glances at me, sweeping his gaze up and down my body, which is almost as long but much slighter than his. I don’t get the sense he’s judging my size, though. It feels more like he’s taking the measure of me. Like—as a man. Having only ever felt like I was being treated as a boy, this assessment makes me feel more confident in my skin than I ever remember feeling. “I’d be nervous,” he says. “And weird.”

“Not if you drink exactly the right amount of alcohol.”

He smirks and looks back down at the meat, now open on a cutting board. “Maybe.”

I run a hand down his muscular back. He stills. “Can I rub your back?” I ask.

“Can I rub yours?”

“Maybe later. I might need another drink first.”

“Want to explain that?”

“It would take so many drinks, champ. There’s not enough vodka.”

Knight makes a noise of disappointment and shakes his head, but he lets me keep running my hand up and down his back, occasionally squeezing one of his shoulders. He’s so fucking strong. I forgot to say I like that, too.

“So, what else can you tell me about you?” he asks as he starts slicing the chicken into strips.

“I don’t know, but I have a question for you.”

“Of course you do. Okay.”