Page 75 of Down Bad

Honestly, so am I.

“I was just …” Am I backpedaling now? “… just caught in the moment. Or s-something.”

Diego’s hand lingers near my face. “Well, do you want me to … or not?”

“I’m …” I try to laugh it off, but I can’t even do that. The room is so dark, save for whatever light’s coming from the windows and the festivities outside.

Everyone in town is out there.

I can’t help but picture every last person I know on the planet crowding at the window looking in, wondering who the hell this horny guy on a rug is, because it certainly isn’t the sweet, adorable owner of the Wishing Blooms flower shop.

And what would Cissy McPherson say?

Deflowering this ten-thousand-dollar rug?

Give or take a thousand. For all I know, it’s just some old rug passed down the generations with no value.

Ugh, why did that just make it worse?

“Wyatt …”

I look at him, coming back. “Sorry, I just—”

“I wanna do things with you.” He speaks confidently, though his voice is low and quiet. It takes me by surprise. “I wanna make you crazy. Make you moan again. Make you react. Anything that doesn’t involve those plastic smiles you put on for everyone else to tell them how fine you are when you and I know damned well you need more than what they’re giving.”

Distant music is playing now. I hear the bass.

Then muffled, faraway cheering.

“You think I haven’t done this before?” he asks me.

I stare at him. “I have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Apparently a lot more than you think.”

I’m suddenly picturing Diego seducing ten guys a day. Taking his auto shop customers into back rooms to “check their oil”. The sharpness in his eyes right now, revealed only by the light from the window, tells me a thousand stories without words.

Maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.

This doesn’t have to mean anything. He’s got needs. And he’s done things before. And he wants to get me off. To do something I like. To make me moan.

And … “Did you just call my smiles plastic?” I ask belatedly.

His big hand glides up the side of my body, casting electricity everywhere. It takes a lot of effort not to already let out that moan he wants so much. “You want me to put some fingers in you? Does that do it for you, Wyatt? That what you want?”

We’re just two men right now.

Two men with needs.

In a room.

Alone.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He doesn’t smile. He takes those same fingers I just sucked on and puts them in his own mouth, working them over. I watch. His eyes stay on mine the whole time.

Then he slides them out. Slips them down my underwear.