Page 11 of These Wicked Hearts

“Are you Spider-Man?”

What the fuck. I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “No.”

“Shame. That’d be cool. I love Spider-Man.” He shoves his sculpted arms toward me. “There, got him tattooed right there swinging across The Daily Bugle.”

“The Daily what—” I look at his sleeves now in the light. “Are those all superheroes?” He nods. “You have a sleeve of superheroes?”

“Two sleeves. This is the Marvel side, this is DC. I have a special spot down here for the X-Men.” He points to his forearms. “That’s my boy Gambit and my girl Psylocke. Fuck she’s beautiful. I also love Rogue as well.”

“I don’t understand any of what you just said.”

“I think out of all the Marvel heroes I’d like to be Thor. I know he’s technically a god, but like, how cool is that shit, right? First, bitchin cape. And sexy as hell. I prefer long-haired Thor, even though that might be controversial. And he can fly. Like, he’s literally a god. And the hammer. Fuck, don’t get me started on the hammer.”

“Is the hammer a euphemism for his dick?”

“N-no. It’s like a literal hammer. It’s his thing. I mean, not his thing thing. Just like Captain America has a shield, you know? Between you and me, Captain America is kind of a snooze. Then there’s Tony Stark. Not a fan either, I don’t know. I do love Black Widow, though, and Captain Marvel.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“No. Not really.”

I exhale. “What can I do to make all of this . . .” I wave my hand over his delicious body. I’m irritated, but that doesn’t stop me from admiring it. “Stop.”

“We could have sex?”

What. The. Fuck. Oh, okay. I get it now. He’s insane. I pinch my eyes closed, taking a moment. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He rocks back on his heels, lifting his hands in surrender. “If you say no, then yeah. Total joke.”

“And if I say yes?” I fold my arms over my chest, calling his bluff.

“Listen—”

“Rather not.” I don’t move, though. I stay right here, planted just a couple of feet from this behemoth.

“Something happened,” he says, softer now. The change between the boyish ridiculousness and the somber look in his eyes and hard set to his plump lips is giving me whiplash. One minute he’s ridiculous and the next it looks like he’s carrying the weight of our existence on his very broad shoulders. “And my brain won’t shut up and I need—” His hand cuts through the space between us. “Something else to focus on.”

“What happens if I say yes?” I should walk away from him right now. This is trouble, but I can’t seem to pull myself away from him. Not yet.

He claps, and the abrupt sound startles me. “Here’s my pitch.” He spreads his hands out, pointing beside himself like he’s drawing on a whiteboard. With an invisible pen, he starts to draw on it. “You come back to my place. We have sex, right? One night. No backstories, no weird morning-after eye contact deciding who should be the first one to leave or tell the other to leave. Then we never have to speak again. Easy peasy. Just a couple of lonely guys fucking.” He sets his marker down and wiggles his fingers a little in front of the imaginary board. “Impressed?” Okay, yes. He is insane. “Tough crowd.” He huffs, then he picks up an imagery eraser and wipes away this invisible plan he has.

“Who says I’m queer?”

He grins a little, flexing his delicious biceps. “You were staring at my scrumptious muscles when I showed you my tattoos earlier. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

My eyes flick to his biceps, then I snap my gaze away, pursing my lips as he smirks. Oh, fine, he has me there. Asshole. “Who says I’m lonely?”

He gestures toward the ledge. “You were sitting in the dark on the edge of a building,” he says. “You’re either lonely or you were monologuing before destroying half the city skyline.”

“What is—and I mean this as nicely as possible—fucking wrong with you?”

A laugh slips out of him. “Your words are mean, but your lips are pretty.”

Who the fuck is this man?

“Look,” he says after a second. “I’m trying really hard not to drink tonight.” My attention sharpens at that. “Figured I’d find something else instead.” I’m not actually considering this, am I? “You’re here,” he adds. “You’re hot. We both know I’m hot.”

“You’re insane is what you are.”