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“Great,” I respond. That means I’m even closer to getting the fuck out of here, hopefully with Evan.

Within seconds, the kitchen fills with people grabbing their dishes and putting them in the oven Tetris-style to warm back up. The quiet, charged little bubble Evan and I were standing in pops, replaced by Friendsgiving dinner chaos.

Evan catches my eye through the flood of people, and frustration flickers across his face. I feel it too. I’m half-tempted to leave with him right now. Then his friend’s at his side, dragging him to help with something, and he’s distracted. But I meant what I said. I will make it up to him.

I need to figure out a solution for us tonight because there’s no way we’ll be this lucky a third year in a row. Tonight, I need to be inside him, or need him inside me. Whatever he prefers, but we can’t do it in the back of a car. Not when we’re both over six feet tall.

I help set the table and do what I can to hurry things along. When it’s finally time to eat, I end up in the seat diagonal from Evan, close enough to watch him without being obvious.

Once everyone’s seated and the table is loaded with more food than ten people could reasonably eat, a girl I don’t really know taps her fork against her wine glass as if she’s about to give a toast at a wedding.

“Okay, I know this is cheesy,” she starts, “but can we go around and say what we’re thankful for? It’s tradition.”

“It’s not cheesy. It’s nice,” Evan’s friend validates.

“Fine, but I’m not doing some big speech,” Steve, Josh’s brother, counters. “I’ll start. I’m thankful for my job not laying me off in the fall like everyone thought it would. And for my brother hosting, so I don’t have to clean my house this year after y’all leave.”

That gets a laugh, and it goes around the table like that—some people joking, others being serious. The guy who came with Evan says he’s thankful for his promotion. The girl who started this says something about her new apartment and calls Steve out for not mentioning her, but says she’ll mention him. I tune most of it out, but I’m mostly trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say when it’s my turn. The honest answer is that I’m thankful luck was on my side for once and I was reunited with Evan, and I’m even more thankful he wants my dick again, which isn’t exactly dinner table appropriate.

Evan’s turn is before mine, and I watch him think it over for a second. “I’m thankful for my family, especially my niece and nephew,” he starts. “I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like living so far away, so the time I do get with them means a lot.” His eyes flick to me for half a second before sliding back to the table, quick enough that no one else seems to catch it. “And I’m grateful to come home to old friends. And new… memories worth making.”

Fuck, I want to show him exactly what kind of new memories we’re about to create. Our eyes connect across the table, and I smirk ever so slightly at him.

Before I know it, it’s my turn, and everyone is looking at me since I’m the last to go. I have approximately two seconds to come up with something that isn’t a lie, but also isn’t the truth.

“I’m grateful for good timing,” I share simply, and I watch Evan’s expression shift slightly. Just enough that I know he understands I’m talking about him.

Josh raises his beer. “Hear, hear. To good timing and good friends.”

Everyone drinks, oblivious to the undercurrent running between Evan and me. They’re completely unaware that we’re both counting down the hours until we can leave this table.

For the first time since I moved away, I find myself wishing Chicago were closer so we could drive to my apartment. But four hours isn’t close enough, and if I took him back there tonight, I don’t think I’d ever bring him back.

I need another solution, and that’s all I can think about while we eat. Everyone’s talking and laughing as they eat, but there’s only one thing I’m eager to get in my mouth, so I don’t stuff my face, and by the looks of it, neither does Evan. He’s picking at the food on his plate, so much so that the guy who came with Evan elbows him and asks if he’s good since he’s not wolfing down the plate of food.

But Derek doesn’t know I have plans to rearrange his friend’s insides tonight.

Fuck, there’s one option and one option only.

I’m going to book us a hotel room.

CHAPTER 8

Evan

Ihead to the bathroom after dinner, needing a moment to collect myself. The tension between Marcus and me has been building all night, and my dick hasn’t completely softened since our kitchen encounter. Every glance across the table, every slow drag of his tongue against his fork, it’s all been doing exactly what he wants it to do—working me up until all I can think about is dragging him into this bathroom with me and finishing what we started, house full of our friends be damned.

When I step inside the bathroom and start to close the door behind me, a hand reaches out and stops it.

My heart rate kicks up because I know who it is before I even pull the door open. Marcus leans in without stepping inside, an entire wooden door between us. His midnight blue eyes lock on mine, and I swallow my nerves.

“I’m booking us a hotel room tonight,” he declares.

Holy shit. A hotel room? Not a car or a stolen moment in the bathroom, but a goddamn hotel room.

“Thank you,” I murmur. Suddenly, every nerve in my body feels like it’s ready to combust.

“Give me your number, and I’ll text you the address.”