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“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked when the silence became interminable.
“What do you expect me to say?” he asked. “It’s not as if that’s a shocker.”
I furrowed my brow and said, “What is that supposed to mean?”
And, more to the point, why was I taking offense? I hadn’t wanted to insult the guy by calling him a big ’ol bottom boy, even though, come on, let’s be real. But coming across as a top wasn’t shameful. I decided it was his inexplicable reaction that was getting to me.
Without so much as turning his head, he said, “You drink beer. You wear cargo pants. I don’t even want to hazard a guess as to where you cut your hair, but I’m fearful it involves you in a mirrorless room with clippers.” He scoffed. “Do you honestly believe anybody could think you’re a bottom?”
I gaped at him and eventually said, “Are you listening to yourself?”
“What?” he glanced over, his expression completely guileless.
“I wear cargo pants? I drink beer? The way I cut my hair?”
He raised one eyebrow and cocked his hip. “Am I wrong?”
That stopped me in my tracks. “Well, uh, no.”
“Okay, then.” He went back to chopping. “As you lawyer types say, I rest my case.”
I was pretty sure I’d just lost some sort of debate. I didn’t like it.
“There’s nothing wrong with my hair,” I sputtered as I dragged my hand over my short locks.
He glanced at me, raised his eyebrow again, and then went back to chopping without a word. Neither of us said anything while he finished making the salad and tossed it together in a bowl. Then he donned some oven mitts and pulled the baked eggplant out of the oven.
“This needs to set for a little while,” he said. “Then I’ll make the salad dressing and we can eat.” He waltzed over to the couch. “You coming?” he asked.
I was following him and thinking about whether I should grow my hair a little longer before I realized what I was doing and gave myself an internal smackdown. The goal was to get in, fuck him, and get out, not to change my appearance or anything else to accommodate him. How the man managed to, once again, get me all discombobulated, I didn’t know, but I was going to stay strong and stay on task.
He settled in the corner of the couch and I plopped down next to him, leaving as little personal space as possible so I could make a move. I put my hand on his knee and squeezed as I worked it up his thigh. He twisted to the side, so he was looking right at me. Then he traced my jaw with one finger, moved it over to my temple and across my hairline, and started massaging my head.
I moaned and leaned into him. “Is it too short?” I asked, apparently unable to stop myself from going back to our conversation. “I used to have it longer on top, but it’s easier this way.”
“It looks good,” he said, continuing his massage. “But a little longer on top would be nice. Longer sideburns would be super hot too.” He put his other hand on my head, increasing the contact points of those magic fingers.
Before I knew it, I was lying across his lap with my eyes closed.
“You like that?” he asked quietly as he rubbed.
“Uh-huh.” It was unexpectedly relaxing, having someone caress my head that way. I felt the tension about school and jobs and family seep from my body and my breathing slow. The last thing I remember was thinking how good he smelled and being too far gone to realize that type of sappy shit was not in my game plan.
Chapter 10
INTRODUCTION
Charlie (“Chase”) Rhodes
SO, WHAT do you think of Adan so far? Yeah, at that point in our relationship, I wasn’t so sure either. But I was undeniably drawn to him, which had been a rare to nonexistent reaction since Scott disappeared from my life. And—this is key—he was nothing like Scott. They didn’t look alike—Scott was golden-skinned with blond hair and hazel eyes, Adan was a deep olive tan with chocolate eyes and black hair. Their voices were completely different—Scott’s was a smooth, deep timbre, Adan’s was a gravely, husky growl. And their personalities? Night and day.
Scott had been warmth and smiles, an easygoing “what you see is what you get” guy who everybody loved. Adan was cold, intense, and focused, a guy seemingly intent on keeping the world at a distance. But I had grown a lot in the decade since I’d met Scott. At twenty-five years old, I had a nice circle of friends, my career was on the right path, high school was over, and I no longer felt like I needed someone to protect me from the world or fill my otherwise empty time. More importantly, I didn’t want to count on someone only to have him walk away without a backward glance.
