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“Oh, I’m ready. Hey, which tie?” he asks suddenly, lifting two options to his chin. I give him half a look, then nod at the one on the left, a black-and-grey striped one. “Good choice.” He flips up his collar to put it on without the assistance of a mirror.
I go to take a sip of the coffee, but the burning sensation at my upper lip before I even reach the menacing liquid makes me recoil. Again, the metaphor. “Ugh. It’s like mystery lava.”
“That’d be a nice name for some hipster coffee joint. ‘Mystery Lava Java’. Seriously, though, if the guy was that loaded—”
“Did I mention the prick part? He’s a prick.” I shut the laptop, giving up on reading the article, and head for the bathroom to check my hair one last time.
“How much older are we talking?”
I bite my lip and consider it, trying to judge Ben’s face. It doesn’t take much concentration to think of it; his perfect eyes and chiseled jaw are still permanently burned in my memory. How can anyone possibly forget a face so striking and strong? I still feel his fingers on me if I close my eyes. I’ve been closing my eyes a lot since Friday. “Late twenties, I’d say.”
Elijah snorts. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? He’s just a few years older than us—”
“It’s still six or seven years,” I point out. “Maybe eight.”
“—and he’s loaded, and you hightailed it out of there? On account of him being a ‘prick’? Did he insult your pretty hair or something?” I shoot Elijah a look. He chortles and parries, as if I’d physically swung a hand at him. “Just joshin’ ya!”
“We leave in five minutes,” I remind him.
Elijah picks up his little demon—sorry, I mean cat—from the floor and leans against the doorframe, petting the tiny monster. “You know, Mr. Gage might be in the office today, but it doesn’t mean we’re gonna meet him. We’re just interns.”
“I’m well aware what we are.”
“I heard from Tyson that Mr. Gage didn’t even speak a word to his last batch. Like, not one word. The man keeps to his office … goes to meetings … We may never even see him.”
Oh, I’ll make sure he sees me. I stiffen up and fix some rogue strands of hair right at the top of my head—my evil cowlicks. “You’re gonna have cat hair all over you,” I warn him.
He ignores the warning. “At least tell me you got a little bit of ass that night.”
Yes, this is how my straight roommate and I actually talk. And I’m sure he’s getting a thrill with the fact that his totally clean, never-dates, by-the-book best friend finally had the potential to get some tail.
And then freaked out and bolted for the door.
And didn’t drop to his knees in front of that steamy mountain of muscle.
And didn’t latch his mouth onto that man’s sculpted, meaty pecs, his tongue lapping over his sexy, hardened nipples.
And didn’t spin that beefy man around and bury his face in his glorious, pert ass.
I lean against the bathroom counter to stifle the boner I just gave myself. The pressure only succeeds in making me harder. I swear, my cock is a total rebel punk lately. Something is very wrong with me, and it’s all Ben’s fault.
“Uh …” Elijah’s eyes are wide. “I’m gonna take the ringing silence to mean that you did get some ass, and it was so bad, you can’t even bring yourself to talk about it. Was his wiener, like, two and a half inches hard or something?”
His cat Salamander, comfortable in his throne of Elijah’s arms, glares at me through the mirror; I feel his evil little feline eyes resenting my existence. “For a straight guy, you’re pretty damned caught up in the size of my date’s penis.”
“Hey, I know you gay dudes. Size is important.”
“No, it isn’t, actually. I don’t care how big or little his … dick is.” Even to Elijah, speaking so openly makes me uncomfortable, as if I’m afraid some imaginary principal or parent or boss lurks around the corner, ready to scold me for my unprofessionalism. “Besides, from the tiny glimpse I got of his package, he was big.”
“Oh, damn.” Elijah laughs, finding that funny apparently. “A rich guy with a big dick, who is a dick. Isn’t that a recipe for hot?”
“I’m done discussing dick with you.” I decide my hair isn’t getting any less cowlicky. “Better be ready to go. It’s time.”
“Some of the interns and I might go out for a drink after our shift today. Just one little drink.” When I stare at him dubiously, his hand freezes on the cat’s head, an eyebrow lifting. “Hey, you’re welcome to come, buddy. It’s why I’m telling you.”
“You and ‘some of the interns’?” I throw back. “You’re already making friends at the office, are you?”
