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“I really … I should be going,” he insists.
But his feet tell a different story, planted in place and totally not directing his body back toward the elevator.
“You just came from the office,” I point out. “You haven’t eaten anything since your lunch, if I had to guess. Which I imagine was something like … a sandwich and chips …?”
“How’d you know?”
“So you can’t tell me,” I go on, ignoring his question, “that the sound of Bistecca Fiorentina over buttered fresh-made pici pasta from Da Lena Cucina E Vino doesn’t make you salivate like crazy.”
“I … don’t even know what half those words mean.”
“Then stay and find out.” I give him a lopsided grin and push my door the rest of the way open, then turn away to head upstairs.
When I hear the door close, I glance over my shoulder.
Trevor’s inside, the box hanging in his arms.
Score.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He gives me a tightlipped nod, then slowly comes farther in to set the box down on an end table by the couch. I leave him be, disappearing into my bedroom where I discard the towel and face my closet to dress myself.
The trouble is, with Trevor downstairs suddenly, my mind is going twenty thousand dirty thoughts a second, and all of my clothes look like a blur. Where do I keep my shirts again? My pants? Do I own any?
I catch sight of my naked form in the mirror of my walk-in closet. I must stare at myself for a solid minute, my breath slowing back down to a normal pace.
I shake my head at my reflection. “The hell you doing?” I ask myself quietly, my voice hardly a whisper. “Why did you invite him inside? What were you thinking?”
What am I thinking?
I’m thinking Trevor isn’t like any of the guys who’ve passed through my life. I’m thinking I know when someone special comes along, someone who needs to stick around, someone who makes me feel changed just by being in his presence.
Trevor is every guy I didn’t approach back in high school.
Trevor is not only adorable, but he’s intelligent. He’s trapped in his head, an intellectual, a thinker—much like me.
When I look at him, I see kin. I see a likeminded friend. I see a person who I want in my corner, a person I know won’t betray me, a person who regards me like another human being and not like a gold mine.
You are thirty-three years old, but your cock is twenty-three. I hear Jazz’s words echo in my head and cringe.
Keep it platonic, I swear to myself. Respect him as much as he’s respecting you. You owe him that much, at least.
I shake away my worries and pick out a pair of comfortable faded jeans, slipping them right on without a care. Then I swipe a matching tee to go with them, pulling it over my head in a hurry. Can’t keep him waiting.
Lance stares at me the whole time, perched on the end of my bed with half-lidded, uncomfortable eyes.
I smile at him. “Don’t worry, buddy. You can hang here if you want, but I promise, Trevor won’t bite ya.”
Lance stares back, unresponsive.
“Hey, I ordered food for you, like always. It should be here any minute now. The chef made you something special.”
Lance continues his deadpan stare. He’s clearly not happy about my company downstairs.
I let out a breath, then give him a gentle rub on the head, which he seems to dodge with an annoyed snort. He gets like this. “Alright, buddy.” I decide to forego any socks, padding along the wood flooring on my way back to the stairs.
Over the banister, I see poor Trevor seated on the couch as awkwardly as I could ever imagine him. His legs are pulled tightly together as if he was bound by rope—shush, dirty mind—and his hands rest in his lap, drumming along his kneecaps. He’s rolled up his sleeves, which was probably his nervous way of trying to act relaxed and calm down. He didn’t take off his shoes. He’s still got his tie on. One of his legs is hopping in place.
If there’s anything I can help him with, it’s relaxing. This boy is wound up tighter than a camel’s butt in a sandstorm.
I need to help this poor guy chill out.
When I come down the stairs, his head spins, eyes glued to me in an instant. I see him take one quick glance at my chest before lifting his gaze to mine. His cheeks burn.
I can’t help but admire him for a handful of minutes. He’s so damned nice to look at, especially all uptight and cute with his tie still on and his slacks bunched up at his crotch.
Just when I feel my cock stir, I realize with horror that I forgot to put on any underwear.
