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Trevor nods and bites his lip, digesting my words.
“You know me rather well already,” I point out. “I’m the guy who brought you here to his home. The guy with the dog who hates people. The guy whose six hundred dollar bowl you broke.”
“I said sorry,” he sasses at me. Then, after a beat, his eyes shrink. “S-Six hundred dollars, you said?”
When I grin to reveal my cruel humor, Trevor’s cute attitude flashes over his face all over again. This adorable boy is so easy to play with and torment.
“Let me ask you a question, then,” Trevor starts.
I come around the couch and take a seat, lifting my eyebrows to listen. He seems to freeze up when I sit, his body turning rigid despite the fact that the couch is extravagant and long with more than enough room for five people. As it is, there’s space for two linebackers to be sitting between us.
Keep it professional, right?
“Yes?” I prompt him. “You wanted to ask me something?”
He swallows, then meets my eyes. “If I … If I wasn’t your intern at all, and we happened to meet at that … that club …”
“Which is pretty much what happened, if I’m believing that you really didn’t know me, and I really didn’t know you …”
“My p-point is,” he stammers on, his features hardening, “if things were different, are you saying you would have actually entertained the idea of …” He swallows again, then averts his eyes and finishes, “of doing … things … with me?”
I prop an elbow on the back of the couch, considering him.
“What I mean,” he persists, rambling on, “is … is that … Listen, what I’m asking is—”
I cut him off. “Are you asking if I’m into you?”
Trevor rolls his eyes and looks away. “Never mind. I’m being dumb. Forget I asked.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from grinning with amusement. He is a professional squirmer, this poor guy. I wonder if I should do anything to ease his torment or just kick back and enjoy the show he’s putting on.
Then my eyes drift to his crotch, which I discover to be totally exposed, his legs having opened up as he continues to stare off. He’s likely caught in a storm of self-doubt and insecurity in his mind. His crotch looks so fucking inviting in those work slacks of his, bunching up in just the right way, fitting his form so perfectly that I could bury my face in there for hours.
Fuck. There goes my dick again.
“The answer is yes,” I tell him. “I think you’re attractive.”
He doesn’t look back, but his eyes flash and his lips part as if to say something, yet he remains silent.
“Take off your tie,” I say suddenly. “Kick off your shoes.”
“Wh-What?” he stammers, alarmed.
“Make yourself at home. You’re not at the office, y’know. You can take off that tie you’ve been strangling yourself with all day.”
He chuckles at that, desperate to laugh at something, but his face still stiffens with tension. “A-Alright.” He starts loosening his tie, as if my offer for him to relax was an order he needs to follow. His fingers fumble twice as he works it off his neck, like he doesn’t remember how he got it on in the first place.
It’s so fucking adorable. Even the tiny, subtle movements and second-guessing of his nervous fingers is sexy somehow.
He licks his lips a lot too when he’s nervous. His eyes look wet, like he’s about to cry or freak out, or like he just downed a gallon of liquor.
“Yeah,” I answer him again. “I would have spent the whole evening with you, no question. But … we’re being professional,” I remind him. “I’m not gonna pursue anything, since we’re—”
“But w-would you with someone else?” he cuts me off, half-turning his face toward me as he sets the tie on the coffee table in front of him—coiled up neatly. “Like, if one of the other interns—”
“Really?”
The hard, abrupt tone of my voice startles him. He meets my eyes, then his brows pull together.
“W-Well, I think it’s a good question,” he states defensively.
“You think I’m that much of a skeeze? To let any guy who hits on me into my life like I’ve let you?”
“I … well, I don’t know.” He swallows hard. “Are you?”
I feel my face heating up. Is this really what he thinks? That my employees are just a bunch of treats in a candy bowl that I can sample all summer? Is that how others picture me, too?
And even while I’m getting all hot and angry, the only thing I’m really thinking about is how far away from him I’m sitting on the couch. Why is my only concern wondering what subtle move I can make to get closer to him? Am I really that pathetic and starved for another guy’s attention?
