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“Dude, are you reading my mind? I’m starved! Give me the address. I’ll get a cab there.”
Starved doesn’t cover it. “Great! I’ll text it to you!”
“Can’t wait to see you, man. I’ve got some big, big news. Major news. It’s gonna blow your mind!”
“I can’t wait to get blown!” I shout back.
Connor gawps at me.
My eyes grow twice the size of my face when I realize what I just fucking said. “Uh, I meant—”
“I’ll see you there in an hour!” Skylar exclaims, then click.
I swallow hard and set my phone down.
Connor comes to my side and pats me on the back. “Don’t worry, buddy. If it’s already this bad, it can only get worse.” He smiles helpfully.
I stare at him warningly. “Connor …”
He laughs. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. You’ll be fine! Hey, you look great. Except for the hair.”
“I, uh …” Now comes the difficult part. “I was thinking … like, if maybe Skylar wants to come see where I live after dinner, and maybe doesn’t feel … like going back to his hotel room …” I squirm as I search for the words.
“Oh.” Connor gets it. “You want me to—?”
“Does that make me a shitty roommate?”
“No! I’ll just …” Connor performs a quick tap-dance, then snaps his fingers when the idea comes. “I work late tonight anyway. I’ll get Alan to snatch me up when I get off, and I’ll stay the night at his place. The whole apartment will be yours!”
“Really?”
“Yeah! I stay there half the time anyway, so—”
I grab hold of his shoulders. “Thank you!” I crush him into my arms. He grunts in pain as my hug squeezes his poor lungs empty. “I owe you!”
“Air …” rasps Connor.
I let him go, then hurry to text Skylar the addy to Dino’s before rushing to the bathroom to do my hair. After getting it just right, I catch a peek of my roommate through the French doors leading into his bedroom off the kitchen, where he’s squeezing his butt into a pair of shiny purple bootie shorts—his uniform as a shot boy at Aubergines, the local strip bar where he works a second job.
His words echo in my head as I glance at the couch, reconsidering my cap, which still sits there. After another thought, I grab it and slap it back on my head, squishing down my neatly fixed hair.
Instantly, I feel like myself again.
“Work it!” I tease him as he puts on his sparkling purple bowtie, then head out, hop down five flights of stairs, and hurry to the station.
I get to Dino’s twelve minutes early. I am never early. To anything. Ever. Not even my own job. Yet here I am—and I’m a nervous fucking wreck.
“Reservation for Brett Macintyre,” I state to a sweet, bright-eyed hostess with a ponytail.
After a critical glance at my hat, she says, “This way, sir,” then guides me through the clean, dimly-lit restaurant. “Your table, sir.” I am seated in the middle of the damned room, feeling every single eye on me. A few more words are said—I hear none of them—and then I’m left on my own to clutch a menu I’m not looking at, bounce my leg in place under a table I’m apparently not paying for, and stare at the front doors with unblinking eyes.
It’s fourteen excruciating minutes and five false alarms later that the doors open, and the guy I’ve waited three long years to see walks in.
2
Skylar is every bit of sexy I remember. He struts into the restaurant like a boss, sporting a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top with an opened gray vest over it, plus a pair of loose jeans. His hair is dark brown and swept stylishly to the side. He is truly a one-of-a-kind guy who has always marched to the beat of his highly amplified and very percussive snare drum. His bright white dress shirt and his creamy complexion makes his eyebrows and the small brown tuft of a goatee on his chin pop. He has broad shoulders and a long, soft-bodied torso, and where he lacks in muscles, he makes up for in confidence, carrying himself like a peacock—proud and poised, which I’ve always found so hot.
He barely spends three seconds looking around before he spots me, and the broadest, handsomest smile spills over his face, lighting up his big round eyes and revealing all the warm fire in his cheeks.
Goddamn, I’m still fucking crazy for this guy.
“Sky!” I cry out as I rise from the table.
He comes right up and throws his arms around me, slapping my back. “Brett, my man!”
Feeling his body against mine—even if just for these brief couple of seconds—wakes up too many emotions inside me to even dare try to describe. It’s like at once, we’re frat brothers again. I feel all of the familiar bubbles of excitement bouncing around inside me, as if we just came back from a college football game where we cheered on our team, our faces still painted in our school colors. Skylar even smells the way I remember him.
