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My every thought is Skylar Haas, his sweet face, and the way his body felt against mine as he hugged me. Thank God for the tight jock I’ve got on, since I keep sending blood straight to my dick whenever I think of Sky touching me in any way.
It’s animal, how badly I want him.
And it’s cruel, what just a thought of him does to my already aching heart.
Half an hour later, I push through the doors of Piazza Place and trudge up the five flights of stairs to my apartment. When I enter and shut the door behind me, the stark silence fills my ears. I toss my keys on the kitchen counter, drop onto the couch, turn on the TV, then pull my cap over my face and pray that sleep will find me.
It doesn’t.
An hour and a half later, my phone buzzes with a text. I thrust the cap off of my face and stare down at the screen excitedly, wondering if it’s him.
It’s Connor instead: I left you two lovebirds a six pack of cold beer in the fridge, plus a couple bags of chips—in two flavors!—and cheesy puffs in the cabinet. Not sure what you guys like, so I figured I’d stock you up for your big night with everything. Take a breath and play it cool! Don’t friend-zone this one! And don’t play hard-to-get. You know there is such a thing as playing TOO-hard-to-get. Also, I made your bed and put away all your clothes you didn’t end up wearing. Seriously, I should be paid housekeeping fees.
I smirk, then text him back: Thanks, roomie.
He shoots me a thumbs-up in reply.
And with that, I push myself off of the couch, yank two beers out of the fridge, pop open the two bags of chips and the big cheesy puffs, then gorge myself in front of the TV. After downing the beers and half of the chips, I unzip my pants and let out my aching cock. After tossing my hat back over my face, I jerk off with a vengeance, picturing my sexy buddy with every breathless, fevered stroke.
I’ve got to convince Skylar I’m not the loser he thinks I’ve become.
[ THE EASY LIFE ]
Bailey’s Bistro & Books is surprisingly empty today.
Brett stands behind the counter in his hot pink apron and cap, staring at the cluttered shelves of books and the empty chairs and tables where customers usually sit with their coffee to read a book. Thoughts of Skylar swarm his mind as he mindlessly wipes the counter over and over and over.
4
“We got it easy here.”
I lift my eyes from the counter. My coworker Quinton stands next to a bookcase, a tall stack of colorful books in his bony arms.
I squint at him. “Easy?”
“Yep,” he mumbles. It’s a miracle he can carry all of those heavy books without folding in half, for as skinny as he is. He wiggles his nose, bouncing his glasses in place. “This might be the easiest job I have ever had. By the way, your counter’s clean.”
I stare down at my rag.
“In fact,” he goes on, “you’re probably another scrub or two away from tearing a hole through the space-time continuum.”
I toss my rag at the sink with a sigh. It misses and drops to the floor, which I then glare at.
“What’s with you today?”
I look back at him, snapping out of it. “Hmm?”
“Your mind is—” His stack of books tips away from him. He loses control for a terrifying second before regaining balance. “—somewhere else.”
I pull off my hat, whip around the counter, and drop into a chair. “Do you think I’m a loser?”
“A loser?” He sets his stack down onto a table, then begins filing the books away one by one. “I don’t really know you well enough to say.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound like a no.”
“Did someone call you a loser?”
I rub at a discolored spot on the table. “Maybe I never saw myself brewing coffee day in, day out. Maybe I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”
“You’re great at your job, Brett. You make the best macchiato, like, hands down. What’s this silly one doing here?” he mumbles, setting a book aside.
“So is that all I am? A great macchiato maker …?”
“Take this all with a grain of salt. Really. I’m not your boss. I’ve never served coffee a day in my life and would never. Books are my thing. Bagels are my thing. Slaying the Horde with my max-level Night Elf Druid is my thing. Coffee is your thing.”
“Is it, though?” I notice I’m drumming on the table with my fingers. I stop and fold my arms. “I wonder if maybe I’m not challenging myself. You know. With my life in general.”
“That’s why you’re asking if you’re a loser?”
“Yes. Maybe. Partly.”
Quinton struggles to squeeze one of his books between two others. For a moment, it sounds like sex. “Why sweat it? You’ve got a job that pays you enough to live, yet doesn’t stress you out. You’ve got all of your spare energy to throw huge house parties. That Halloween party last year was crazy and my boyfriend and I still talk about it, by the way.”
