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Watching them head up to the second floor also made it very clear that I was single and wouldn’t be getting what Jack was getting any time soon.
I glanced over at Tate currently in a deep, but slurred, conversation with a guy also working on his journalism and communications degree. According to T, they shared a few classes together.
Not wanting to interrupt their snewsfest, what I called Tate talking about anything to do with journalism, I found an empty space along a nearby wall and pressed my back to it, while sipping on my beer and studying my best friend.
His face lit up and he became so animated when he talked about journalism. He said it was in his blood, after listening to him talk about it non-stop, I agreed. He still hadn’t decided whether he wanted to be behind the camera or in front of it. I voted for in front.
Tate Allan Harris’s stunningly handsome face and equally hot bod should be shared with the entire world. The way his lips moved, those vibrant blue eyes that could spear your heart, his infectious smile, his smooth as honey voice, that defined jawline. Not to mention, his perfectly straight teeth, thanks to braces he hated wearing when he was a teen.
I couldn’t forget those broad shoulders…
Yes, I was a bit biased. However, I noticed how girls’ heads turned when he entered a room or simply walked past them. What was entertaining was that Tate was clueless they were staring and most likely hoping his clothes would just magically fall off.
Oh wait. That last part might only be me.
But since we worked out together often, I’d seen almost every inch of him in the locker room. I tried not to be too obvious when I snuck a peek, but I couldn’t help myself.
However, what I did with those peeks later when I was alone was kind of, sort of, obscene. In a good way.
I really should stop fantasizing about Tate and try to find someone who actually liked men for more than a friendship. I hadn’t had sex since the summer before I left for college. Not counting all the sex I had with my five-fingered partner. Truthfully, I couldn’t count those since I did it so often I’d lost track.
I got to the point where I could jerk-off under the covers without waking my roommate. Unfortunately, my roommate, Dominic, hadn’t perfected that skill yet and I could hear him thwapping his dick at warp speed at the oddest times.
I still hadn’t told Dom I was gay yet, but if I did, I’m sure that single-person jerk-fest would quickly end.
I grinned.
Then my heart did a little rat-a-tat-tat when Tate’s head spun toward me and he gave me a chin lift. As soon as I returned it, he widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows in an unspoken message of, “get me the hell out of here.”
I pushed off the wall and headed over to rescue him from having his ear talked off. He’d need both of them if he wanted to appear on camera behind a news desk.
I sidled up next to Tate, planting my hand on the small of his back, and gave the guy sloppily spewing words a nod. With one raised brow, I asked, “Can I grab him for a few?”
And by grab, I really meant that I’d like to slide my hand from Tate’s back to his ass and squeeze a handful. I refrained since Tate would probably think I was goosing him in jest instead of appreciating the perfect peach that he hauled around in his jeans.
“Oh sure, sure. I need to hit the head, anyway,” the blond guy answered, adjusting his glasses and shooting me a crooked smile. He was trashed.
Tate was close to being totally smashed, too. I only hoped Tate’s roommate wasn’t drinking as much so he was capable of driving us back. I had ended up crashing on the couch at their apartment a couple of times when we partied too much. But I was hoping to get back to campus tonight since their couch was disgusting and only a scorching hot shower afterward would chase away the willies.
But then, their whole apartment was gross since three college guys lived in it. It was occasionally cleaned when Dahlia came over and could no longer take the filth and would tackle the job out of frustration.
As soon as blond guy stumbled away, disappearing behind a wall of bodies, Tate shot me a very drunk, but also very sexy smile as he rubbed his right ear. “Thanks. My ear was about to fall off.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you like to talk, too. It’s probably a requirement for a journalism major.”
“It isn’t, but it’s good practice. I need another beer and some fresh air.”
