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“Fancy.”
“Let me guess—Gunners fan?” he asks with a smirk.
I scowl at him. “Why the fuck does everyone think I’m an Arsenal fan? Do I have an actual dick growing out of my head?”
Devon snorts and almost chokes on his beer. I stare at him, momentarily stunned; did Devon Montgomery actually just snort-laugh at something I said? The world must be going mad.
“Actually, it was the red t-shirt,” he clarifies once he’s managed to regain his composure. “But, yes, you are that much of a dick.”
I clutch a hand to my chest, affecting a mock-pout. “I’m pretty sure that’s the most horrible thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He rolls his eyes. “I have no doubt you’ll recover. So, who’s your team then?”
“West Ham, of course.”
“West Ham?”Devon repeats, almost choking on his beer.
“Yeah.” I have to admit, I’m a little unnerved by his reaction. Not only did he almost just die from reckless beer consumption, but he’s now staring at me as though I’m Banquo’s ghost, come back to haunt him. “Jeez, what the hell’s with you tonight?”
He gives a sharp shake of his head. “Nothing. I’d better go. Ryan will be waiting.”
Before I can utter another word, Devon slides off his stool and makes a beeline for the exit, leaving his beer unfinished.
Devon
I try to ignore the nagging thought and just enjoy my night out with Ryan, but it’s there, eating away at me, making it impossible to cast aside.
I must be going mad. There’s just no way. Out of the billions of people in the world, there isno possible wayI’ve spent the past few weeks emailing with Wes Holt. And yet, I just can’t seem to shake the suspicion…
The second I get home, I grab a beer from the fridge and then stride over to the living area. Collecting my laptop from the coffee table, I sink onto the couch and bring up my email account, combing through every single exchange I’ve had with Waho over the past few weeks.
I feel my cheeks burning hot as I re-read all the confessions I’ve made about my unhealthy attraction to my ex’s brother. For a moment I feel a sense of reprieve, because if itisWes, how has he not put the pieces together yet? But the relief is short-lived. Of course, he hasn’t figured it out yet; he would have no reason to ever suspect it’s me—as far as he knows I have no interest in men whatsoever. I wouldn’t be considering Wes a possibility right now if I hadn’t learned that he’s not actually the hundred percent alpha straight guy I’d always assumed him to be up until this evening.
Now that the matter of his orientation has been cleared up, it’s impossible to ignore the now glaring similarities between Wes and Waho.Christ, no wonder I find Waho so bloody infuriating.The difference is, for some insane reason I actually enjoy bickering with Waho, although that could be because I’m not being constantly visually assaulted by all the tattoos and piercings and the infuriating smirk and the t-shirts that cling to his hard chest…
I give a sharp shake of my head, willing the image away. Now is really not the time to be going down that road.
The further I get into the emails, the harder it becomes to deny the obvious and I feel insanely dumb for not picking up on it sooner. How did I not realise that the bands Waho listed off as some of his favourites were ones whose album covers and song titles are printed on several of Wes’s t-shirts?
And then there’s that other thing. The thing he said about his sibling’s ex—the guy he doesn’t like:
But what can I say? He’s fit as. I mean, he’s got a stick lodged so far up his arse I doubt my cock would even fit in there, but I’d sure love to try anyway.
My mind wanders back to our conversation earlier tonight, when Wes casually mentioned putting his cock in other guys’ arses. I let out a loud groan and toss my head back against the couch.Yeah, I’d love for him to try too…
