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I shake my head in denial. “No. No this can’t be right.”
“Wes, I think the reason he’s stopped replying to you is that he figured out who you are,” she says gently.
My brows creep up in surprise. “And how would he have worked that one out?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. But do you really think it’s a coincidence that the emails stopped after you guys caught up last week?”
“We didn’t ‘catch up’,” I correct. “We just happened to be in the same place.”
“Whatever. You still talked for a while. You must have saidsomethingto tip him off.”
“I—” I break off, trying to remember what Devon and I even talked about last week. It was all so strange, it’s kind of a blur. “He didn’t know I’m gay,” I tell Tash. “Can you believe that? We’ve known each other for, what—two years now? And he didn’t know I’m gay.”
“Well, that would explain why he never suspected you before then. And it’s reasonable that you didn’t think of him as a possibility either considering you didn’t know he’s into guys. Or at least, I’m assuming you didn’t know?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I argue. “Devon Montgomery isnotinto guys.”
“How do you know? Have you ever actually asked him?” she asks pointedly.
“Well, no…”
“If history has taught us anything, it’s that you have a horrible gaydar, Wesley.”
I shake my head slowly. This just doesn’t make sense. Yes, I’ve thought about it. I’ve dreamed about it. I’ve tossed off to incredibly vivid fantasies of it more times than I can count. But the idea of Devon Montgomerygenuinelybeing interested in having another guy’s cock up his arse, or down his throat, or really anywhere in his general vicinityoutsideof my imagination just seems ludicrous. It’s as though Natasha is trying to convince me that the sky is green.
“Wes, think about it. If I’m right about this, it means Devon Montgomery has been having some pretty wild fantasies…aboutyou.”
I shake my head again. “There’s no way you could be right about this.”
Try as I might to ignore Natasha’s theory, I can’t seem to get the thought out of my head. What if she’s right? What if Devon really has been having the same filthy fantasies about me as I’ve been having about him? The question is eating me alive, and I know I won’t rest until I have the answer. The great thing about wanting to shag someone you hate is that there’s literally nothing to lose. If I ask Devon and it’s a no-go, then so what? It’s not as though our relationship could get worse.
With my decision made, I hop on a west-bound night bus and alight a few streets from Devon’s townhouse.
“What areyoudoing here?” he asks, clearly suspicious to find me standing on his front steps.
I give a sharp shake of my head and push past him into the house. WhatamI doing here? Maybe Tash was wrong. Maybe Devonisn’tthe guy I’ve been emailing. All the connections she pointed out could just be really random coincidences.
“What’s your football team?” I ask a little gruffly, surprised at myself for not knowing the answer already. It seems like one of those fundamental things you should know about the guy your sister was involved with for two years. Kind of like how he should have known I’m gay.
Devon’s eyes flare in recognition, mingled with wariness, and I have my answer. “Chelsea.”
Despite the evidence in front of me, I still feel like I need more confirmation, so I ask, “And what’s Ryan’s daughter’s name?”
He hesitates for longer this time, before finally answering, “Lola.”
Before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us, kicking the front door shut behind me as I wrap my hand around the back of his head and draw him in, crashing my lips to his.
He seems momentarily stunned, and for a second, I worry that I’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion after all. I’m just about to pull away and start apologising when he kisses me back, his hands reaching out to grab at my t-shirt, pulling me closer against him.
I groan at the touch and press deeper with the kiss, attacking his mouth with mine. He responds eagerly, his lips hungry against mine, our tongues locked in a battle that’s making my head spin.
I shove him back against the hallway wall, pinning him with my body. My hands begin to roam, sliding over the lean muscle of his torso in a way I only ever imagined in some of my crazy fantasies. And he’s letting me…
He’s letting me touch him. He’s letting me run my hands down his body, past his waistband, over the front of his jeans…well, hello.
“Shit…Wes,”he pants, gasping for air as we break the kiss.
Before he can say anything that will snap me out of the lust-filled haze that has taken control of my senses, I close my lips over his again and continue to devour his mouth. My hands tear at the front of his jeans, unfastening them and delving inside to slide over his hard cock.
