My dick was instantly hard. “How about a board game?!” I jumped down and raced over to the bookshelves and pulled off the first box I found. It wasMonopoly. I thought to put that back because it might trigger something in him when I gobbled up Park Place and Boardwalk as I was known to do. And I didnotwant to remind him of the fact that I was big business.
“I’m pretty ruthless at that game,” he informed me as the smell of cinnamon and vanilla began to waft from the oven. “You sure you want to be humiliated?”
“Please, I am the king of board games.” With that haughty announcement, we cleared the dishes, washed them, set up the game, and took the baked pears out of the oven. My mouth watered at the sight of them. Add in two cups of coffee and we were set for the night.
I sat across from him, took a bite of pear, and moaned in pure pleasure. When I opened my eyes, Acosta was staring at me, his gray eyes tumultuous, his lips parted. I felt the jolt of that lusty gaze all the way to my toes. Was the man into men? No, surely not. I licked my lower lip just to test the homo waters. His sight stayed on me for a full five seconds until he jolted out of the fog, quickly averting his eyes, cheeks pinked, nostrils flared.
The bells and whistles of my gaydar peeled.
Oh, my sweet stars, he was gay! Or at least bisexual. My queer boy sense was never wrong. Never.Ever.Wrong.
“This is delicious. Honestly, I’ve had desserts all over the world but this right here,” I pointed at my sticky, gooey pear, “this here is incredible.”
“Thanks.” He tucked his head and ate.
I enjoyed the rosy shade on his cheeks as he tried his best to avoid looking at me at all. Chewing slowly, leg crossed, foot bouncing, I struggled to keep my joyous discovery about Acosta under control. Usually, I would flirt big time with a man who looked at me with such fire when I was this hot for him. This man though…he had to be handled differently.
Oh? And why is that? Wait, let me think. Could it be because you’re here on business and if you canoodle with him, that will look terrible if it comes out? Would that not just give Frank Jr. more ammo about you and your ilk?
Ilk. Ugh. Who the hell even uses that word anymore? What, are we in the roaring twenties? Are there flappers showing up soon?
The board of directors of Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services use that word and lots just like it. Shall I cite instances?
Yes, please. Cite away. Me and Dick are plotting how to get this slim, sexy bastard to ask us to give him a mighty dicking.
Ahem…Baloney. Beezer. Cabbage. Chump. Dough (and not speaking of bread). Flim flam. Gams. Hatchet men. Heebie-jeebies.
Okay. Stop. I feel like I fell into a Dick Tracy movie. Fine, the men on the board are old. I get it. They dislike my queer amazingness. I get that. And yes, if I indeed boinked this stunning man and word got out, they would say I had coerced him using sexual favors. Gah. I hate morals sometimes.
Guess that was that then. Damn it. Sleeping with him could be used against me later. Lord knows people were sued over lesser infractions all the time. Damn. Okay. Whatever. So he was into me—even if he hated me—and I was into his flannel farmer goodness with no hate involved. Didn’t mean we could—
“…piece do you want?”
I blinked back to this time and space, gawking at the game board that had been all set up, which I wrestled with my professionalism.
“Oh! Sorry, I was in the pleasure zone due to your sexy pears.” His eyes flared.
Stop it, Dick. Stop it right now! Did you not just hear what Brain was saying?
“I meant tasty pears. Yum! I like to be the car because I’m fast.”Shit!“Fast around the board is what I mean. Yum, pears!” I crammed another bite in as I died a little inside.
“I’m the dog,” he stated as he studied me as one might study an asp trying to sell them on just tasting this luscious apple. “Glad you liked it. If I win this game, which I will,” I scoffed and shoved more pear into my pie hole to keep myself from saying something kittenish, “you have to muck out the cow pen tomorrow.”
I wrinkled my nose and sullenly nodded. That made him happy. Not that I was worried about it, though. No one ever beat me atMonopoly. I was one hell of an aggressive property developer. Acosta Melios didn’t stand a chance.
ChapterEight
Who would have guessedthat a stoic farmer would be such a motherfucking tycoon?
Honestly, Acosta made my father look like Mother Teresa. He took great glee in buying Park Place and hoarding it while I sat with Boardwalk, unable to develop my properties. Then, because he was a total shit, he bought up the orange and red properties and built on them as soon as he was able.
Within an hour, I was bankrupt. As I handed over my last dollar, he tucked it into the stack of cash piled up in front of him and grinned. And I do mean grinned. Just like the Joker when he finds the cell door unlocked.
“That was a master class on how to win atMonopoly,” I confessed, my pride a little stung. Him winning was probably for the best. This way he could laud it over me. I could smile and nod, playing that humble loser card for all it was worth. Everyone liked a good sportsman.
“Thanks. I had to learn how to be ruthless early in life. Cassie loved playing this game. Talk about being pitiless. She didn’t care that I was her baby brother. She played with cold-blooded determination,” he said with a touch of sweet nostalgia as he began sorting his cash into neat piles before putting them into their places in the box.
“You loved her very much, I can tell,” I whispered, handing over my little silver car. It had brought me no luck at all tonight. Perhaps I needed to switch to the top hat?
