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Maybe he’s thinking about last night too.
He pushes open the shower door an inch. “Want to join me?”
“I do,” I say, but first I brush my teeth, since I’m going to need to kiss him.
When I’m done, I join my roommate for the week. “You sing in the shower,” I say.
He dips his face. “Yeah, sorry. I live alone so it’s just a thing I do. Did I wake you up?”
“Felt like I was living in an animated flick. Being serenaded with birds chirping on the window. Maybe mice and chipmunks will come make the bed.”
“Shut it,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“I’d see that movie. I mean, my first crush was Gaston,” I say as I inch under the stream, dip my head back and wet my hair.
His nose crinkles. “He’s such a dick.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been working through my issues ever since.”
Hunter chuckles, smart enough to connect the dots to my ex. “And have you progressed to a crush on the Beast? He does have a library. He’s a much better choice.”
I wiggle a brow. “I do like some chest hair,” I say, my gaze straying to Hunter’s pecs, covered with just the right amount of fur.
“Yes, Nate. I’m a veritable beast,” he says drily.
“And your singing is cute,” I add.
“Why do you keep calling me cute?”
“Do I call you cute?” I ask, arching a brow. Teasing him has become my new favorite hobby. “Or do all your new fans call you The English Cutie?”
“I will never live that down,” he grumbles as he tips his head back under the stream.
I grab the bar of soap and wash up. “You don’t want to be cute?”
“I’d rather be smoking, or hot, or sexy.”
Setting the soap back in the dish, I turn around and kiss his wet mouth. “You’re all of those. And you’re also cute,” I say, and Hunter murmurs a thank you.
Whether it’s for the kiss or the words I have no idea. But I know this—he likes what I have to give. It feels great to compliment a guy and for him to want it.
Lightly, I tap the top of his ass. “How are you doing?”
“Good,” he says, and he sounds sexy, like he’s remembering every delicious detail of last night.
Me too.
“Anything hurt?”
“A tad sore, but I’m a cyclist, and we have a saying.”
“What’s that?”
“Just get back in the saddle again,” he says with a sly wink.
“I like that saying.”
“What about you? How do you…” He stops before he says feel. Maybe he thinks it’s not the right word to use when I topped him?
I sigh dramatically. “I’d feel better if I could blow you before I took you out to breakfast.”
His brown eyes sparkle. “I was going to suggest you do that.”
I get down on my knees, savoring each of his moans, his groans, his thrusts. He comes quickly, and I finish myself off in my hand seconds later.
I’m honestly not sure who enjoys it more.
We make our way out of the room ten minutes later. Hunter is dressed for work in a snappy purple button-down and dark slacks. I picked a standard polo and jeans—casual but sharp. I want to represent the team well later today when we take the tube to our first practice on European soil. “Do you have time for breakfast? I never asked.”
I only feel half bad about that. I want what I want, and that’s time with Hunter.
“I noticed, Bossy Nate. But yeah, I can fit in a quick meal before I head to the office.”
“Good. But we’re not eating at the hotel,” I say as we reach the elevators and I push the call button.
He flinches, then rearranges his features. “Sure. Don’t want to see anyone and all,” he says evenly.
I rope my arms around him, tugging him against me. “You dumbass. It’s not because I’m embarrassed we’ll run into someone.”
“What? I never said that.” But his tone says “busted.”
I tap his temple. “You didn’t have to. I can read tone and context.”
“Can you though?” he tosses back. “Reading tone wasn’t your top skill yesterday.”
The elevator doors whoosh open and we step into the lift. “What was my top skill yesterday?”
The doors close and Hunter reaches for the collar of my polo, tugs me close. “Topping,” he whispers.
“Mmm. Want to do that again,” I say.
“Tonight,” Hunter says, then he lets go. “Okay, so you don’t want hotel food.”
“It’s boring. I like local food. Something to give me a sense of the place.”
“So you want baked beans on toast, eggs, sausage, hash browns, mushrooms, and the rest?” he asks, arching his brow. Maybe not. “What about something not that heavy?”
He cracks up as I backpedal. “I had a feeling you weren’t a beans-on-toast guy.”
“But I do like sausage,” I say.
“I know, Nate. I know.”
We reach the lobby and as we cross it, I spot a familiar face. My former agent, Maddox LeGrande. I worked with him for a long time before he moved over to CTM with Vance, bringing me along. But the situation got complicated when he fell in love with a client – a hotshot baseball player for the San Francisco Dragons. A whole lot of back and forth later, and he’s, unfortunately, no longer repping me. But I call out to the dude as he strides across the lobby. “Hey Maddox!”
