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“What?” I don’t even recognize my voice when my eyes meet my cousin’s. Tom. Right. Dinner.
Oops!
Unable to move, I remain in limbo, trying to gather my thoughts.
But Tom beats me to it. “You were taking an awfully long time.” He shrugs sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to inter—”
Nino cocks his head; a lazy smile plays across his gorgeous features as he faces Tom. My heart somersaults as it dawns on me that Nino is really here. He came here to claim me!
Stupefied, I watch my cousin’s gaze ricochet from Nino to me. The fucker wears a knowing look on his stupid, smug face.
Wiseass!
“Bonjour, I’m Nino.” His voice is ragged; my heart swells with pride for being the one to put him in this state. Nino rounds my side and extends his hand for Tom to shake... A rumble escapes his chest and I melt again.
What is this guy doing to me? Seriously?
The fact that he’s completely unaware of his own hooded gaze as he addresses Tom is endearing. It makes me want to go at it again, but I behave… for now.
My cousin nods, then words begin to tumble from his smart mouth. “I figured. Nice to meet you… at last.” He pauses.
One of Nino’s brows raises.Did he really think that I wouldn’t talk about him with Tom?
“And I’m… leaving.”
Thank God for that!
Nino opens his mouth, probably about to protest, then closes it. Tom winks and messes with my already wayward mop of hair. I take a step to the side to let him past. When he presses the elevator button, he turns my way. “You owe me for preventing you from getting arrested for attacking this fine gentleman.”
“Maybe he’s the one who attacked me, cuz!”
“Yeah, right. My time was up anyway. Have a good evening, gentlemen.” The elevator doors open, and he disappears inside. “Cheers.”
My foot awkwardly slams the front door shut behind me after I lose my mind admiring Nino’s rear end that I long to knead. My fingers twitch.
Nino looks so much younger without his dreadlocks. I’m glad his stubble is intact, though. “Aren’t you going to give me a tour?” Nino dares to ask without looking at me. Mumbling about Tom’s supposedly uncanny resemblance to a broader version of Timothée Chalamet, he pads into my new place. “Don’t you agree?” Not really. Not that I care, but I nod to be polite, remembering his obsession with unearthing famous doppelgängers for common people. I would have preferred to corner him in the entryway and resume what we started. He chuckles as he steps into my sparsely furnished, cluttered living room. “You know what? It can wait… Looks like you haven’t unpacked yet.” He rubs his chin between his thumb and index fingers. “Glasses?” I must look perplexed, which I am, because he adds, “To toast to your new life, our reunion, or whatever there is to celebrate.”
I’m about to suggest that we toast to the searing kiss we just shared. I don’t. Nor do I budge and readjust myself without shame.
Why doesn’t he make a move? He can’t pretend that nothing happened between us, can he?
“In the kitchen, maybe?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and passes me, his bicep brushing mine. Oblivious to my shudder, he saunters to the opposite side of the room in search of the kitchen. Swallowing my frustration, I hear cabinets open and turn so that my back is to him, hoping that he’ll figure out where my intentions lie.
In the blink of an eye, he’s back by my side with two shot glasses in one hand and the bottle wedged in the crook of his elbow. The fingers of his free hand thread with mine, and he leads us to the beat-up sofa that Tom’s older sister donated. Once we reach it, he halts, puts the glasses and liquor down, and captures my gaze, although I would have opted for my lips if given the choice. We stare at each other until I can’t take it anymore and look down at our joined hands.
My confused heart can’t seem to relax. No amount of well-practiced yoga breathing or reasoning helps. The back of my neck is stiff, and my pathetic attempt to roll my head to stretch fails miserably. “Wanted to move light and start fresh. None of my former furniture... I’m still in the process of deciding what to do with the space.”
The pad of his thumb finds my chin, directing my eyes towards him. He presses the softest kiss on my hungry lips. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and hope grows, along with my hardening cock. His heated breath tickles my cheek as he whispers, “Let’s take it slow.” He pours each of us a shot. “Oh, and by the way…” He hands me a small parcel.
My face brightens at the sweet gesture. I unwrap it in haste. Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax, aka the original surf wax! “You didn’t have to.”
His eyes downcast, he rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, I didn’t. Found it on your doorstep… I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay.”
“There was no card.” He looks up.
“No worries,” I reiterate. “You’re here. That’s the best gift I could ask for.”
