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I don’t know what I want.
I’m supposed to hang out with him tomorrow, but I don’t know if I can. Not after that. Not after this.
I stare down at my dick and sigh.
Shit on a stick. I really am fucked.
SIX
Damon
Tomas isn’t answering his phone after work. We had plans to hang out this afternoon and do face masks and some much-needed skin exfoliation, but his phone keeps going to voicemail. So naturally, I think he’s been killed and dumped in a freezer. Now I’m on the hunt to make sure he’s still alive.
I make my way over to his place, the dogs on my heels. For protection, mainly. Not that they’d do much. Peanut is huffing and puffing like he hasn’t spent this morning chasing bugs around the yard. Nibblet is eating dirt, and Wonton is stopping every few feet to lick his butthole.
“Yeah, I feel ya. I haven’t had a good ass lick in a long time,” I murmur as I peer through the windowpanes of the front door. The lights are off, and I don’t hear anyone moving around inside. But his car is in the open garage so I know he’s around here somewhere.
Probably cut into pieces and stuffed beneath the porch. Perhaps I should cut back on the murder mysteries.
“What if he’s dead, Peanut? What do I do? I don’t know if I can stomach all that real-life gore.”
Peanut just woofs, so I shush him because honestly, he shouldn’t alert the serial killer that I’m here lurking about. I’m not ready to die.
Suddenly, the light comes on inside, and I let out a high-pitched scream as the door swings open.
And there he is. Alive and well. And not chopped to bits.
I press a hand to my chest and let out a mortified laugh when I see Tomas standing before me, looking flushed and rumpled.
“Well, thank god you’re alive,” I say and then pat Peanut’s head when he woofs in agreement. “I couldn’t contend with a serial killer. They’d have me chopped up and buried in the backyard in minutes.”
Tomas just stares at me, his eyes moving quickly down my body before he looks away, glaring at some point in the distance.
“Um, you okay?” I ask, leaning against the doorjamb and watching him intently. Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what. Can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat and then rubs at his jaw. “I um…I’m just a bit…I don’t feel well.”
“Oh,” I say, pushing up and pressing my hand against his forehead. He is a bit warm and a little sweaty. “What’s wrong? I am super good at diagnosing things. I’m basically a doctor. Who says they need a degree? Pfft.”
Tomas’s cheeks flush and he pulls away, running a hand through his hair, the bottom of his shirt lifting a little and showing off a delicious bit of skin. The dogs take his step back as an invitation to invade, and they push their way inside. He lets out a muffled protest, and I can do nothing but follow the mutts inside.
“God, sorry about that. They’re so rude. Just proper heathens.”
“It’s fine,” he says, still not looking at me. His lack of eye contact is starting to bother me. I don’t like it when people can’t meet my stare. It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong, like maybe I’m not enough. Reminds me a bit of my dad and how he won’t look at me when I visit. I embarrass him, I think.
“You really don’t seem like yourself…why aren’t you looking at me?” I ask, and Tomas’s face flushes even more, his eyes swiveling to mine and boring into them.
“I am. I’m looking at you.”
My eyes narrow as I watch him. He’s acting funny. Very, very funny.
Pursing my lips, I reach out and grab on to him. “Where’s your bathroom? I think you’re having a stroke.”
Tomas’s eyes widen, and he hesitates, but I just glower at him until he leads me to the one nearest the entryway. I flip on the lights, and he blinks as I rummage through the drawers.
“Where’s your thermometer?” I ask, lifting my head and watching Tomas in the mirror. Only his eyes aren’t on mine. They’re on my ass.
My entire body thrums with something new. Why the fuck is he looking at my ass? I mean, I know it’s fabulous, but really, he’s not into men. He must be veryverysick.
