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“You don’t cook like this for yourself all the time?”
His head swivels back and forth. “I have someone make meals for me. Mostly lean proteins that keep me in top shape, not comfort food like this.”
I have a brief flashback to sitting at the kitchen island as a kid, a steaming bowl of Rose’s homemade ramen in front of me. Most people probably don’t think of Japanese cuisine as comfort food, but to me… Let’s just say it’s one of the happier aspects of my childhood.
“Tripp?” Noah’s voice jolts me out of the memory. “You good?”
“Of course.” I take a pull from the bottle to wet my dry throat. “So, even if you only know how to make a few things, that’s plenty for one more dinner.”
“You’re so sure you can spot the cakes?”
I run my fingertip around the opening of the bottle. “I am.”
The corner of his lip tugs up with a soft chuckle. “Alright then. What do I get if I win?”
“What do you want?” I tip my chair back and prop my feet on the one next to it, settling in for what promises to be an entertaining conversation.
“Um.” He looks at his food and takes a bite, as if that could hide the fact his face is starting to look like a tomato, which on a Thor lookalike is actually not a bad look. Then he takes another bite, clearly struggling with how to say what he wants.
“Oh, my poor, sweet Noah.” He glances up just in time to see me lick my lips. “You do know I put out without having to lose a bet first, right?”
He gives a curt nod and looks back at his plate.
“Why go through this whole bet thing then? What is it you’re afraid to say?”
“What if… What if last night was a fluke?”
“You think I can’t make you come two nights in a row?” I arch a brow as his eyes snap to mine, confirming what I already suspected. He came last night.
“Can you?”
“I can sure as hell try.” My eyelids get heavy as I imagine getting a glimpse of what I’m sure is a nice, fat cock.
“And if I don’t?”
I purse my lips together with a frown. “I don’t understand the question.”
“If I don’t come, then what?”
“You go to bed with blue balls?” I shrug noncommittally.
“No.” He exhales heavily and shakes his head. “I mean, if I don’t, does that mean I don’t actually like guys?”
Oh, we’re going deep. Shit, okay.
Dropping my feet back to the floor, I right the chair with a thud. “I think you’re expecting attraction and desire to be black and white, and in my experience they’re more like a rainbow, and no, that’s not a gay reference, it’s just an analogy.”
“I’m not following.” Damn those blue eyes are intense when they’re confused.
“Okay.” I chew on my lip, searching for a way to simplify the complexities of sexuality. “How’s this? Mostly, I like men who are bigger though every once in a while I want to play with someone smaller. I gravitate to white guys but sometimes I’m in the mood for Latin. Or Asian. And I’ve been known to crush on straight guys from time to time. My preferences change with my mood, but my mood swings don’t define me.”
“In every one of those examples you’re still gay,” Noah points out.
“That’s because my rainbow is narrowly focused on men. Yours might be more broad, including men and women.”
“I also don’t have sex nearly as much as you.”
“So what? That just means my rainbow is more vibrant.” I throw my hands up. “The point is, sex isn’t black and white, it’s a gradient. Maybe you won’t like cock as much tonight as you did last night. Maybe you’ll like it more. Either way, it’s not like you have to label yourself afterward, and even if you did, there’s no rule that says you have to stay with that label forever.”
