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“Yes.” I look up at a man who matches me in size, with wavy black hair and ocean blue eyes.
“I thought I recognized you. I’m sorry to intrude, it’s just that I jog this path regularly, and I’ve never seen you before. I couldn’t pass up the chance to say hello. I’m Justin.”
The man holds out his hand, and I grip it for a handshake. Classically attractive, athletic, firm grip. Do I feel anything?
“I’ve been a Bulldogs fan for years. Never been lucky enough to bump into anyone on the team before now. Do you live around here?” He lets go of my hand and gestures to the surrounding area.
Nope, nothing. Not a single thing.
“No, just wanted a change of scenery during my run.” Pro athlete 101, don’t tell people where you live. Or where you’re staying temporarily.
“Oh, nice. So, um, I don’t mean to pry or anything, but you looked kind of…dazed just now. Are you okay?”
Shit—I can’t afford to zone out where people can see me, they’ll start questioning my health and I’ll get stuck talking to doctors every week.
“Yeah, man. I’m good. Just visualizing a game.”
“Always in training, huh?” Justin smiles brightly, as if I’ve given him some special insight into my pre-game process.
“Something like that, yeah.”
This guy is handsome, polite… No idea if he’s into men or not, but even if he isn’t I could still be attracted to him. So why aren’t I?
“Mind if I get a picture?” he asks.
“Sure.” I stand up and smile for the selfie he takes, and with another quick handshake I say my goodbyes and head out before anyone else can recognize me, feeling a little disheartened that because of my celebrity, answering the question of whether I’m attracted to anyone beyond Tripp is going to be much harder than I anticipated.
Chapter 8 – Tripp
I’m nervous.
That’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, especially considering I’m about to walk into my own house. But for the first time since moving in, that house isn’t going to be empty when I get inside, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
On the one hand, last night was hot as fuck, and I want to do it again. And again. And many more agains, after that. On the other, I’ve never had anyone stay the night. Ever. Not once. So, I’m not sure what to expect. Complicating things even more, Noah isn’t exactly experienced in the hookup department, much less the hooking up with men department, so I don’t know whether he’ll be freaked out, casually curious, or clingy.
Considering I’m pretty certain he said ‘thank you’ last night, my money’s on clingy, but I hope I’m wrong. I wouldn’t mind getting carnal with the big guy since he really gives my junk a hard on, but emotions are not my jam. If he goes fatal attraction on me, I wouldn't just lose him, I could lose Xander, as well.
I might’ve pushed the boundaries of our budding friend group last night, and Xander won’t hesitate to castrate me for it if it backfires. He’ll claim I should’ve known better—which I did—as if he doesn’t know I’m unlikely to stop chasing a dick I want.
Usually, I have no shame in the pursuit of a good fuck, but I also don’t usually pursue acquaintances, or people I genuinely like. Noah just does things to me I can’t seem to ignore. I should make sure he’s on the same page though.
Shoving all the ‘what-ifs’ from my mind, I push through the door with my trademark coy smile, only to have it turn into a gasp when I’m hit with the most divine aroma I’ve ever experienced inside my little sin bin. Hockey terminology is so appropriately filthy.
I round the corner into the kitchen and find Noah bent at the waist—showcasing a deliciously round ass—and pulling some sort of pan out of the oven. “What kind of foreplay is this?”
“Foreplay?” Noah arches a curious brow as he sets the dish on the stove.
“You know, stuff that makes your dick hard.” I point to the steaming plate. “What is it?”
“Tourtéire,” he says with a little French flare. “Beef inside a pastry crust.”
“I didn’t know pot pie was such an aphrodisiac.”
“Not pot pie. Tourtéire,” he clarifies as if I didn’t just try to make things inappropriate. Our normal dynamic still applies. That’s a good sign.
“Which restaurant delivers these? If it tastes as good as it smells, I’m gonna have to put it on my favorites list.”
“I didn’t order this. I made it.” He helps himself to the cupboard and pulls out two plates that have probably never held actual food, only takeout containers.
