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Except… well, despite the hangover and general office-based dread, I actually felt kind of… lighter. Freer. Liberated. Like I’d purged all the little niggles that crowded my brain late at night, the memories that made me cringe and wriggle frantically in my sheets as if that would get rid of them.
Plus, it wasn’t like we’d have to talk about any of that stuff later. I was pretty sure he’d be as desperate as I was to pretend neither of us had shared any of it. To just… ignore the intense bonding sesh we’d had by spilling all our dirty secrets.
And I did really want to see a big, oiled-up beefcake bounce his pecs to make his nipple tassels spin. No amount of embarrassment could keep me from that. I wasn’t made of stone.
Chapter Ten
Sleep-Deprived Dad at a Zoo
I almost didn’t go.
By the time I got home, my headache had morphed into starvation-induced pain behind my eyes. I popped some painkillers and made myself dinner, eating it on the couch while watching an episode of Antiques Roadshow I’d already seen at least three times.
When I got in the shower to wash off the rum-tinged sweat that had poured out of me all day—did they always keep the office so fucking hot?—I decided to jerk off. I really didn’t want to get a boner in front of Holt while watching sweaty, half-naked wrestlers prancing around a stage. He already had enough ammo against me.
The combination of post-nut and post-hangover clarity was what almost drove me into my pyjamas and straight to bed. What had I been thinking, willingly arranging to spend more time with the man who knew I’d once masturbated nine times in a single day and had to put soothing cream on my chafed dick?
But it was already planned. I couldn’t flake after pretty much guilting Holt into inviting me with my sad, hungover office worker face and pathetic existence. With a resigned sigh, I got dressed in some jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Just a plain blue one. I’d gotten rid of all my graphic tees because Marcus had said they were a little childish.
As I combed my hair and arranged it into its usual boring style, I stared at my pale face in the mirror. The bags under my eyes looked darker thanks to exhaustion and the hangover. At least it was Friday. I could sleep in tomorrow. And I would not be touching a drop of alcohol tonight. Probably not for another four years.
Before leaving, I made myself a cup of strong coffee because I was an old man who hadn’t gone out this late in… fuck, well over half a decade. Stomach churning with nerves, I swiped up my keys and phone and left.
I couldn’t believe I was, of my own volition, going back to the hellhole I had to work in every day. And oh god, what if some of the people lining up to get inside were the same ones as yesterday? What if they recognised me—the sad office worker in a party hat with frosting on his face who’d been mistaken for a stripper.
The office building was on the outskirts of town in an industrial area that was pretty dead at night, but the parking lot was almost full, and there was once again a line of people snaking out the door, with more congregating in groups, smoking cigarettes and laughing together.
I parked up and climbed out of my car, wanting to hide when a few people turned at the chirp of the lock and glanced at me. I wasn’t even in a shirt and tie this time, and I still felt inappropriately dressed. Sad and boring. Everyone else was wearing nice suits and dresses, or cool punky clothes with leather jackets and ripped jeans.
Standing in line alone was going to be torture, but I’d told Holt I wanted to come, so I had to suck it up. Pocketing my keys, I tugged on the hem of my shirt and started walking toward the end of the line.
“Fucking finally, dude.”
The vaguely familiar voice made me look over, and I stopped when I saw Holt’s assistant, the pink-haired Larkin, hurrying toward me.
“Oh.” I flushed and quickly checked my watch. “Um, it’s nine twenty. Holt said to get here at—”
“Yeah, I know, but he made me come out here at nine to wait for you just in case you got here early.” Larkin rolled his blue eyes. “I’ve been playing Moth Simulator, but my phone died ten minutes ago. Let’s go.”
I hesitated and looked at the line. “Don’t I have to—”
“You don’t have to wait in line.” Larkin was already striding for the door. “Come on.”
Feeling self-conscious, I hurriedly followed and caught up with him. “You, um, play Moth Simulator?”
“Holt was playing it on his computer earlier.” He shrugged. “Looked totally lame but, like, kinda chill? So I got it on my phone. Managed to get twenty moths to a single lightbulb at one point,” he added smugly.
My brows rose. I was impressed. “Nice. My high score is only eleven.”
Had Holt downloaded it after I mentioned it last night? Why did the thought of that kind of make me feel all jittery?
I cleared my throat. “What, um, was Holt’s high score?”
Larkin snorted. “Like, three. He’s been hungover as fuck all day. He was only just changing out of his sweatpants when he told me to come out here and wait for you.”
I flushed with pleasure. Holt hadn’t had to do that. I would’ve been fine waiting in line like everyone else.
Okay, I would’ve been wildly uncomfortable and self-conscious, but I still would’ve done it.
