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Shiloh is his regular, annoying self, albeit a little more tired and cranky on occasion. He hasn’t forgotten the dare, though, because he makes sure to bring it up in conversation at least once a day.
I’m hoping I can wait him out until the mess with his meds and therapist are sorted.
In the meantime, I don’t know if it’s an all men thing, but there is a definite sexual attraction to both B and Blair. I haven’t had an instant reaction to either, but when B and I have acted out sexual things, my body needs very little coaxing to keep going.
I don’t even know who it has more to do with. It’s Blair I picture when we fool around, but I’m fully aware I’m with B.
But I hardly know anything about B other than the fact that he’s a hopeless romantic with a serious self deprecation issue.
I want to ease that for him.
Hell if I know why.
Our last conversation was an hour ago, and while I know I should give it a rest, I can’t help sneaking a peek in when I finish my reps for the morning.
B: Your idea of fun is getting sweaty first thing in the morning?
Me: Would be more fun if you were getting sweaty with me.
B: Damn, A. Someone’s got game. If you want me to take my shirt off, all you have to do is ask.
Me: I wouldn’t mind having some eye-candy for motivation.
B: I can show off the hickey my roommate gave me, if you’d like.
The picture had been a close up of the mark on his neck, followed by the message, ‘I was thinking about you, but don’t tell him that ;)’.
B has opened up a little over the last week. I still hardly know anything about him, but he confided that he has a non-sexual, casual relationship with his roommate, and that’s about all the action he gets.
I can’t even imagine being involved with the person I live with. Casually or seriously. My friendship with Shiloh is way too important for that.
But it’s not my place to tell B something like that, and if he’s happy with the arrangement, then that’s what matters.
The gym isn’t all that busy this morning. Most of the hardcore muscle heads did their rounds with the sun rising, and there will be a rush around lunch, but right now is the perfect time for getting my workout in.
It also means there aren’t many people around to see me ruck up my shirt, pinch the fabric between my teeth, and take a shot of my sweat-coated abdomen to send to B.
That should be okay, shouldn’t it?
My face isn’t in the picture, just my chest and abdomen, but if he’s going to flirt and send me pictures of his hickeys, it’s only fair that he gets something in the same vein in return.
I’m halfway through chugging my bottle of water when he replies.
B: Hot.
B: I’m in public, and I really want to write something dirty to you. But I’ll be nice and wait until we’re both behind closed doors.
Things like that should turn me on, but all it really does is make me smile. It makes a warmth spread in my gut and brings a flush to my cheeks.
Needing to wrap up because I’m supposed to meet Shiloh for lunch and want time for a shower first, I don’t answer right away. I down the rest of my water bottle and wipe down the sweat collecting on my forehead with the workout towel around my neck.
There’s a few stragglers in the locker room when I go back to grab my bag and clean clothes, and I sneak a few quick peeks at some of them in all their shirtless, sweaty glory, but my body has no reaction.
No sexual attraction, no desire to find out if I could grow a sexual attraction. Nada.
Right as I’m about to head to the shower—my dirty clothes already tossed into the bag and a towel wrapped around my waist—someone comes in who lights my body on fire.
Here’s the thing about pretending to be in a relationship with my best friend’s brother: it feels real.
