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Is it possible for a person to look sweet and smug at the same time?
“That’s direct,” he says, and I think he catches wind of my problem when I shift my hips and nearly groan out loud at the friction. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Just looks down and back up. “I’m bi.”
I want to kiss that little smile on his face. My heart is pounding in my ears like I’ve run a marathon. It doesn’t mean anything because Blair and I aren’t anything. Even if I pretend we are.
That’s fucked up, isn’t it?
“Atlas.” Blair steps closer, and I wish I could sink my hands in his hair and taste my name on his lips. He’s got this look that’s part curiosity, part something akin to amusement. “Are you?”
Am I?
I know B intrigues me, and Blair has woken up something inside me I didn’t know was there. I can’t say that, though. It sounds creepy and insane.
Having a full on sexuality crisis over a stranger and my best friend’s brother.
“You look good, too,” is what I go with as Blair raises his fingertips to my cheek.
His smile moves close to my ear, breath ghosting over my skin that erupts in goosebumps.
“You’re flushed. You should go home.”
That first touch is like lightning under my skin, like tendrils of a scorching heat that shoots down to my groin.
I’m so hard my dick hurts. All I can do is nod, afraid if I try to speak I’ll say something embarrassing like ‘touch me’ and hell knows I’d probably go off the moment he did.
“Tell Shiloh to be ready in the morning so I can pick him up for his appointment.”
He smiles at me again and disappears around the row of lockers. I wait until I hear the main door swing shut and then collapse onto the bench.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
I’m still hard. And my brain is fuzzy. The locker room seems to have cleared out in the time we were talking, and I’m glad there’s no one here to witness my floundering.
I could text B. He could help me take the edge off.
But is that a good idea? If I think about Blair any more, I might start popping boners every time I see him. Which is inconvenient as hell since he’s practically like a brother to me and is a regular part of my life.
Maybe B can just give me some advice? If something comes from that… then it’s mutual, right?
Me: I need your help, please.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes against my thigh, and it makes my dick jump.
B: Anything.
I chew my lip, wondering if this is crossing a line. He’ll tell me no if I am. We’ve never been afraid to tell the other we’re uncomfortable. I just wish I could think straight and not only about how badly I need to come.
Me: I’m hard, horny, and trapped in the gym locker room.
B: You don’t need my permission to get off, you know. Tug one out.
Me: Smartass. I’m not asking for permission. I wanted to try something with you.
B: Oh? Like what?
