Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Never, ever, ever going to happen.”
I smiled. “What’s your massage game like? My calves are on fire. I’ll need someone to work out the knots in my shoulders too. And peel my grapes…while calling me sir.”
“I give you points for imagination, Ezra.” Holden’s lips twitched with reluctant humor as he held his right hand out. “Do we have a bet?”
“Oh, hell, yes. Starting when?”
“Midnight tonight?”
We shook hands.
“Sounds good. I’ve got time to slob it up and get comfy, then.” I kicked off my shoes and unbuckled my belt, breaking into an impromptu striptease dance while I unzipped my jeans.
“Ezra! No! Not acceptable. Keep your clothes on,” he scolded through his teeth. “Wait. Forget it. Take everything off. I don’t care. I need Henry the Eighth, so you do you. See you later.”
I did my best Magic Mike impression, swaying my hips as I pulled my belt through the loops, inch by inch. That always got a reaction out of him. Even if it was just a smack upside the head. Not today.
“The show’s just getting started. Where are you going?”
“I have a date.”
Screech.
I dropped my belt and put my hands on my hips. “Date? With who?”
“Marlon.”
“Marlon,” I repeated. “You don’t even like that dude. Why are you going out with him?”
Holden mirrored my pose, his lips lifting in a mischievous lopsided smile. “Why do you think?”
“Sex? You’re hangin’ with him just to bang him? Geez, I almost feel sorry for the guy.”
“Sorry for him.” So much for mischievous. He looked downright pissed now. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I gave my best nonchalant shrug. Not an easy feat with my blood pumping double time. Sure, I was aware that this was not a normal reaction, but I couldn’t seem to curb the stupid.
“You’re using him for sex.”
He gaped at me for twenty minutes—okay, five seconds—and sputtered, “I cannot believe you of all people have the nerve to accuse me of using someone for sex.”
“Me of all people? And what does that mean?” I countered, stalking toward him. “What do you think, I’m some kind of man slut?”
“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but if the shoe fits…yes. And before you try to defend yourself, I’ll remind you that you leave evidence of your nocturnal trysts everywhere.”
“What? I haven’t brought a girl home since Thong Gate. And for your information, I haven’t gotten laid since, either.” I winced. “TMI.”
Nine months ago, Holden would have folded like a cheap suit and walked away after hurling some wackadoodle Shakespearean insult at me. He had no qualms about sparring, but he avoided overly personal exchanges. We’d never talked about sex head-on. Trust me, I would have remembered.
He didn’t fold now. Not even close.
“That was months ago. No wonder you’re so irritable. Or are you jealous?”
It was my turn to gape. “Jealous. Of what?”
“Cole has a girlfriend, Tommy has Noah, and I—”
“Have monster-schlonged Marlon,” I finished. “Lucky you. And I mean that. I feel kinda sorry for him, though, ’cause he’s into you. He probably thinks you’re the one while you’re checkin’ your watch the second you finish doing…”
“Doing what?” he prodded icily.
“Him. Or…the other way around.” I put my hands up and stepped aside. “Okay, I don’t want to know. Let’s drop it. Have fun tonight. Be safe. Use condoms and all that and—what are you laughing at?”
“You. You’re a piece of work, Ezra.” He ended his chuckle with a prolonged sigh and gave me a thorough once-over, lingering on my abs. “You’re so sweetly concerned with Marlon’s feelings yet unabashedly curious about who’s doing what. Interesting dichotomy. I’m precariously close to giving you an in-depth lecture on gay sex, and I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
“You think I don’t know how gay sex works?”
Okay, who the fuck was in control of my brain? I was smarter than this. I had the degrees to prove it, for fuck’s sake. I graduated with honors from Loyola, finished top of my class in law school, and was on the verge of becoming an attorney and being hired at a prestigious firm. But apparently, I was also the deeply-closeted idiot engaging an out-and-proud man in a down-and-dirty conversation about gay sex.
Holden smirked. “I know you don’t.”
“I do too.”
“Oh, my gosh. No, you don’t,” he huffed in annoyance. “But…this is exactly the kind of ridiculous conversation that proves you’re the perfect Henry the Eighth. I look forward to welcoming you to the geek show, as you so eloquently put it. You’ll make a fine addition. Ta-ta for now.”
With that, Holden whirled out of the room, leaving me staring after him, shirtless with my jeans undone like a thwarted lover.
Of course, that was madness. We were barely friends, let alone lovers.
And I was…mostly straight. Or so he thought.
Straight, bi, or whatever, my behavior was completely illogical and irrational. Christ, look at me. A half-undressed, “straight” dude performing a striptease act for his gay roommate because…why? Why did I manufacture reasons to be in the same room as Holden? Why did I goad him into silly conversations and tease him till he gritted his teeth? Why hadn’t I told him Rossman’s inane idea?