And you know? He’s right. It is plain and simple. I’ve been beating myself up trying to figure out what went wrong. “I thought maybe it was me. Maybe I wasn’t there for him. Maybe I wasn’t a good boyfriend.”
Nate scoffs. “Dude. Join the party. I think that all the time.”
I pull back to stare at him, really giving him a good look. “You? Truly?”
“Yes, me, truly. Told you. I’ve been ghosted, friend-zoned, and dumped for a new guy the next day.”
“Who are these tossers?”
It’s his turn to laugh. “Wanker tossers? Is that a thing?”
“Let’s make it a thing. All exes who cheat are wanker tossers.”
“Can they be wanker-tossers-jackwads? I do like the term jackwad.”
“Anything for you,” I say with a grin, then it burns off when I take the plunge, telling him the rest of what went wrong with Brandon. “The guy Brandon cheated on me with?” I begin, taking a deep breath. Nate nods gently, encouraging me to keep going. “They got married a few weeks after we split.”
Nate takes a beat. Then his eyes shine with intensity. A new sort of determination. “Fuck all our exes,” he says, with a clenched fist and a punch to the air.
I laugh once more. Nate seems to have that effect on me. “They missed out,” I say.
“Yup. Relationships suck. Wanker-tosser-jackwad exes suck. But you know what? I bet I’d be a kickass boyfriend to any guy who gave a shit,” he says, stabbing his chest. “And I bet you were a great boyfriend to Brandon.”
“I thought I was,” I say. “I wanted to be.”
“I bet that with the right person, we’d both be fan-fucking-tastic boyfriends. Like, two of the greatest.”
I’m quiet for a few moments, processing this unexpected turn in the conversation, the way ideas and possibilities flash before my eyes. Then it all comes together like a brilliant business deal. “Maybe we could practice this weekend?”
One eyebrow rises. “Practice? You and me? Being boyfriends?”
It sounds crazy, but why the hell not? “We’re already going to be shacking up in a suite. How about we give it our all? Two days of being top-notch boyfriends?”
“To show we can do it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you offering me a deal, Hunter?”
“I believe I am. Want to be my top-notch boyfriend for the weekend?”
Nate scratches his chin, stares at the ceiling of the plane, then lets out a long sigh. “Do I, do I, do I?”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
He grabs my hand, shakes, squeezes it. “Yes, Hunter. I’ll be your top-notch boyfriend for the weekend.”
“Then, at the end of the weekend, we’re done. Because we already said . . . no relationships and shit?” I ask, repeating his words back to him.
“We did say that. But I have an idea about this boyfriend thing.”
“Go on.”
“I tend to do well with classes and practice and rewards,” Nate says, a naughty gleam in his blue eyes.
This man. He is too much. “I get your meaning, boyfriend,” I say, taking another step in this game since even though I don’t trust men, I only have to trust Nate for about forty-eight hours. “Let me start with the first lesson. Something important to me. Patent honesty.”
His expression goes serious. “Same here.”
I slide my hand down his deliciously muscular arm. “You do know I was messing with you? About the bed.”
“You better have been joking,” he says.
“Of course we’re sharing a bed. I’m not sure if we’ll be getting any sleep, though.”
Nate shifts his face closer to me. “What will we do instead?” he asks, and his blue eyes flash with wicked deeds. Sex is written in them, and I can’t wait to explore this desire between us.
“We’ll think of something,” I reply, my focus entirely on his lips. “We’re in Vegas. Maybe we’ll hit the tables. Get lucky.”
“I’ll be getting lucky all right,” he mutters, and heat frissons through me. Luck will not be a lady tonight.
An hour later, we’re cruising down the Strip, neon billboards flashing, the night unfurling as I start this getaway weekend with my temporary top-notch boyfriend.
10
NATE
I’m pretty sure I’ll pass the first lesson on being a most excellent boyfriend. In all fairness, I’m already a fucking A student in this class and have been for some time. It’s hardly a test to get down on my knees on the plush sapphire blue carpet of The Extravagant suite when Hunter sits on the bed, legs spread, cock out, offered to me.
It’s not a tough task at all to tease him.
Nope. It’s a sinful pleasure to show off my top-notch skills at giving head.
Hunter has zero complaints either. Just grunts and groans as I lick and suck, and he stares with lust-drenched eyes the whole time. “Yes, take me deep like a very good boyfriend,” he urges, his dirty, delicious accent sending a surge of pleasure straight to my aching cock. “Show me how much you like it.”
If he wants a show, I’ll give him a show. As I draw him in deep, I shove my hand in my briefs, grasp my throbbing dick.
His groan is carnal. “Yes, get yourself off to me,” he instructs.
Yeah, that’s the motherfucking plan, hottie.
I blow his cock and his mind while I stroke myself off, finishing just seconds after I swallow his release.
When I stand, I put one hand on his cheek, drag him close, and kiss him ruthlessly, letting him taste himself on me.
Then, we get ready to go out.
A few minutes later, I dress up in my best jeans and a tight burgundy shirt—showing off my guns. Hello, that’s pretty much all shirts. And my Vans.
I consider the look in the mirror by the door.
Yup, perfect for my new approach. That’s what this weekend is all about. I’ve spent my whole damn life practicing football plays, and practice does make perfect or damn near close. This weekend will be my crash course in mastering relationship skills so I can finally emerge on the other side, skilled and ready to someday handle one a little better than I have so far.
Part of this new playbook? Hanging with buddies.
After grabbing my phone from the charger and tucking it into my pocket, I’m ready to hit the tables.
But Hunter is still making himself beautiful.
“Hey hottie, you do know you’re already the finest man here? Maybe move it along on the beauty routine,” I call out, then laugh. “Wait. Is that bottom-shelf or top-shelf boyfriend?”
“Bottom shelf,” he calls out.
I clear my throat, smiling. “How’s this? Honey, you always look good. You don’t need to get pretty.”
“Piss off, Nate,” he shouts from the bedroom.
“All right. Good thing I have boyfriend lessons this weekend.”
“I’ll say,” he shouts.
As I wait, I text TJ, who’s winning at the tables. I’m penning him a reply, letting him know we’ll be down soon when—