I do. I really do. And it’s becoming a damn problem.
I grumble in response, and we walk in the side door of the house into my kitchen. He closes the door behind him, then sits down at the island bar. “So, what are we having?”
“BLTs,” I answer, walking to the fridge to grab some bacon. “Is that okay with you?”
“Who the hell doesn’t like bacon? Sounds great to me.”
I grin, shaking my head and starting the bacon in a pan on the stove. He surprises me when he makes himself at home and grabs a cutting board and knife, then washes a tomato and slices it up.
It shouldn’t surprise me—he’s been here a couple of times now, but it’s still very domestic.
Very right.
Which should feel totally wrong. But it doesn’t.
We make our sandwiches and then head into the living room, like it’s a dance we’ve done many times instead of only a few. He picks something on Netflix, and I kick my feet up, enjoying the sandwich.
There’s nothing like garden-fresh tomatoes on a BLT.
After we eat and clean up from lunch, we make our way back to my couch and settle in. He turns on Scream, and I snort, “Really? Were you even born when this came out?” He raises his brows, and an amused grin falls over his lips. I hold up my hand. “Don’t answer that.”
He chuckles and gets comfortable, his arm brushing mine from his seat on the couch. “It’s a classic.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I say with a laugh of my own. “Fucking fetus.”
He laughs too. “Hey, I’m twenty-five. I’ve had plenty of life experiences.” He turns his head to look at me, waggling his eyebrows in an over-the-top ridiculous way that makes me smile. But an uncomfortable feeling also comes over me at the thought of his experiences.
“Just how experienced?” The question falls from my mouth before I can pull it back.
“Really?” he asks, the amused tone still there.
I nod and wipe my now-sweaty palms on my jeans. The conversation makes me nervous, but we’ve talked about this kind of stuff before. Sort of. I mean, I know he’s gay and used to go to a bar to find hookups. And he knows I’m bisexual and haven’t thought about dating.
We can talk about this stuff. Friends talk about stuff like this.
Right?
He studies me cautiously for a moment and then shrugs his large shoulders, settling back into the couch and not looking at me. “If you can believe it, I went to college a total virgin. In every single way. Not even a kiss.”
Okay, the virgin part isn’t all that uncommon. But not even a kiss? “None?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I didn’t know anyone else who was gay, and I wasn’t about to get my ass beat by kissing someone to find out.”
I wince. “I’m sorry. That had to have been hard.”
“Oh, it was sooooo hard,” he teases and emphasizes the word hard, making me roll my eyes.
“I’m serious. It’s not fair.”
He shrugs again, but he’s not in such a teasing mood now, and I could kick myself because we were having a nice day and I had to go and ruin it.
“I went to college for a little bit, though, and got a little wild, making up for lost time.”
The jealousy comes rearing back—because I’m not stupid, and I know that’s exactly what I feel when that ball of fire lights in my stomach, thinking about anyone else touching him—but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“It was like a whole different world and only five hours away from where I grew up.”
I smile sadly because I can’t even imagine. I’ve traveled a little for football and taken a couple of vacations, but not for long and not all that far away. “Sounds kind of amazing.”
“It was.” He chuckles. “They even had mixers for LGBTQIA+ students. It was incredible.”
“So what happened? You said you were only there for a little while. It sounds like heaven. Why did you leave?”
“Had way too much fun,” he says, turning his head to look at me, and I study the brown flecks in his eyes that sparkle. “I flunked out hard.”
I swallow thickly, thinking about how painful that must have been for him. His face all but confirms that. “I’m sorry.”
He tries to smile, but the sparkle in his eyes is gone, and he looks away, his eyes trained on the television. “Yeah. It sucked. My parents were so disappointed. I was disappointed. I had nowhere else to go, so I came back home and got my associate’s degree from a community college.” He waves his hand dismissively. “And you know the rest.”
He laughs, but it’s not full of the humor I like coming from him. I want it back. He slowly turns his head to look at me, and I can’t take it anymore. My hand moves to the soft scruff of his beard, and my eyes are on his lips. The pink, firm lips accentuated by his dark facial hair.
I can’t resist the chance to taste him. I don’t let myself think too hard about it and lean in, brushing my lips softly over his, my hand resting on his cheek. He sucks in a startled gasp but doesn’t push me away.
He lets me explore his plush mouth with my own, just brushing my lips over his for a moment before I pull back and look into his eyes. “Chance . . .”
He grins before his hand goes to the back of my head and sifts through my short hair, his lips pressing against mine. It goes from a soft, exploring kiss to a full-on heated embrace where I’m struggling to catch my breath, and he softly moans when I open for him, letting his tongue slide over mine.
My hand moves from his cheek to his hair, and I relish the way his soft locks slide through my fingers as we kiss passionately on my couch.
Soon, kissing is not enough. My cock is rock-hard and leaking in the confines of my jeans. When I pull him to my lap and his strong thighs straddle me, I can feel he’s in the same predicament.
I should slow things down so we can talk about this. But now that I’ve had my first taste of him, I can’t seem to pull away. God, he tastes good. Like BLT’s, hope, and sunshine.
“Wait,” I finally pant, my hands gripping his strong biceps and holding him back just a little so I can look into his eyes.
His lips are puffy and swollen, his eyes dazed with lust. “What’s wrong?”
I’m breathing heavily, my chest pumping with air as I try to catch my breath and use words. “Look, I know I’m likely jumping the gun here and about to embarrass the hell out of myself . . .”
His eyes dart to my lap, then back up to my face. “Like if you came . . . because that would be hot as hell.”
“No,” I say, chuckling and then swooping in to steal another quick kiss. One that leads to more kissing, and I have to pry myself apart from him again. “I mean, this between us . . .” I puff out ragged breath after ragged breath, still holding onto him for dear life. “I like you . . .” Jesus Christ, I can’t form an actual coherent thought.
He grins now. “I like you too.” He rocks his hard dick unapologetically against mine, making me moan. “A lot.”
When I finally regain my wits, I press a firm kiss against his lips and then shake my head. “I mean I really like you. Like I can see something real between us.”
He gives a sobering nod. “But . . .”