In case it’s not clear, I’m what’s to come. Very soon.
I’m breathing hard. My thighs are shaking. I think about what he felt like, pressed up against me in bed. What he’d feel like, stretching me open.
I only have a second to imagine the burn before my dick shoots off unexpectedly. I bite my lip to keep from shouting. He can’t hear. This is so inappropriate. Friends. That’s all we are, and we’re good friends. I can’t ruin it because I’m stressed and exhausted and horny.
But God, it feels good. I ride out the shockwaves and the spasms and wonder if Gordo makes any noise when he comes and then tell myself I don’t get to wonder that because I’ve already crossed a line.
I clean up and fumble my way back to bed, making sure to keep the lights out. Gordo’s still snoring softly. Slowly—so very slowly—I slide in next to him. Well, sort of next to him. There’s no one between us, so we’re technically next to each other. But I roll to face away from him and basically cling to the edge of the giant mattress like a life raft so as to put as much space between us as humanly possible.
I nearly jump out of my skin when Gordo says, “You okay?”
I definitely have to wait until my heart gets out of my throat before I can answer. “Yeah fine. Getting a drink of water. It’s dry in here. Desert. You know.”
My pulse pounds while I wait for him to say something else. Anything. “You took a long time,” or “Why didn’t you get me a drink too?” or “Sure didn’t sound like you were getting water. It sounded like you were getting off.”
But he remains blessedly silent.
I will live to wank another day. But not about Gordo. That can never happen again.
Just as I’m about to relax and accept that he really is asleep, he says, “Piña Colada, you’re the prettiest girl.”
That’s good enough for me.
6
I wake up relaxed and refreshed in a way I haven’t in weeks or possibly even months. Then I remember my hand on my dick and Gordo’s name on my tongue and shame creeps in like a hangover.
Fuck.
I roll, and he’s got his back to me, and that’s a relief at least.
Except we’re supposed to be having breakfast with Jake and Elias this morning.
Double fuck.
And I still have no clean clothes.
Triple—well, you get the idea.
Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed. My stomach growls. I haven’t had anything to eat since the plane last night. They served salmon with this orzo salad that was awesome, but it came in teeny-weeny-sized airplane servings, and so now I am a very hungry hippo.
At least if we meet up with Jake and Elias, there will be food.
The shower is heavenly. I wonder if Gordo would be opposed to getting one of these rainfall showerheads at our place. Of course, that question leads to me wondering what Gordo looks like in the shower, and I promised myself that my extra-curricular activities last night were a one-night-only deal, so no, we won’t be talking about showers any time soon.
I feel slightly more human as I get dried off. Putting my clothes back on doesn’t sound fun, but at least I came from work yesterday, so what I have is appropriate to wear for the first day of the retreat.
Gordo, though . . .
I come out of the bathroom and he’s over at the suite’s little coffee station, trying to pour an espresso into the smallest paper cup I have ever seen.
He’s also back in his Value Village chic look from yesterday.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
The question rips itself out of my mouth before I can stop it. It sounds judgey and I don’t mean it to. Normally, I don’t care what Gordo wears. He is very much his own man, and the various geckos, turtles, axolotls, and snakes that he’s saved over his lifetime are definitely indifferent to his wardrobe choices.
He runs a hand down the front of his ancient T-shirt. “Yeah.”
In for a penny . . . “Did you pack literally anything else?”
He glances at the rhinestone bag. “My bathing suit.”
I can’t help myself. My post-orgasm bliss evaporates in the face of the knowledge that Gordo, poor, kind, sweet Gordo, has packed literally nothing appropriate to wear on a three-day corporate event.
“We’re supposed to be having breakfast with Jake and—”
“Jake the Jerk,” he says, laughing softly to himself.
“Yes, Jake the Jerk. And Emu Elias. We’re invited to breakfast with them in fifteen minutes, and you’re telling me you didn’t even pack a pair of pants? What about dinner? What about meeting my boss?”
He shrugs. “We’re on vacation.”
“It’s a working vacation, Gordo.” I bury my fingers in my hair as I pace the room.
“Well, I can buy something.”
“You’re going to have to. There are expectations. This is a corporate retreat.”
Gordo lifts his tiny coffee to his lips and blows over the top. He takes a sip and says, “I’m not a very corporate kind of guy.”
“You’re also not my boyfriend,” I say. “But I thought you could play along and follow simple instructions for a few days.”
His face scrunches up. “You didn’t say anything about what I was supposed to wear.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
Gordo looks positively devastated. “I’m sorry, Bailey.”
Breakfast is clearly off the table. I am being an ass and I don’t know how to stop. I don’t have the bandwidth to be Gordo’s babysitter while we’re here, not on top of everything else.
I sigh. “I have to go to the first session. You’ll be okay today? There’s the casinos. A few weird-ass museums. I’ll be back later this afternoon, and we can hang out, okay?”
He nods. He looks like he’s going to crawl back into bed and hide from the world all day.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“I’ll find some better clothes,” he says.
“It doesn’t matter. Be yourself. I shouldn’t care what you wear.”
He watches me carefully before he says, “But Jake the Jerk will care.”
I think of Emu Elias in his skinny pants and polished loafers. He’s exactly the kind of guy I’d picture Jake with.
“Yes, Jake will care.”
Gordo nods, then he crosses the room and folds me into a big hug. I’m surprised by how much I need the contact. I should feel awkward after last night and about the fit I just threw, but instead I bury my nose into his chest and breathe in the cotton scent of him.
“I’ll do better this afternoon,” he says.
Oh, there it is. Now I feel like shit. But we can stand here all day and apologize some more, or we can move on. I give him one more squeeze and head off to my meetings.
Which are a disaster. They start with Jake getting in front of me as I walk into the kick-off speech from our new CEO.
“I thought we were having breakfast.”
I make up a lie about Gordo and I sleeping in. He looks like he’s going to push the issue, but the talk gets called to order.
Next are ice breakers. I hate ice breakers. I already know the people I work with. I have no desire to get to know the guys from the other company. They’re all like Jake by the looks of it. Slick hair, custom suits. They high five each other whenever their region or a specific campaign gets mentioned.