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There are two kinds of people in the world: people who put things away as they should, and arseholes who shelve books with no respect for the alphabet.
I’d much rather stay in and enjoy some of the classic introverted activities. Like hiding.
“That would be a shame, if you stopped talking. We keep bumping into each other today,” he says in a soft drawl. “Third time’s lucky, I think. The universe is telling us something. Like, to pay attention to each other.”
“You know what else I thought?” “No…” “That you’re beautiful,” he says simply. “It more than makes up for the prickly customer service situation.”
Crazy
“Well…then I gave him a blow job.” I cough in a last-ditch desperate effort to save face, because obviously my mouth can’t be trusted with either words or proximity to Blake Sinclair. “As one does.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” he whispers. “Fuck off with that,” I gasp immediately, unbidden.
“I’ve been dying since then to know what you can do in two hours. For science.”
“Fucking hell.” I lean my head against his shoulder, reeling. Blake laughs with delight, sliding his arm around me. And then, right then, everything’s brilliant.
“It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ve come out with you because you’re interesting and funny—and hot—and I want to spend time with you. You don’t need to come back to the hotel with me… I just want you to know I’ve had a lot of fun with you tonight.”
Who knows what sorts of incantations and rituals are needed to repair aging plumbing without divine intervention?
“My roster is…” I manage between increasingly urgent kisses, “surprisingly short with the number of pretty faces. Show me what else can you do?” “Oh, plenty of things,” he growls, cool hands sliding against my belly.
“The world is making poor choices, and there’s plenty enough people with business degrees,” says Blake firmly, glancing at me. “We need more readers and artists and creatives. They’re the real visionaries. The rest is just capitalism. And if you really want, you can still take business classes.”
There’re not a lot of queer romances out there to model after, though I’ve always been one to forge my own way. But right now? Disaster.
I’m sure this is how mature people adult and make up, through legumes.
“I want you to know I’m awed by you,” Blake murmurs. “You’re someone I’m lucky to know.”
“How about Red, White & Royal Blue and Boyfriend Material? A couple of recent queer romances.”
