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Because I can’t pretend I’m not still into him. Seeing him again last night made that impossible. Fuck, he’d looked good. Really good. All golden-boy California hotness, big and blond and sexy as fuck. With those soulful brown eyes—surprising on a blond guy. It’s an understated sexiness, though. Jamie Canning never flaunted his looks in all the time I’d known him. Sometimes I think he’s not even aware of how goddamn attractive he is.
I’d rather star in my own solo act right here, with my favorite pair of brown eyes as the only audience.
I have my best friend back, at least for the next six weeks.
Ryan Wesley had given me the best BJ of my life.
“Your tongue ring…” His voice is hoarse with excitement. “I want to feel it on my cock.”
I mentioned I’m a masochist, right? It’s the only explanation for why I curl my hand around the back of his neck and tug him toward me again.
SAME.
I want him more than anything in the goddamn world.
Not even then. Earlier, I told him he’d acted like a douchecanoe. But that’s crap. I’m the one who’s in love with my best friend and pretending I’m not.
But the only thing quaking is me.
ME.
This guy…goddamn it, this guy. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Canning. The way I crave Canning.
Four years’ worth of meaningless sexual encounters flash through my head as I break the kiss and slide down his body again. All those guys I hooked up with in the past…they’re a blur. They’re faceless. Sometimes they were faceless even when I was with them. I got off, they got off, but I wasn’t fully present. I always held something back from them.
“Want you,” I whisper. Lately, those two words define me. “Have me,” he says.
Jamie Canning was my first crush and my first love. But he was never mine to have.
“Loved you every summer since I was thirteen years old. Love you even more now.”
he’s waiting there to rub my shoulders, or shove food down my throat, or screw me until I can’t see straight.
