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“You know, most people at least try to hide when they’re eye-fucking someone.”
“I’m like herpes. Once you have me, there’s no turning back.” I chuckle as I walk away. “Do you hear yourself sometimes?” “All the time. I love the sound of my own voice.”
“Iusedtobeastripper.” Ford blinks at me. His mouth slowly inches open. “Come again?” “I used to be a—” “Oh no, I got that. I mean, I think I’m about to come again.” He pulls a face and reaches down between his legs. “Fuck me, that’s hot.”
Griff: So … date with Ford, huh? Orson: Dammit, Art! Ignore him. It was a date. Orson: WASN’T. I meant wasn’t. Payne: … Orson: I meant wasn’t! Fucking autocorrect. We just met up for dinner and kinks. Orson: DRINKS! Art: Oh, this is gold. Orson: You know what, I don’t need to explain myself.
“I’m glad I came this morning.” And I can’t bring myself to respond to that with anything other than the truth. “Yeah, me too.” Ford’s smile turns wicked. “I didn’t realize you cared that much about my sex life.” Of course. “Should have known that’s what you meant.” “Uh-huh. And now I can check out your ass every time you bend over without getting boned up.” My head falls back on a laugh. “Still straight, Ford.” “Still gay, Orson.”
“How does he make you feel?” Thinking of Orson, picturing his face and the way my cheeks hurt whenever we’re together, makes my entire body prickle with awareness. “Alive.”
My competency kink is in full overdrive that my florist slash stripper can talk cars with Taylor and hold his own.
“You really inviting me to touch you?” “Do you want to?” I sneer. “That’s like asking a thirsty man if he wants water.”
“You sure that thing’s gonna hold me?” I ask. “Nope.” He pops the p sound. I do a double take. “I swear, if we sink—” “Then we’ll be swimming instead of canoeing.” His hands land on my shoulders and massage gently. “Just relax and get in the death trap.”
He’s their quiet, and I’m their chaos. My grin widens as I think of us like that. Two parts working together.
But now I have another piece to fit into my life, and he’s jumped in like I’ve always been waiting for him. Like the space was open and ready for him to walk into. Nothing could compete with my love of cars. But I get the feeling Orson wouldn’t try to. And as I watch him laughing with one of the littlies, I also know … well, he wouldn’t have to.
He’s the calming breath you take before a deep dive, the first gulp of water after a long run, the low rumble of a V8 engine right before it accelerates. Everything about him has set up camp in my chest and lit a warm fire that refuses to go out. If this isn’t love, I don’t think I’ll survive the real thing. It can’t get much better than this.
