“Still think that’s crazy. Dude, you’ve watched every season of Game ofThrones.”
“That’s death and sex, Bas. Not freaky shit coming out of the walls atme.”
He got back to the living room to find Bas scrolling through the menu on the TV, and Drew’s eyes were drawn again to that thick line of exposed skin above Bas’s plaid pajama pants, like a fucking tractorbeam.
Christ. Tongue back in mouth, McMann. It’s astomachfor Christ’ssake.
But it wasn’t. It wasSebastian’sstomach, which made it more erotic than a thousand uncensored pornographicimages.
He nudged Bas’s shoulder with the beer, and Bas reached up blindly to grab it and drink half of it down in one go. “You lose your shit over the weirdest things,” Bas saidaffectionately.
Oh, Sebastian, if you only knew,Drew thought. But all he said was, “Whatever.”
He took a spot at the opposite end of the red sofa from Bas, pushing himself into the corner. Staying as far away from temptation as possible seemed like a wiseidea.
“How about thisone?”
“Man in the High Castle?” Drew made the mistake of glancing at Bas and noticed a little droplet of beer clinging to the stubble just above his top lip.Fuck. He wanted to taste that droplet more than he wanted his nextbreath.
He forced himself to look away. “Yeah. Uh. Sounds great.” He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be paying much attention to the show anyway. He settled into the cushion, curled his long legs up, and held his beer in front of him like a shield against impulsivedecisions.
Bas settled back into the cushion, propped his feet up on the table, and glanced at Drew. “There a reason why you’re all curled up there?” He sniffed his armpit. “I’ve showeredtoday.”
Drew rolled his eyes. “I’m goodhere.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Bas grabbed Drew’s ankle, yanking him until their hips were side by side. “How can I steal your gross beer from all the way overthere?”
Drew sighed as he propped his feet up on the table by Sebastian’s, and tried,tried, with every ounce of will he could muster, to focus on the TV despite the way his best friend’s body was throwing off heat just inchesaway.
Then Bas reached down and scratched at his own thigh, and Drew’s concentration snapped. He watched those long fingers brushing back and forth across Bas’s flannel-covered leg and had to swallow against the desire clogging his throat. Had Bas always smelled that good? Was he wearing some newcologne?
For years - fucking decades - they’d spent hours together with no tension in the air. They’d roughhoused and wrestled, gone swimming half-naked, and Drew had been fine.Fine. Because the line between reality and fantasy, between friendship and sex, had been clearlydefined.
One stupid kiss in October, a couple of flirtatious looks Drew had probably misinterpreted, and one apparent jealous fit on Sebastian’s part, and suddenly when the guy scratched his own fully-covered leg, Drew could feel himself flushing from head tofoot.
He forced his eyes back to the television and locked every muscle in his body inplace.
Bas casually reached over and grabbed the beer from Drew’s hand, took a sip, and then shuddered. “Oh, yuck. I remember why I hate thisstuff.”
Drew huffed, refusing to turn his head. Bas put the bottle back in Drew’s hand, and Drew couldn’t help but think of Bas’s mouth on the rim of the bottle, just like… justlike…
He cleared his throat loudly. “I haven’t been here in weeks, so who were you buying the Nitrofor?”
“Oh.” Bas settled more firmly into the couch, and his left knee slid to the side, bumping Drew’s. “Just force of habit, I guess. When I get some for me, I always get some for you. Just like I buy that disgusting olive hummus youlike.”
Drew breathed in slowly, calmly, trying to still the butterflies that rocketed around his stomach at the throwaway comment. They were fixtures in each other’s lives. Best friends. Buying beer was not romantic. Olive hummus was not a declaration oflove.
Sitting here like this was fucking torture. So what the hell was he supposed todo?
Drew’s phone chimed on the coffee table with a text message.Thank you, sweet babyJesus.
He could have leaned forward and gotten it, but instead he made a show of putting his feet down on the soft area rug and standing up to grab it, pacing several feet away as he checked thescreen.
“That your mom? Say hi from me,” Bas said, eyes on the TV. He was well used to Mary-Alice McMann’s constant need to check in with herson.
But it wasn’t Drew’smother.
[Hey, Drew. Thanks for your email! I was wondering if you were free Saturday night? We could do dinner? —Mark]
