I swallow. Is he talking about... what I think he is?
“Are you scared?” Josh whispers.
“Of a power cut? Please.”
“Of the dark, then? Of the things you can’t see.”
“No,” I whisper back, not sure why we’re whispering at all. “Are you?”
“Why would I be? I’ve got an angel on my side.”
It takes me a second to realize he means me.
“Well, I’m more of a fallen angel,” I murmur. “A corrupted one.”
“Hm. A bad angel. My favorite kind.”
His husky tone sends a shiver through me. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it refuses to budge. The darkness makes it even harder to tell what’s going on. I can’t read his face, can’t make sense of his intent. Is he playing mind games with me? Is this how he talks to everyone? He can’t possibly know the effect he has on me. I’ve done my best to keep a lid on it, right?
“You know,” Josh continues. “Iwasscared. Earlier. But not anymore.”
I can feel the weight of his stare in the dark. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“W-what were you scared of?”
“I was scared that you wouldn’t show up tonight.”
Wait, what?
I blink at him.
“Why would you care about that? We barely know each other.”
He leans closer, takes my hand out of my pocket, and guides it back to his chest. The contact sends sparks of electricity skittering over my skin.
“Then let me change that, Sebastian. Let me get to know you. Because you have to feel it, too, don’t you? This pull between us. This… energy. It’s undeniable.”
I can barely breathe. Is this a joke? A dream? Some hallucination caused by that orange punch?
Because there’s no way Josh just said that. No way this big, muscular, devilishly handsome quarterback is standing in front of me, pressing my hand to his chest, telling me he feels the same things I do. There has to be some ulterior motive.
“But you’re… I mean, you’re this big football star. Girls flock to you. Why would you…”
He shrugs. “I’m not into girls.”
The words ring in my ears.
“It’s not public knowledge. Never felt like announcing it. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
I gape at him, struggling to find words.
He guides my hand lower, over the hard planes of his abs, down the sharp V that disappears into the waistband of his shorts, along the trail of hair below his belly button.
Lower still.
Until my palm presses against the unmistakable outline of a big, hard cock straining against the fabric.
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh, and my fingers flex instinctively.
