“Bryce,” Tad says.
He walks a few feet ahead of us. Hestops and turns so that I can see that impressive definition in his abs. Iimagine he still hasn’t thrown on a shirt because he wants to remind us of howfucking gorgeous he is.
He looks me in the eyes for whatfeels like the first time since I started this gig.
“I think we should have a meetingin my room real quick,” he says. “Chat about how to orchestrate this whole thing,you know?”
It’s not a bad idea, butconsidering how much he’s been avoiding me, I’m surprised he suggested it. He’sup to something.
I turn to Darren, who appears disappointed.We both had an idea of where the night was heading, and Tad’s ruined thoseplans. But again, I remind myself it’s not like we’re in any hurry to fuck. We’llbe around each other plenty.
We swing by Darren’s room beforeheading to Tad’s. He opens the door and waves me in.
He’s in a stunning penthouse. Myeyes are drawn to the wall-length windows that cover two walls, overlooking theDallas skyline.
A three-paneled artwork of a horsehangs on the wall behind a sofa adjacent to the window. The various artaccessories, sculptures, and busts on stands around the room are reminders thatit was designed for someone of Tad’s social status. Who would have thought thatjust three months after working out of a hole-in-the-wall in North Carolinathat I’d be in a fancy penthouse in Texas?
“Damn,” I say.
“It’s nice, right?” he says in asconceited of a way as I imagine a guy like him is capable of. “I was staying atthis Ritz-Carlton when I first signed with the Cowboys. Was planning on gettinga condo a few blocks away, but the hotel made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.Works out great now that we can just get you a room in the building.”
He leads me to a sofa in front of thefarthest window. With a wave, he urges me to sit. He opens a set of Frenchdoors on the wall adjacent of the sofa. A massive California King takes up mostof the room, though it still has more than enough room to prevent its occupantfrom feeling confined. Tad pulls down his sweat pants, revealing a bubble buttthat, despite my feelings about him, makes my dick twitch. I can’t help buthate that a dick like him can have that effect on me.
He rounds the corner to what Iassume is the bathroom and calls out, “So where you from, Bryce?”
“Kansas. Born and raised.”
“Oh, really? What part?”
“Forty minutes north of Topeka.”
He returns, a pair of pinstripedboxers blocking my view of the part I enjoyed so much and the part I’m nowincredibly curious to see. I figured he was heading into the bathroom to getdressed, but clearly I was mistaken. And by the way he’s looking atme—something predatory in his gaze—I can’t help but feel like this is a trap. PerhapsI’m misreading his intentions, though. How would he be confident this wouldeven work? I haven’t given him any reason to think I’m gay. And I rarely havepeople suspect…unless of course I’m as obvious with my interest as I have beenwith Darren.
He heads to a bar on the wallbeside the door to his room. “Cocktail?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“What’ll you have? Let me guess. Rumand Coke?”
“That’ll be fine.”
He smirks and fixes my drink andthen a vodka Sprite for himself. “I have a knack for figuring people out,” hesays.
Another conceited comment.
He hands me my drink, heads aroundthe coffee table in front of the sofa, and sits on a loveseat on the otherside. He stretches out and spreads his legs.
His dick’s length is visible inhis boxers. What kind of cruel universe do we live in that it gives some asslike him a fucking nice penis on top of everything else? But Tad’s life isassurance that there is no justice in the universe. Just power and prestige forthose with connections. And I suppose, considering everything that’s happenedthese past few months, I’ve learned that there’s no such thing as fair.
He leans back, his light blondhappy trail shifting with his abs’ movement. It’s like he’s putting on a showfor me.
“You said you wanted to talk aboutthis arrangement,” I say. “Did you have questions? Or anything in particularyou wanted me to do while you’re here?” I’m determined to keep thisprofessional.
“I just figured that we should getto know each other a little better if you’re going to be hanging around hereall the time. No reason we can’t make the best of the situation.”
While it sounds innocent enough,I’m confident he has an ulterior motive. And the look he’s giving me assures methat my gut instinct is probably correct.
“Like Roeder said,” I say, “I’lldo my best to keep out of your way. I’m not here to mess up your life.”
