I sit in the cushioned chair that matches the sofa and face the TV.
“I like Adventure Time, too,” I blurt out because I’m trying to make conversation.
“That’s cool.”
My face fills with heat.
I’m making a fool out of myself.
Why did I even set out to do this? I would leave, but I’ve already put myself in this awkward-ass position, so I might as well see it through. I just have to finish my lunch, and then I’ll have a great reason to go back to my room and try to get him out of my head while really wanting to jerk off thinking about him again.
There’s silence before he turns and asks, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
I make eye contact with him for the first time since I’ve come out of my room, and I blush.
Goddammit.
He must know. He must see right through me.
He oozes masculinity and sex, and I’m not even sure if it has anything to do with him or if I’m just so fucking horny right now, but it bothers the fuck out of me how affected I am.
“I don’t know. You seem a little tense. Like you’re stressed about something.”
“I’m kind of stressed about everything, all the time.”
He smirks, and I have to shift my gaze away from him, because why the fuck does that have to be so adorable?
“Just some stuff I’m working on right now,” I clarify.
“Yeah. Jordan told me you’re a graphic designer. That’s cool. Must be nice being able to have a job working from home.”
“Yeah. It has it’s pluses and minuses. Pluses being working from home. Minuses being that I have to motivate myself to do everything so I don’t procrastinate.”
“You don’t strike me as the procrastinating type.”
“No. I guess not. I mean, I feel like I am all the time, but I’m pretty disciplined with it. I have to be. I didn’t get here by slacking off. I guess you didn’t either, Mr. Big Wig Engineer.”
“Yeah. Not so much. You know, you seem kind of nice when you’re not being anal about shit.”
As soon as the word “anal” escapes his lips, my dick hardens in my shorts.
Fuck.
“About that, I’m sorry. I’m not used to being around someone other than Jordan. And I’m kind of a clean freak, so I knew it was going to bother me a little already.”
My gaze drifts to his bowl, and as soon as he notices, he hops up. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
He grabs the bowl and the wrapper for the Pop Tart he’d set beside him.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, but I’m kind of charmed as he takes his stuff into the kitchen. He tosses the wrapper in the trash and rinses his bowl in the sink before placing it in the dishwasher.
Such a simple act sets me at ease.
That was incredibly considerate. And adorable.
As he heads back into the living room, I tell him, “You really didn’t have to do that.”
