That brilliant grin lit his eyes again, and fuck, when would it stop giving me whiplash?
“Watch out!”
The words reached my ears too late. Ice-cold wetness exploded all over my chest.
I stared down to see my entire front soaked and the incriminating paper cup on the floor, now emptied of soda. The sweet smell of Coke flooded my nose a second later, followed by the urge to run screaming. The stickiness already began to set in—on my hair, splattered across my cheeks, soaking my fucking shirt, and dripping down the front of my pants. Gray slacks didn’t seem like the best choice now, because the stain made it look like I’d pissed myself.
“Order for Cay,” someone called out from the counter.
Fuck.
Cay stared at me wide-eyed as if waiting for a response. I still stood there frozen in shock, and the asshole who’d spilled snagged his cup from the ground, murmuring a quick apology before jetting out the door. A second later, the guy behind the counter was shuffling my way with a mop.
“You okay?” the guy asked, which snapped me out of my shock.
Riding the L like this was going to be hell. Already, the sticky chill was beginning to set in, my clothes glued to myskin in a way that made me crawl. Of course this would happen on the one chance I got on lunch with Cay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I forced out, accepting the wad of napkins the guy pressed into my hand before he set to clean the mess.
A warm hand settled on my shoulder, and I looked up to Cay’s face, right near mine.
“My place is five minutes from here,” he said. “You can borrow my clothes, wash yours, whatever.”
“Please,” I said. “I’m about to tear these off right here.”
Cay lifted the bag of our food in his other hand before giving my shoulder a slight push in the direction of the door.
“That all it takes to get you out of your clothes?” he said with a wink before he took the lead.
Those words went straight to my cock.
I was so fucked.
Chapter Eight
Cay
Thank fuck, yesterday had been my cleaning day. And only because I stained my sheets with lube and the rug had popcorn in it. Well, okay, and because Elena threatened to hide my favorite mug if I wouldn’t. She’d taken Jen to some concert in NYC for their anniversary. I was happy for them and even more for myself for not having to witness the inevitable fuckfest through the wall. That also meant that the apartment was all mine for the weekend.
“The bathroom is here.” I led Beck through the living room until I realized he wasn’t following me. His gaze locked on the movie collection that took the floor-to-ceiling shelf, with box sets and singles ordered by genre anddate of release. I knew ’cause I’d been the one to organize it. “Let’s get you undressed.” I tugged at the cuff of his sleeve.
His legs moved first before his eyes unglued from the display. “What?”
“Get your dirty clothes washed.” I pulled him into the bathroom and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, continuing lower with hurried movements. The sooner I took it off him, the quicker he’d have his clothes cleaned and could go home. Which was what he wanted.
Beck gripped my wrists, and I froze, excitement flowing through me. His strong hands held me in place, but I was sure I could break the hold.
I didn’t want to. What if he used his leverage and pinned me against the wall? What if he held me there with my arms above my head, our lips inches apart?
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and realized he gripped me because I’d been undressing him like a horny teen. Except I wasn’t. It wasn’t sexual.
Back in college, I had helped my roommate undress many times, especially when he’d been drunk. He’d actually encouraged it, and I hadn’t minded it either. We remained friends to this day, and he’d even invited me to his wedding last year. He and Chad had thrown an amazing party.
Oh shit.I looked down Beck’s chest to a trail of hair leading to his slacks. My heart beat fast, pumping blood to my cheeks but rerouting quickly to fill my cock. Okay,this time my reaction was nowhere near innocent. I blamed all the Superman porn I’d watched. And Beck’s grip on my wrists…
“What are you doing?” Beck’s voice was a low rasp.
I lifted my gaze from the valley between his pecs to his face. “Just trying to get this to the washer.”
Beck’s face was as flustered as mine felt. Was he mad?
