That was another purchase of his—I now have briefs and boxers in different colors andmaterials than only plain white.
He walks me downstairs when the doorbell rings.
“Mr. Markos?” the driver asks when Chris opens the door.
He points. “Him.”
I grab my overcoat and pull it on. “Wish me luck.” Chris steps back when I step in to kiss him, and I immediately realize my mistake.
He winks at me, though, so I know I’m forgiven the slip this time.
We don’t know who might talk, andI need to practice this.
If we’re not alone behind a closed door—or even if we are, if it’s a place we might be under surveillance—we’re nothing more than friends.
Chris has promised he’ll work up a set of silent cues for us. But as the driver ferries me to Shae’s to pick her up, I know my biggest task tonight will be trying not to imagine what Chris’ O-face looks like when he fucks her.
Orimagining how I can drive a wedge between them so I can have him all to myself.
