“We should fuck June again.”
I choked on my coffee, sputtering as it went down the wrong pipe. “What?” I wheezed, eyes watering.
“June,” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time. “We should hook up with her again. She was into it. We were into it.” He shrugged, the movement rippling through the muscles of his shoulders. “Why not?”
Why not? Maybe because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Maybe because the idea of watching him with June again, of being that close to him without being able to touch him the way I suddenly, desperately wanted to, sounded like exquisite torture.
But the thought of June between us again, her soft sounds, her eagerness. It wasn’t just the chance to get closer to him. I’d genuinely liked her.
“I don’t know, man,” I said, my voice strangely hoarse. “Isn’t there a rule about not going back for seconds? Keeps things from getting weird?”
“Already weird,” Xavier said with a half-smile. “Might as well get laid while we’re at it.”
“How is it already weird?”
He gave me a look that said he knew I’d been checking him out. “We fucked a girl together, now you keep staring at my abs.”
“I was not staring at your abs!” I huffed.
“Right. Anyway, your call,” Xavier said, standing up and carrying his plate to the sink. “Just thought it might be fun. And you’d get to drool over my dick again.”
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Chapter 7
June
UntitledI scanned the streetin front of Honeybee Books twice, my heart sinking with each sweep of my eyes. No motorcycles. No broad-shouldered Milo with his infectious laugh. No Xavier staring at me like he wanted to devour me. Just empty curb space where they should have been.
The absence of their bikes felt like a statement, a billboard-sized declaration that whatever had happened between us wasn’t worth repeating. Totally fine. I wasn’t here to see them anyway. I was here for... books. Obviously.
But where had they gone? It hadn’t felt like a one-night stand. It had felt like... something else. Something important. Something I couldn’t quite name but couldn’t stop thinking about either.
I pushed open the bookstore’s front door. The familiar bell jingled overhead, the sound almost mocking in its cheerfulness. The scent of paper and honey-lavender tea enveloped me.
I wandered through the aisles without any real destination, trailing my fingers along spines I wasn’t seeing, taking comfort in the texture of books quietly clicking under my fingernails. My brain kept replaying Tuesday night in vivid detail—Milo’s mouth between my thighs, Xavier’s hands in my hair, the way they’d moved together around me, inside me.
“Anything in particular you’ve been wanting?” Jamie’s voice startled me out of my sex trance, and it took me a minute to remember my bookstore script. There were only three steps: tell her I’m browsing, ask about new books, and make a comment about the weather.
“Just looking.” I cleared my throat. “Anything new in?” “Not yet, but I have a shipment of fun motorcycle club romance on the way.” Shit. She went off script. The weather comment wouldn’t make sense. “Ah,” I said, fidgeting with the sleeves of my cardigan.
Jamie gave me a knowing smile. “Those motorcycle boys haven’t been around since Tuesday, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. Tuesday. The day I’d invited them home with me.
“They’ve still been posting, though, so it’s still good for business,” Jamie continued, oblivious to my internal panic. “They’re going viral on TikTok.”
I grabbed a random book from the shelf—something with a shirtless cowboy on the cover—and headed to the register.
Jamie rang up my purchase with a curious look. “If you see those bikers, tell them they’re welcome any time.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I turned to leave, I realized I hadn’t even asked about her day or commented on the weather or done any of the small-talk rituals that neurotypical people seemed to expect. But Jamie knew I was autistic so hopefully she wouldn’t hold it against me.
As I walked home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d somehow failed a test I hadn’t known I was taking.
At least, not until I spotted the motorcycles. They were both parked in front of my house like they belonged there. My heart leapt into my throat, choking me with a mixture of disbelief and wild hope.
Xavier and Milo weren’t at the bookstore, because they were here. At my house. Waiting.
