“How does it work then? Foryou?”
He almost smiles, but as his gaze darts between me and the device in his hand, the flicker of humour winks out. “I don’t always know what I want until it’s right in front of me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I say nothing as The Verve plays out and Galen blinks first.
He opens FlingIt and taps out of our message thread. The action lands him in my crowded inbox and his auburn brows creep up his forehead.
I avert my gaze, hiding from the dick pics. Then it occurs to me that maybe he’s seeing something he likes—or someone he knows—and my gaze snaps back so fast I give myself whiplash.
Galen doesn’t notice, merci mon Dieu. And he’s not in my inbox anymore. He’s on the search screen typing away, and I can’t make sense of the conflicting emotions roiling in my belly.How fucked up is it that arousal licks through me at the same time as roaring jealousy?
I want Galen in any capacity he’s prepared to want me back, a scenario I know he’d never agree to if he knew where my head is at right now. And…can’t lie, the thought of him naked in any capacity, sweat beading his pale skin, eyes hooded with pleasure, his lips curled in that soft snarl…
Fuck, it gets me hard thinking about it.
Picturing it.
Feelingit.
Then reality bites and I realise to see it I’ll have to watch someone else put that look on his face, and the fire gaining traction in my blood falls into a dank puddle.
I avert my eyes again.
Galen nudges me. “You want to see?”
“See what?”
“I found a couple of profiles that could work.”
Merde.
I steel myself and swing my gaze back. To him. Not the phone screen lighting up his face, catching every killer angle, every shade of green in his eyes.
Say something.
Me, not him. “Uh. What kind of profiles?”
“Bi couples. Like we talked about way back when.”
Truly, I can’t remember how we got to this point. Maybe I don’t even know. Motherfucking-fuck, this feels like utter madness.
Yet still, that thrum of arousal, that lick of heat, as I stare at Galen, it sparks again, and I find myself nodding. “Show me?”
Galen swipes through a few profiles.
I fixate on the images filling the screen.
Hot women.
Even hotter blokes.
Bios that imply they’re what we’re looking for. WhatGalenmight be looking for if he wasn’t babysitting me. “What would you do with these people if I wasn’t involved?”
He frowns and I realise I’ve asked the question in French.
I repeat it, and that cinch between his brows deepens.
“Why do you want to know that?”
