Istare at his hand like it’s a snake about to strike.
This isn’t happening. This jacked football player did not just hit on me. Did he?
I’m not gay. Not even a little. I’ve never looked at a guy and thought, yeah, I’d hit that. Never been curious. Never thought about a dick that wasn’t mine. Girls are my thing. Always have been. Tits, ass, pussy, that’s what gets me going.
But the way Brock’s looking at me with those dark eyes, so direct and blunt about what he wants, throws me off. My dick stirs in my jeans, and I don’t know what the fuck that means.
It has to be because I’m so pent up. Three weeks without sex, and a stiff breeze could probably get me hard. That’s the only explanation. Not that I’m actually attracted to him. No way.
And yet I don’t pull back.
I don’t recoil in disgust or tell him to fuck off.
Instead, I take his hand and say, trying to sound as masculine as possible, “Calvin.”
His grip is strong, stronger than mine. Calloused palms, probably from throwing a ball around, rough and warm againstmy skin. He holds my hand a beat too long, and the heat spreads up my arm.
“So, Calvin,” he says, letting go. “What do you say?”
“I’m not gay.”
“Never said you were.” He leans in closer, voice dropping under the noise of the bar. “But three weeks is a long time to go without someone touching your dick, isn’t it? I could help with that.” He glances over at Roxy, who’s laughing at a table full of girls. “Without her ever finding out.”
“I’m good, thanks.” I grab a glass and polish it even though it’s already spotless.
“Your call.” He straightens up, finishing the last of his beer. “I’m hitting the men’s room in about five minutes.” He sets the empty bottle down with a thud, never breaking eye contact. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding. My skin still tingles where he touched me. I watch him cut through the crowd, those broad shoulders making people step aside, heading back to his team.
His teammates are getting rowdier by the minute. Shouting, laughing, slamming the table. One of them spots Brock and points at him, yelling about the game-winning play before pulling him into a headlock. Brock grins, shoves him off, and they all burst out laughing.
Would they be so quick to hug him if they knew what he’d just offered me?
I turn back to the bar, trying to focus. Someone waves a twenty at me. I grab a bottle of vodka and pour it into a glass. Add… what? What did they order again?
“Uh, vodka cranberry,” the girl says, a little annoyed.
“Right. Sorry.” I grab the cranberry juice, finish the drink, and slide it over with a forced smile. My hands are shaking. What the fuck is happening to me?
I’ve had guys hit on me before. It comes with the job. Some drunk dude slurring compliments, trying to grab my ass. Easy to shut down. I just say, sorry, not interested, and that’s it. It never bothered me. Never made me feel anything.
But Brock wasn’t drunk. He looked me straight in the eye and told me exactly what he wanted. Maybe that’s what throws me. He’s not the type of guy I ever expected to look at me like that. The jock. The athlete. The guy who could have all the pussy he wants. He could walk out of here with whoever he picks. Roxy would drop her panties for him in a second. And yet he’s interested in me.
The thought of him in the bathroom, waiting for me…
My dick is fully hard now, pressing against my jeans. This is a problem. I can’t work like this.
I duck behind the bar, pretending to grab something from the lower shelf, but really I’m adjusting the rigid pole in my pants. The zipper digs into my flesh, and I bite back a groan.
You’re not gay, Calvin.
It’s the dry spell. That’s all. Any kind of attention gets you going when you’re this backed up.
“Blondie wants another,” Roxy says, stepping behind the bar beside me. “And she asked if you’re single.”
“Tell her no thanks.” I stand up and grab a glass. “She’s barking up the wrong tree tonight.”
“Damn, you look flushed.” Roxy grins. “You sure you’re not cracking?”
