I startle and slam the notebook closed, my heart running wild. “Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you were coming here for Christmas.”
“Oh. Um, I don’t know what my plans are. I lost my job a couple of days ago. I’m kind of taking it one day at a time right now.”
“You lost your job? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It happened right before Jericho came back.” I fill her in on the details while trailing my hand along the cover of the red notebook. I’m probably not making any sense, distracted as I am by his drawings. “Hey, Mom. Can we talk later? I’m just kinda… I need to go.”
“Okay, fine. I love you!”
“You too.”
We hang up and I set the phone aside. My mind is still spinning. I want to find Jericho, but I also want to look at more of his sketches. A quick glance outside tells me Jericho is no where to be seen. The lights are on inside the house, but I don’t want to go in there. I want to see more of his art.
Giving in, I flip through the pages again, becoming immediately overwhelmed by not only the detail but the raw lust in every sketch. A strange knot twists in my stomach as questions fill my mind. Who are these men, and how can Jericho draw them with such vivid detail?Jericho said he’d only slept with Foxx, but was that a lie? Was he too embarrassed or ashamed to tell me the truth?
A thin, red ribbon hangs out from the bottom, bookmarking a page in the middle. I gently tug it open and reveal the contents. My heart lurches.
“Oh my God.”
It’sme.
Jericho drewme.
I’m lying on my back, one arm tucked under my head. My jeans are open at the fly, shirt pulled up, and one hand is hidden under my boxer briefs. The tip of my cock is pressing against the fabric, and my eyes are hooded. I’m biting my lip, head thrown back in desire. It’s a position I’ve been in so many times, when I’m too horny to even remove my clothes.
I turn the page, my breath hitching when I see another sketch. This time I’m on my stomach, ass exposed as I peer over my shoulder. I’m looking right at him, at Jericho and I seem happy, the corners of my lips turned up in a private smile. He’d not only gotten my messy evening hair right, but he’d gotten the birthmark on my left thigh perfect. More oval than circle.
When had Jericho drawn this? He must have seen me naked at one point without me knowing. I mean, I guess it’s possible, with as many times Jericho stayed the night at my house. And he’s definitely seen me with my hand down my shorts. It’s just what guys do. But this? I don’t remember Jericho ever seeing me like this.
I turn the page again and am taken aback by a raw, unfinished sketch of two men in bed, their long muscled legs wrapped around each other. One looks like the beginning of me, the other… is that Jericho? It has to be. I recognize that mole on his arm. Was he drawing us together?
I flip the page, and swallow hard. Instinctively, I look around to be sure no one is seeing this because it feels way too personal. Too intimate.
Jericho is behind me, one arm wrapped around my stomach while his hand is curled around my cock. My head lays limp on his shoulder, throat exposed, veins pulsing. And I’m aroused. So fucking aroused, leaking precum from the slit. I’m completely at his mercy, and from the looks of it, I’m loving every second.
That’s when it finally hits me.
Thisis why he left.
Thisis why Jericho abandoned me all those months ago. Because he had feelings for me. Or maybe not feelings, but he was definitely having some highly erotic thoughts about me. He’d wanted me, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it, or if he could tell me.
Or maybe he did try to tell me, and I was too oblivious to hear him. My skin gets tight as shame chokes me. Is that it?DidJericho try to tell me he was attracted to me and I’d missed it? If he had… fuck, I wouldn’t blame him for leaving.
I’m such a shitty friend.
I close the notebook and slide it back under the pile of clothes, having no idea what to do. He wouldn’t like me invading his personal thoughts like this. He probably would have hidden it, if he’d had the time. Things have been so hectic, so chaotic, he probably forgot all about it.
But dammit. I won’t be able to unsee those drawings. Not for a long, long time. The way he’d touched me, the way he’d held me.
The way I’d completely given in to his pleasure.
It leaves me with a strange sense of want. But what do I want, exactly? Sex? Or Jericho?
Do IwantJericho? Or am I simply reacting to his erotic drawings? Fuck, I don’t know.
What I do know is I’ve never looked at my friend that way before. I’ve never evenconsideredit. I like women. I like their breasts and soft curves. It’s all I’ve ever known or wanted.
