“We never did name the stakes.” My words are nothing more than a hushed whisper, just as confused, just as thrown off balance as the rest of me.
Those blue eyes meet mine again. Flick down to my mouth. Back up. His throat bobs in a swallow, and then a shaky exhale dances over my lips.
Why can I feel that breath?
But before I have a chance to think further on that, a pair of lips land on mine. My eyes stretch wide. Surfer Boy is kissing me.Shane Michaelsis kissing me. Holy fucking shit.
His hand wraps around my neck, slowly, tentatively, and he presses into me, slides his tongue over the seam of my lips. He’s like…reallykissing me. Asking for an invitation formore. My pulse is going so fast at this point it’s no longer a beat, just a continuous roar. I’m a cacophony of confusion. What’s his end goal here? I don’t see what he has to gain from this. The only thing I can take this to mean is…
He’s not as straight as I assumed he was.
One way to test that. I step into him, trapping him against the table, and lodging my thigh between his legs. On the next flick of his tongue, I take what he’s been hinting at. My tongue surges forward, diving in for a taste of hoppy beer and citrus. I barely hold back my groan. Not just at his taste, but at how he meets me as an equal. Hisfingers flex on me, his strong tongue rolling with mine. Eager. Not one bit of hesitation.
I abruptly break away. I study him, our heavy breaths mingling in the few inches between us. “You go around kissing men often?”
His gaze drills into mine. He shakes his head, blond curls scattering. “This would be a first.”
My thoughts ping around my brain, trying and failing to make sense of this. I had assumed he was straight. Kissing me is a mark against that. Him admitting he’s never kissed a man goes back the other way toward straight again. Am I an experiment? There’s no way he’s playing some sort of weird game, right? See who folds first?
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Surfer Boy,” I whisper, and there’s no missing the threat in my voice. Don’t challenge me to a game of gay chicken. The bisexual man doesn’t lose that game.
A fire of blue sparks to life in his eyes. In the next moment, my world is spinning and the backs of my thighs slam into the pool table. A wall of lithe, hard muscle covers every inch of me. His lips are hot on mine, and he sinks back into my mouth before my brain has caught up with my body.
His tongue rolls over mine in a seductive slide. Fuck, the man can kiss. He’s intentional with his tongue, the way he curls it around mine. Some people just thrust it in there like a jackhammer, no finesse. Surfer Boy? All finesse. It’s like a sensual dance, the way he licks into me. It has much filthier images of what he could be doing with that tongue popping into my brain.
I grab onto his ass and pull him tighter against me. I’m hard at this point, and I know he can tell. Another test. Will the maybe-not-so-straight boy go running now that thingsare getting serious? He rocks into me. And I don’t miss his hard length grinding against my thigh.
No. No, of course not. I growl, both because—I mean,hot—but also, what the fucking hell? Kissing a teammate was not on my bingo card for the night. Where is this going? Why is this happening? Then a thought trickles through my brain.
I grip his jaw and halt him. He leans back, heavy-lidded gaze catching on mine.
“How much did you have to drink?”
My gut squirms. Some really horrible thoughts are spinning through my mind right now. Like he’s had too much to drink, doesn’t know what he’s doing, and we all know where that leads. The queer guy gets blamed for taking advantage. Pointed to as thevillain. Predator.
“Two,” he says breathlessly. Then his eyes sharpen, and his brows crash together. “I’m not drunk, Jed. I’m fully aware of what’s going on here.”
Jed.
Not Stone. Not Pebs. Fuck, not even Grumpy Wumpy.
Jed.
That single word slams into my chest. A pitch I didn’t even see coming. I don’t understand why my name falling from his lips knocks me so far off center. I let out a slow breath.Breathe it out, Jed.Slowly, my world clicks back into place.
I trace his solemn features. No smile now. He seems to be telling the truth, and I don’t remember him throwing back drinks excessively, so the two checks out. I just…it would almost be easier to believe if heweredrunk. I don’t understand how this is happening right now. All I know is with all the blood in my dick I can’t think straight. I need air, space.
“We’re leaving.”
I turn and make for the bar to close out my tab. Michaels hurries after me silently. Once the car doors close, he opens his mouth, but I lift a hand.
“No words. Not right now.”
His mouth snaps shut, and he pretends to zip his lips—because of course Surfer Boy does.
I need to take this ride to let my blood cool. To think. It would be a lot easier to do if I weren’t so insanely attracted to the man next to me that he turns my brain to mush. From day one, I’ve worked hard to suppress my attraction. He’s wearing an off-limits sign that’s so loud and so bright, it could compete with the neon lights back atCox and Company.
But is he really? Would one night be so bad?
