But from Matty, the sentiment is actually kind of nice for some reason.
“That was years ago,” I say, dismissing it.
“It doesn’t matter if it was decades ago,” he insists. “Something like that has to seriously shake your ability to trust other people.”
If he thinks that shook my trust, wait until he hears about the rest of my life. “So what’s your Milo story?” I ask, changing subjects.
I’m not asking because I’m curious, although I am. I’m asking because I could use a reminder that he’s in love with someone else.
It might help chase these other confusing thoughts out of my head.
“Milo and I started dating around that age, too. Twenty-one. It was nice. We moved in together a year later, and then the relationship just kind of fell apart. Fell apart like random first relationship drama, not like he stole my identity.”
I raise an eyebrow.
Matty sighs and launches into the rest of the story. “I was maniacally jealous. I’d never had a boyfriend before, or barely even friends for that matter, and when he went to hang with friends, I kind of freaked out like a desperate person.” He shudders. “He hated feeling tied down and then made out with some other guy at a party, which I discovered through an Instagram post. It was very ugly, but also six years ago, so...”
I just want to hear it to be sure. “And you’ve loved him the whole time since?”
Matty shrugs. “Pretty much.”
A soft smile plays on his lips. I swallow down the jealousy I get from hearing him talk about Milo, then work to ignore how nice and firm his slim biceps look, like I should touch them.
My eyes find their way to his, and our gazes lock.
I swallow. “I hope you get your guy.”
He blinks and looks away. “Yeah, Stone. Me, too.”
* * *
Three nights later, I meet Billie for a beer. She has to lure me with a game of pool and a burger, but I go.
Anything’s better than sitting around another night, annoyed that I want Matty to text me or some bullshit and then grinning like a kid when he does. I’m very comfortable taking care of myself all by myself, but this has thrown me.
I try to push him out of mind, but then I end up thinking about him and jerking off again.
There’s just something about his body and the way he holds himself, the way he moves. My one time hooking up with a man in the threesome with my ex, the guy had been big and muscly and hairy. I’d liked it more than I expected, especially the way he sucked my cock, all rough and greedy.
But I didn’t spend the days after thinking about his body like I keep thinking about Matty. I didn’t wake up with visions of his firm ass or catch myself wondering what sounds he’d make if I dragged my tongue up his thigh.
And I definitely didn’t obsess over the face he made when he came. But every time I close my eyes and think about Matty, it’s that face I wonder about.
I could definitely earn some good orgasm-faces out of the guy, if I got the chance.
“Stoney baloney,” Billie calls from the bar. “And only twenty minutes late.”
I slide onto a stool beside her. It’s Wednesday night and early enough that the dive is quiet, the only other drinkers occupied by the game on the TV in the back. “Can’t betoolate for a free beer.”
“Whatever it takes to get you talking.” Billie waves to the bartender. “How about that pitcher?” she calls out.
“Me? Talking?” I deadpan. “Doesn’t seem likely.”
Billie gives me an annoyed eye roll. Her eyes are circled by thick blue eyeliner, so it’s hard to miss. “Maybe you’ll learn to share after you get the good news.”
I take the pitcher from the bartender and start pouring before I process her words. “Good news?” I ask, looking up.
Billie grabs a glass. “I’m giving you two hours in my booth at the convention.”
