"Yeah, he took a hit at the camp we did today and I wanted to make sure he was alright but he’s not responding."
"Is Laila?" Duncan has shared a lot with me about Crosby and the woman he’s seeing in our post-sex chats over the last few weeks.
"Good idea." He pulls his phone up to his ear but shakes his head when I hear her voicemail pick up.
"Do you want to go check on him?"
Duncan looks up at me with soft, open eyes. "Would you mind? I can come back for dinner afterwards."
"Of course," I assure him. "See if he’s alright and let me know." I shrug. "I’m here now."
"Right, that’s right. I get to come over, eat your snacks, and eat your ass whenever I want."
I shake my head and laugh. "Maybe not whenever you want but yes, basically."
"Try and stop me, Charming." He says as he stands and he orders a rideshare. When the ride is confirmed he looks up at me and I suddenly don’t want him to leave at all.
"I’ll talk to you later." I whisper.
"You’re going to think about what we did upstairs the whole time."
"Duncan, you can’t just say shit like that." Because it makes my mind turn to absolute waste.
"Try and stop me, Charming." He repeats as he grips my neck, kisses me, and pulls back just when I lean forward wanting more. "Wait up for me."
"I will."
Chapter twenty-seven
Duncan
Too sleepy for a booty call.
"Youreadytogetyour ass kicked?" I call out as I let myself into Crosby’s house. On the ride over I decided I’d get a game of Scrabble going so Crocs would be distracted and hopefully open up more.
And, fuck am I grateful for Rhys. He basically shooed me out the door and said to just touch base with him later.
For sex.
Because good fucking universe, sinking my cock into someone has never felt as good as it did with Rhys.
Stella trots over and leads me to where Crosby is laying on the sofa looking half dead. "The fuck?"
I turn on the lights in the room since the sun is setting and it doesn’t make him look any better. "Are you sick?"
"I dunno." He mumbles and this is maybe the worst I’ve seen him.
Usually my anxious friend gets antsy and twitchy, not lethargic.
He should be a little sore from the hit, not looking like a dying bridge troll.
Maybe some twerp from today gave him some gross kid disease.
Tentatively, I reach my hand out and feel around his face but I don’t think putting my palm over his nose is what I’m supposed to be doing. I move it up to his forehead. "I don’t even know what I’m feeling for. I wish Laila was here." She’s a nurse and she’d be able to treat him for whatever the fuck this is.
Crosby shoves my hand off and rubs his hands down his face.
"What’s going on?" I take a seat on the coffee table in front of him. Maybe he looks grey because my glasses are dirty. I slide them off and start to clean them with a huff of air as he sits up a little straighter.
