“Talk to you soon.”
I end the call and open the door to see Lucas there, an overnight bag over his shoulder. He’s wearing loose-fitting jeans and a white T-shirt, his signature rings and necklace in place.
“Hey, Lucas.”
“Hey.” His blond hair is hanging over his forehead, his expression somehow both tired and mischievous. “You gonna invite me in? You’re eating me alive with your eyes. You want to fuck me again, don’t you?”
I grin, zero percent surprised at anything he said. It’s so Lucas—playful and a little cocky, not letting me pretend to be anything other than what I am, which is admiring the sexy man in front of me.
“Should we do it right here?” He grabs the hem of his shirt, pretending to pull it over his head. My house is back from the road, my porch secluded, so I feel safe doing this here with him.
“Shut the fuck up and get inside.” I grab his hand and tughim in, closing and locking the door behind him.
Lucas drops his bag right there, not bothering to ask where he should put it or trying to scoot it out of the way. Maybe that should be annoying, but it’s not. Somehow, it’s endearing.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I admit, not bothering to even try to keep the words inside. Not anymore.
He startles like he didn’t expect that, his pupils flaring. “I’m glad I’m here too, Hunt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lucas
“Iwas aboutto start dinner. Sorry. I meant to get going earlier, but Des called,” Hunter says, while I take a moment to look around his house. Where in mine darker tones are predominant, Hunter’s place is all light—whites, beiges, light blues. He’s got football photos along one wall, and some of his awards, but other than that, his place is decorated the way any other house would be—vases and paintings, but with higher-end furnishings and touches. His couch is huge, L-shaped, with a TV bigger than anyone should have hanging on the wall across from it and an oversized coffee table in front of it. I imagine him sitting there, watching football, maybe with friends.
“No worries. I don’t expect you to cook for me. And that’s cool—I’m glad you and Desmond are still close.”
“He’s the best. You’ll have to meet him sometime and…” Hunter’s words trail off, and we both know why. I won’t be meeting Desmond. This isn’t a real relationship, and all that would do is make things more awkward. “Shit.”
“No worries,” I say again. “Want a blowjob?” Hopefully it will be the distraction he needs.
“No.”
“Well, shit. I’ve never been turned down before.”
“Don’t do that, Lucas. This isn’t about sex.”
My chest tightens like there’s a hand squeezing my lungs, but I do my best to ignore it. “Isn’t it, though?” What else could it ever be?
“I mean, yes, we’re having sex, but I also like spending time with you. It’s confusing and fucked up, but—”
“Shh.” I step forward and press my lips to his. I can’t do this with him, can’t hear him say shit like that and get visions in my head about what this is.
Hunter kisses me back, letting me ease him against the counter. His hands settle on my hips, one of mine on the back of his head as we make out like we’re starving for it, like it’s been a hundred years since either of us has felt lips on our own.
When I think the subject is properly changed, I pull back just enough to press my forehead to his. “So…what are we making for dinner?”
He smiles. “We?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I might as well help.”
“Salmon, rice, and broccoli.”
“Or we could order pizza?” I tease.
“No.” He presses his lips to mine, the way you do with someone you’re comfortable with, someone you’re in a relationship with, and then slips around me.
“Ugh. Fine.” I pretend to be annoyed. “You’re lucky you’re hot. That’s the only reason I put up with this healthy eating.”
