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Still, when the message comes, my whole attention focuses on his words. My hands are sweaty by now, and my heart rattles like a hungry rat in a cage.

[I tried putting it on several pretty twinks, but it doesn’t fit anyone.]

My shoulders sag. Oh. Does he mean he’s already hooked up with someone else in the meanwhile? I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a tattooed stud who does whatever the fuck he wants. I don’t know why I thought I was special.

But his answer fills me with righteous anger. Even more so because my bimbo brain got hung up on pretty twink for far too long. Am I really no better than this? I only meant to write to him about the shoe, but now I’m determined to make matters between us clear. My thumbs burn with fury as I type.

[Well, because it’s mine. But I rather we meet in public. I think I gave you the wrong idea and would prefer to not repeat what happened between us. It’s only fair that I let you know, but I’m glad to hear you have a steady stream of ‘pretty twinks’ to keep you busy.]

There. I hope it reads as biting instead of jealous, though I second guess myself when I read it for the third time. Too late now. I can’t edit it anymore.

The answer comes as fast as the previous one. [But only the owner of this little loafer will do.] Before I can analyze his meaning, I receive a photo of Vex giving the tip of my shoe a kiss. He’s shirtless. Of course.

I have to take a deep breath as I stare into his piercing eyes. He’s so stupidly handsome. And this photo is for my eyes only. It reminds me of his big hands all over me—

No. Stay strong, Aaron.

[I don’t know what impression I gave, and I’m not saying the evening wasn’t nice overall, but I don’t think this is a good idea. I will pick up my shoe though. It’s custom-made.]

I bite my lip and frown. Why did I tell him that? Now he’ll think I’m a shoe snob.

Even though I kind of am.

His answer isn’t what I expect. [Custom-made? Wow, am *I* the cinderfella here?]

I can’t help but smile a little. I shouldn’t be entertaining any of this. [I’m hardly a prince.]

My mouth dries as I wait, and even though he’s quick with his responses, it still feels like forever.

[That’s incorrect. I can so easily imagine you wrapped in a silk sheet as I give you a back rub. Though I probably wouldn’t stop at that.]

My cheeks flame. How did we get here?

My horny brain is suggesting is that I pull on that thread, indulge him. Let him on top of me again…

[You don’t even know me.]

There. Logic. Mastering my body with my mind.

[Then let me get to know you. I could cook lunch. And then maybe I can have something hot and long-legged for dessert?]

He thinks my legs are long?

Focus, Aaron. Focus.

This is a ploy to have sex with me. Him offering to cook doesn’t magically make this a date. He also claimed he’d give me a tattoo, and here I am, thoroughly fucked and with no ink to show for it.

Why does he even want to—

When the phone rings and I see his name on the screen, I panic and drop my cell to the floor. A passing student raises an eyebrow at the pathetic way I scramble to pick it up. Fortunately, my case is sturdy and my device isn’t broken.

“H-hi…?” I manage once I pick up the call.

“Hello, baby boy,” he says, and the smooth, sultry sound of his voice grabs me by the balls, causing me to face away from people. Just in case.

Oh. My. God.

“What will it be?” he asks when I don’t immediately find my voice. “The cantina or a date with me? I hope you’re wearing tight-fitting pants, because that’s how I imagine you right now, dashing somewhere like a gazelle on those slender legs.”