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“Dicks. Do you think they’ve found them yet?”

He shrugged lightly, setting down the comb and reaching for the box of gloves. “Dunno. I’m not going back in until they’re gone, though.”

I nodded, growing a little distracted as I watched him snap on a pair of black latex gloves and flex his long fingers to get them comfortable.

“You look really hot in those,” I heard myself blurt, immediately blushing and rubbing my hot cheek as he paused and looked at me in the mirror. “I mean… um, yeah. I don’t—You just do.”

A grin slowly spread over his face. He set his gloved hands on my shoulders and squeezed, then leaned down to nuzzle my cheek. “Good to know.”

What? What did that mean? My cock twitched, my gut bottoming out with nervous excitement.

He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek before straightening and reaching for the comb and clips to section my hair.

Swallowing, still a little flustered and embarrassed that I’d admitted that, I nodded at his reflection, specifically the creamer stains on his shorts and leg. “Uh, don’t you need to go shower first?”

He smirked at me in the mirror. “How about we shower together when you rinse your hair, handsome?”

My cock jerked again, starting to fill. I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Although, I kind of wanted him to jerk me off while he was wearing those gloves.

“’Kay,” I croaked.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The F and B Situation

Rafe

Despite rarely venturing out of my office at work, I couldn’t escape the buzz of gossipy excitement that permeated the air for the rest of the week.

I’d pieced together—from Dan, Larkin, Holt and Taylor—that Frank and Beans had made a daring escape from the building through the air vents. They’d still taken the time to break into Holt’s office upstairs and spray-paint an extremely long phallus on the wall, but the tandem bike they rode to work was gone from the parking lot. Holt had already had the locks changed, and the daytime security guard upstairs had been told not to let them into the building, but they hadn’t been seen since.

I was relieved. I hadn’t interacted with them much, but I was mainly relieved because Dan didn’t have to worry anymore. In fact, none of the other wrestlers seemed particularly sad to see the back of them. Holt was stressed because he was suddenly down his double act, and Larkin had told me that he was now ramping up his search to find some new wrestlers for Goliaths.

As long as none of them were into stealing heads, I didn’t much care.

Every time I thought about them over the following days, I got a weird spark of recognition that I couldn’t place. Eventually though, everything got back to normal as the wrestlers trained for the upcoming shows and Larkin stopped eagerly asking me to retell the story of finding Frank and Beans with Dan’s head. He particularly liked hearing the part where I threw a donut.

Corey sent Dan a big fruit basket for his troubles. Holt gave him a crate of champagne and a huge bouquet of flowers to apologise. He also had an extravagant charcuterie platter delivered to his house, and we spent the evening eating meat and cheese and watching a rom com, because Dan had admitted that he loved them.

We’d ‘hung out’ every night this week, even Thursday and Friday night, when we got back late after the show. He hadn’t stayed over again. I’d wanted him to, but I’d been too nervous to ask.

I was getting worryingly accustomed to sex with Dan. And hanging out with Dan. And just seeing Dan. I tended to latch on to things I knew liked and want to do or watch or eat them over and over again, and I was starting to worry that I was latching on to him.

He’d hate that. I knew he would. This was just supposed to be fun. No feelings outside of friendship and mutual attraction. Nothing deeper. Dan didn’t do deeper than that.

Even though he acted like it was deeper than that sometimes. Which confused me.

He was constantly touching and kissing me when we weren’t having sex. Hugging me from behind, stroking the back of my head, resting his hand on my thigh and tugging me against him when we watched TV. He kissed me the moment he arrived at my place after work, or I went to his. He started coming over earlier and staying for longer and longer after we were done having sex, before he would finally—almost reluctantly, it seemed—get up to dress. Then he’d kiss me for a long time before actually leaving, always dropping that final sweet kiss on my cheek.

I didn’t think he noticed that to anyone looking in from the outside, it would seem like we were dating.

But I didn’t say it. Because I knew we weren’t. And part of me was scared that if I mentioned it, even in a light and joking way, he’d get freaked out and run for the hills.

Well, run to next door and ghost me.

It pissed me off that I was scared about that. I didn’t get scared about those kinds of things. I got nervous, sure, but I didn’t shy away from confrontation.