Page 93 of The Play

“I was kinda thinking though, the worst retribution for him would be to spout all this crazy shit that turns out to be wrong—and then nobody ever listens to him again,” Deacon said thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” Grant agreed. Closing his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. “You seemed like you had a good practice today?”

“You watched?”

“I thought we established that I watch you and you know I watch you. You think that was going to change, once we . . .uh . . .” Grant hesitated. “Slept together?”

Except it had been so much more than sleeping together.

He knew it, and Deacon probably knew it too, but it was still hard to vocalize it.

Now that we’ve finally acknowledged that we’re wildly in love? Now that we’re going to be together, hopefully forever?

“I thought I felt your eyes on me, but yeah, knew you had a busy day. Wasn’t sure if I was just imagining it,” Deacon said.

“You weren’t.” After Cheryl had left, he’d wandered over to the bank of windows once, twice, probably at least five times. Enough times that Darcy had even said something.

“I’m looking forward to tomorrow night,” Deacon said into the silence.

“Wish it was tonight,” Grant said, chuckling low in his throat. Because yes, he was tired. Yes, he had this headache from hell. And he still wanted Deacon. Just hearing his voice, low and intent and intense, made him crave the man all over again.

“Why do you think I called?” Deacon said. Sounding frustrated, for the first time. “I thought I’d just collapse into bed and fall asleep, but somehow one night with you has conditioned me to want it—want you—every night.”

Every night echoed in Grant’s head, and it fit so nicely, so fucking perfectly, right next to his own thought of, now we’re going to be together, hopefully forever.

“Maybe just because we wanted to for so long and didn’t . . .”

“No,” Deacon said.

“I’d suggest you could come here, but it’s late, and we do need sleep, and I’m not sure we’d sleep if we ended up in the same bed,” Grant said.

He wouldn’t want to, that was for sure.

“Tomorrow night,” Deacon said, soothingly. “But for now, this is enough.”

Was it though? Grant could still feel the echo of his touch on his skin, lighting him up. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep as easily as he’d believed he would, either.

“I don’t know about that.”

“No?” Deacon’s voice had gone even rougher. “Then how about this . . .you wearing one of those fancy suits of yours?”

Grant swallowed hard. “Yes. But no jacket. No tie.”

“Too bad, because I like the ties,” Deacon said.

“You do?” Grant had never imagined that ties could be a sexy accessory, but Deacon made them sound so different.

“We’ll save that one for later. Unbutton your shirt. Slowly. One button at a time.”

“Why?”

“Because even thinking about you naked makes me hard as a rock.” Deacon’s voice was hushed and intimate.

Shot a spear of fierce arousal right down his spine.

“Okay,” Grant said. He’d never had phone sex before, but if Deacon wanted to, wanted to coax an orgasm out of him this way, paving the way to Grant sleeping like a baby after, then who was he to argue? He placed his phone on the arm of the chair, setting it on speaker.

With one hand, he began to thumb open the buttons on his shirt, thinking the whole time, every time his fingers accidentally brushed his skin, that it was Deacon doing it. Deacon’s hands. Big and rough and so, so good.

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