Page 13 of Unspoken Rules

This crush on my best friend’s father needs to end. It was okay when I was a teenager—because who doesn’t have a crush on an adult at that age?—but now? It’s not. Especially after what happened in Astoria.

I open my eyes and regret it.

My cock twitches when I spot him leaning over his desk, typing something on the keyboard. The curve of his body, the way his muscles move, the round shape of his ass…

I’d be the happiest man alive if that towel fell to the floor right about now.

My cock grows firm and I’m not even sorry for it.

I should be, but I’m not.

Cole Harper is at the top of every woman’s hall pass, and he knows it. He knows how attractive he is, but he doesn’t let it get to his head. That’s what I admire most about Cole. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him—good or bad, it doesn’t matter. He is who he is, and he isn’t changing for a single person. He’s carefree, living his life the way he wants and without regrets. I know this about him, yet still have days when I take what happened between us personally. I wish I could be more like him; let things roll off my shoulders and not carry them around. I’d be so much happier. More relaxed.

I shouldn’t be staring. I shouldn’t want my best friend’s dad, but I swear I could stand here all night and watch him.

Until he turns around, scanning the outside as if he can feel my eyes on him.

Now’s the time to stop staring. If there were ever a time to stop staring at the man, now would be it, Bryson. Right now.

Yet I just keep looking…

My lungs seize as his eyes settle on me, and I think I’m going to pass out.

He pulls his eyes away from mine and glances toward the door as if he’s thinking something over. He moves out of view, into the other room that I can’t see into because the blinds are closed.

Bryson, you are an idiot. Way to be subtle.

Chapter Seven

Bryson

I force my feet to move, but before I make it to the house, he pops out the side door.

“The fuck you doing back here?” he asks in that husky tone I remember all too well. The one he used when he told me to be a good boy and suck his cock.

Christ, coming here was such a bad idea.

At least his comment is a normal Cole thing to say. Almost like he doesn’t remember what happened between us. It hurts, but hey? It’s better this way.

I hold up the spare key as if that’s an explanation, then force myself to say, “Chris said no one was home.”

He nods, waving me in. “I should be gone by now.”

Avoiding eye contact, I move past him, doing everything I can not to brush his bare skin in the process. I catch a citrus scent that must be from his shower. I step into the laundry room. The dryer is going, causing a rhythmic whirl, and I look around at the updated room. The walls have been painted a light grey. The old linoleum floors have been replaced with white tile. There’s a small counter that I assume is for folding, and new cabinets on the walls. It’s so neat and clean.

The amount of discomfort crawling over my skin has me wishing I was a turtle who could curl into my shell and hide. Or have the mindset of an ostrich, though there isn’t any sand for me to bury my face in, so that wouldn’t help. If I bang my head hard enough against the floor, I’d pass out. That’d be just as good right about now.

“Hot date?” I ask, forcing a grin. Because yeah, that’s definitely want I want to know.

He chuckles, closing and locking the door.

“Date would be better. It’s my week to drop off food at the homeless shelter.”

My stomach lurches as I envision him taking some hot, model-like woman with fake tits and a fake tan to dinner. Or maybe it would be with a guy? A man his age. Maybe a lawyer or a doctor. Someone put together with a bright future. With complete emotional stability and confidence. Someone who isn’t me.

“Homeless shelter? You’ve gone soft, old man,” I tease, hoping we can establish a somewhat normal relationship. Though, now that the words are out of my mouth, I worry he may take it as flirting. Was it flirting? Did that sound flirty? God, I hope not. The last thing I need is for Cole to think I’m coming into his house to get into his pants. I mean, I want in his pants, but I would never pull something like this.

He glares at me, and I roll my lips between my teeth to hide my laugh. Cole comes across as grumpy, and he kind of is, but he can take banter as good as the next guy. Calling him old was always my thing. Why stop now?

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