Page 71 of Employing Patience

I huff. “That was like … New Year’s.”

“He’s right,” Griff exclaims like somehow I don’t know these things. “You’ve been very quiet about your sex life since then.”

“See?” I point at him. “I can be a gentleman.”

“Or—and this is the most likely option—you haven’t actually hooked up with anyone since then.”

Ho. Ly. Shit. I cast my mind back, trying to picture when the last time was that I messaged someone for a quickie. That I went out and scored a sloppy blow job in a back room. I tried, and then Joey showed up and cockblocked me.

Before that?

“Do you think he’s gone into shock?” Heath asks idly while the others watch me closely.

I shake my head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I guess Payne wins the bet,” Beau says. “I thought this would be more of a slow burn.”

“Yeah,” I say, reminded of what Payne told me. “Fuck you all very much for that.”

“Okay. To wrap up.” Orson claps his hands together. “Our captain of cummage is on a dry spell and has only slept with one man, who also happens to be the man he’s been obsessing over for at least a year, then didn’t bother to tell his besties about it.”

Griff hums. “I smell fuckery in the air.”

And then Beau very unhelpfully adds, “Or the commitment is catching.”

I push to my feet—successfully this time. “You’re all incredibly unpleasant company who are making way too many assumptions. I hope you all look forward to the group chat tonight, where I’ll be coming to you live from another man’s colon. Excuse me.”

“Be sure to tell Joey we say hi,” Heath calls as I walk away.

I want to disown every one of them.

21

JOEY

I watch Art walk down the hall toward his office and debate going after him. The night has slowed down, and Court has everything under control, so I slink around the back, make sure no one is paying me attention, and follow him down the hall.

He’s barely closed the door behind him when I push it open, step inside, and shut it again.

He whirls around at the noise.

“Hey, hottie.”

“Joey.”

“Are we really gonna do the name thing again?”

“Leaving wasn’t an invitation for you to follow me, you know.”

“I love that even you don’t sound sure about that.”

He huffs. “Why does everyone assume they know what I’m thinking tonight?”

“Because you’re not even trying to hide it.”

I watch greedily as Art flops back into the small couch that sits in front of a bookshelf. His long arm rests along the back of it, and I’m already picturing crossing the room and curling into that spot when he says, “Get out.”

Still playing the game, I see. “Do you actually want that?”

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