Page 52 of Employing Patience

JOEY

It’s still dark when my alarm goes off. Neither of us has had any sleep, and there’s just enough light in here that I can make out Art blinking across from me. Given he’s always at work, it makes sense he’s converted what was probably a storage cupboard into a tiny bedroom, and for once, I’m grateful for his insane work hours. The downside is sneaking out of here before anyone shows up and sees me.

“I need to go.”

“Probably,” he mutters.

I got him naked somewhere around my third orgasm, and it was worth it. Art’s peak masculinity. Long body, wide shoulders, beefy arms. His torso isn’t muscular, but somehow, that makes him hotter. He has hair on his chest and stomach—there’s no possible way to confuse him for a woman—and it’s one of the things I enjoyed most.

“You never answered me, you know,” I say.

“About what?”

“Bottoming.”

His jaw ticks. “It’s something I have to be in the mood for.” His gorgeous dark-rimmed eyes lower to run over my body before he reaches out and runs a fingertip over a hickey he’s left on my ribs.

I follow his gaze and stroke one of the little dark spots. “You really didn’t want me to forget, did you?”

“You set me a challenge.” His grin is wicked. “You knew what you were doing.”

“Turns out I learned a thing or two over the last year.”

“Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about blow jobs in the next one.”

I laugh and pinch his arm. “You told me it was great.”

“I’m not going to kill your spirit, am I?”

“Wow. Just when we were actually getting along, you went and made me hate you again.”

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “What about in a year, we’ll celebrate our hookup-i-versary with another blow job, and I can rate how much you’ve improved?”

“Depends,” I say, trying not to focus on his lack of jealousy when it comes to me sucking off other guys. “Are you going to let me get some practice in before then?”

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of offers to help you out.”

I pull away from him and flop onto my back, trying to keep my voice light. “Doesn’t work like that for me.”

“Why? Still straight?” His voice is heavy with derision and … something else.

“I …” I suck down a breath. “Am bi. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I dunno, Art. That’s the whole problem. Before last night, I struggled to even say the word because I didn’t feel worthy of it. Now … well, I’ve slept with a man. I fucking loved it. If you offered, I’d be back to do it again in a heartbeat, but …”

“But?”

“I don’t get like this with guys.”

“You don’t?”

I feel like an idiot, having to explain this over and over. Some days, I wish it was black-and-white. Fifty-fifty. Men and women. I don’t work like that though, and it’s so complicated and, honestly, kinda stupid to get into all the time. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever been with for a reason, okay? Can we leave it at that?”

“Sure.” But I can tell he’s not done. “But if you were one of my DMC guys, I’d tell you not to worry about putting yourself in a box. Step outside it, let your wings free. Trust them to take you where you need to go.”

“And since I’m not one of your DMC guys?” I roll back to face him. “What would you tell me?”

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