Page 81 of Employing Patience

I should know what the sly smile is before he speaks, but my mind is blank of anything but how good he feels.

“For someone who doesn’t want this to keep happening, you keep slipping. That makes me think that realistically, you know you want to fuck my brains out again.”

“I like sex,” I hedge. “You’re offering it up on a platter.”

He hums, eyes narrowing on me. “You could get it from anywhere though. Platter and all. You know what people in this town think of you.”

“That I’m an easy son of a bitch.”

Joey snorts. “That you’re a catch. Any single, queer man would be happy to land you. In fact, I’ve heard a few guys in here, plotting on how to lock you down. You better be careful, Mr. de Almeida. You’re a hunted man.”

“That so?” I lightly kiss along his neck. “Tell me that’s not the reason you wanted to get me into bed so badly.”

“Nah, that was all pure selfishness. I knew you’d be good in bed, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was for myself.”

“And now that I’ve proven myself?”

His eyes drop, scraping my stubble, my neck, then back up to my lips. “Inconclusive.”

“If you can’t tell that I’m a grade A fuck by now, then there’s no hope for you.”

“I’ve always admired confidence in an old man.”

I smirk and slide a finger along his crack and into his loose hole. Joey gasps, and something like pride fills my chest.

“Sounds like this old man’s still got it.”

“Fine.” He wriggles in so our chests are pressed together. “You’re amazing. The hype has been proven.”

“Perfect.”

Joey’s sigh brushes my lips. “I don’t want to go to sleep yet.”

“You’re the one who said we needed to.”

“Yeah, but … what if you keep being a stubborn butthead and we don’t get to do this again? I should enjoy it, right?”

I know what he’s asking. I know he wants me to give in and make plans for us to hook up as often as we can, but the thought of that … risky. So risky.

What if we do and I get hooked?

What if we do and I don’t get hooked and have to somehow tell him it’s over?

I’m a wimp at hurting people, and given my history, it only makes sense to assume that anything we start will crash and burn.

“Tell me about your husband,” he says.

I blink my thoughts away. “What?”

“Well, you were married, hence the whole DMC thing. Who was your husband? What was he like?”

“Honestly … it’s a struggle to remember. I don’t think about him much. We were dating a short while, got swept up in the passing of same-sex marriage, got hitched, and then very quickly got divorced again.”

“Why’d you get divorced?”

“Because we were young and dumb. We never should have been married in the first place, but promising forever to someone you barely know hardly ever works, and in our case, it really didn’t work.”

“Lucky bastard doesn’t know what he was throwing away,” Joey murmurs.

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