Page 71 of Totally Geeked

“Thanks for helping,” I tell Beth, and she waves a hand my way.

“I was overdue for a visit with this one anyway,” she says, grabbing a box and starting to open the tape.

Harrison leaps up and takes it from her.

“Plus, you could never resist a chance to snoop through my things.”

“Please, it’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before, we lived together for half your life.”

She goes to take the box back, but he moves it out of reach.

“What aresmarts?” she asks, tilting her head to one side.

I follow her gaze to the box where, in Harrison's handwriting,SMARTis written on all sides.

“It’s nothing, bedroom stuff, boy stuff, you don’t want to open it, trust me,” Harrison says, moving toward the bedroom.

“You could have just said it was underwear, bro. No need to go into details.” Beth laughs, grabbing another box labeled records and adding to the stack Harrison already lined up on the bookshelf.

“What boy stuff?” I ask, and he shakes his head eyes wide, and I let it go. Whatever is inside can wait.

We finish unpacking everything else and unmake the boxes so they fit in the recycling bin downstairs, and Beth heads off to collect her kids. We’ll meet up for dinner later at Gordon’s.

“Okay, now it's just us, what’s in the box?”

“Sexy Man art,” Harrison says, and I burst out laughing.

“Like porn?”

He shakes his head. “Your sexy man art. I ordered samples so we can see what customers are getting when they order.”

My publisher loved the second book, and with it coming so easy, the third and fourth practically wrote themselves and release dates for them are now set six months apart following Harrison’s book, which coincidentally is releasing on the same day as the final Banana Ball game of the season in October.

But it’s my new side hustle that has really taken off. Harrison set up an online shop for the naughty art, selling them as digital downloads and print-on-demand posters and cards. I was nervous at first that someone would discover it was me and my children’s book career would be in the toilet, but he created a whole identity for me separate from the children's books. James Roe, our two last names are forever connected and attached to some of my favorite drawings of all time. The baseball poses still sell the best, but the hockey ones are inching toward thelead. I altered the ones with Harry and me in them to look less like us and more like no one in particular before they were uploaded, but we still have the originals of us locked away in my sketchbook drawer.

Harrison sets the box on the edge of the bed and opens it up. The box is full of small stacks and some cylinder rolls. Opening the first stack, I smile, the art is perfect, crisp, clear, and really fucking hot. Harrison unrolls one of the posters from a tube and hip-bumps me.

“Check us out,” he says, and my stomach drops. Fuck, we didn't upload the wrong image, did we? I look over and it’s not us. It is, but it isn’t. The art is one of the originals I drew of us, but I redrew it with different heads. He just has it still rolled up, hiding the heads so that he’s just looking at where his crouched ass is popped out, sucking me off on the pitch of a baseball field. My cock twitches.

“How long until dinner?”

Harrison drops the poster into the box, turns, and wraps his large arms around me.

“What did you have in mind?”

“It is the official first day living together.”

He glances down at the stack of art in the box. “Pick a card and let’s celebrate.”

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