Page 32 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

“I do. You’re too damn competitive. It’s going to get me killed.” He snorted a laugh, and the twinkle in his eye said all was forgiven.

I was glad we were fine. He managed to stand up by himself, and we joined the party to sing Josh a Happy Batman Birthday.

Even if Dusty wasn’t one hundred percent straight, he was still one hundred percent not into me in that way, no matter how it played for reporters. This was a fake relationship, and if I didn’t cool myself down, I was going to destroy a real friendship.

9

DUSTY

In my bed, phone half under my covers, I did something I’d surprisingly never done before: I googled my best friend.

It was some ungodly hour of the early morning, and I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. It wasn’t because of my back. The pain from the gladiatorial fight had gone away by early evening. The jet lag had worn off a few days ago. There was some inkling in me that wasn’t ready to call it a day.

I went from checking Facebook to reading random articles online about everything from the history of lip balm to “7 Signs You Have Early Onset Alzheimer’s.” Googling my best friend was a better use of cell phone battery.

I came upon images of him on the campaign trail, Leo at ribbon cuttings and town events. He was a man in his element. I read about all he had achieved in Sourwood—making it an affordable, wonderful place to live. He had mentioned those things before, but it was something else to read an objective article about his accomplishments.

There was one piece of content I’d tried to avoid, but curiosity got the best of me. My thumb tapped on the Milkman expose article. I had already read the poorly-written piece, but this time, I looked at the pictures posted from his profile.

Leo looked good. Really good. Hairy, muscular chest, thick arms usually covered in pressed suits, confident smile.

I went to the section with his naughty texts, telling Damian what he wanted to do with him. My dick responded by getting hard.

It was words. Anyone reading salacious texts would’ve been turned on. I made a mental note to look up an article that backed up this idea.

The article warned the following image was NSFW. I was nowhere near work, so I clicked.

Whoa, daddy.

Leo was sprawled out on a bed in nothing but white boxer briefs, grabbing his dick. His thick shaft and bulging head were outlined in the white fabric. Everything was in clear view.

I told myself to look away, to keep scrolling. This was a picture I shouldn’t be looking at.

I kept looking.

My eyes devoured the image. Morbid curiosity. That’s all this was.

I’d wondered here and there over the years about Leo, if he was packing heat. I got my answer.

The kicker was his look into the camera, his smoldering eyes and pouty lips. He was acting tough and confident, taking full control of my screen. The gray flecks in his eyes popped out like crystals.

Before I knew it, my hand was palming my dick. First over the covers, then over my underwear. Just a little touching to see what was going on down there. Maybe I was comparing us. Lengthwise, Leo had me beat, but I edged him in thickness.

I’d never spent this much time thinking about Leo’s dick. But to be fair, it was now part of the political conversation.

Ihadto.

To stay on top of current events.

I kept going, my throat going dry as I slowly stroked myself over my underwear.

Fuck, I’d never been into dicks, but Leo’s mesmerized me. All this time we’d known each other, and he’d been working withthat. I licked my fucking lips, suddenly and inexplicably hungry for cock, specifically that which belonged to my best friend.

My eyes traveled to the bulge underneath his shaft, his balls heavy. I caressed mine, heat roiling in my core.

This was research. If we were to be fake boyfriends, I had to know his body.

Another picture was of Leo shirtless at a pool or beach. Water trickled down his chest and abs. He had a little dad bod action, but overall he kept it tight.

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