Page 30 of The Party Plot

“I guess—I guess I did miss you after all,” he admitted. Here in the darkness, it felt safe to say it. Casey’s legs were shaking, his skin stinging where Laurel had bitten him, stinging everywhere, red-hot and unbearably sensitive. “I guess I did think about you a little. I guess I—oh, fuck—” and he was coming with a garbled sound, as Laurel groaned and took him even deeper, his nails digging into Casey’s hip, his sweaty forehead flush against his stomach.

Casey was still leaning against the wall, trying to remember how to use his arms and legs, when Laurel pulled away. He heard him laugh softly, shuffling around in the dark.

“I think I broke my phone.”

I think you brokeme,Casey didn’t say. He collected himself, pulling up his pants and finding his own phone. Laurel’s eyes were dilated in the light from the screen, his eyelashes damp and stuck together. He was still on his hands and knees, and Casey reached down, handing him his pocket square. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“If you—want to wipe your mouth. Or your face. You’re sweaty.”

“So are you,” Laurel said, but he dragged the fabric over his face and neck before giving it back. Casey wasn’t sure if he wanted to fling the handkerchief away or never wash it. “Of course you’d have a pocket square. What’s that color, anyway, is it pink?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“Well, no. Asshole. I’m a little bit colorblind.” Laurel scratched his cheek. “Probably why I run headfirst toward red flags.”

Casey let out a surprised puff of laughter. Shit, why did he have to be funny, on top of everything else? “I—how many times have you told that joke?”

“To you? Only once.” Laurel smiled. His eyes were shining, teeth slick and bright, and Casey’s heart thudded against his ribs. “Did you drive here with my mom?”

“I did.”

“Make up an excuse. Come home with me.”

10.

“This isn’t going to turn into anything, you know.”

Laurel snuck a look at Casey in the light from the dashboard. His skin was washed out, his dark eyes focused on the road ahead. A light mist had begun to fall, settling onto the windshield in lacy patterns and making the cab of the Land Rover seem hushed and intimate.

“I don’t expect it to,” Laurel said, trying to sound flippant. He could feel his pulse fluttering in his throat, feel the ghost of Casey’s hands in his hair. He had been half-hard for what felt like the last hour, blood pounding in his groin, teetering on the edge of desire. He licked his lips. “I don’t do relationships.”

“Me neither.”

“Besides, you’re scamming my mom.”

“Am I?” Casey made a face. “I’m not really sure what I’m doing anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking out the window. For a moment, he looked unbearably young, and Laurel realized he didn’t even know how old Casey was. He’d assumed from his confidence that they were at least the same age.

He thought about asking, but instead he reached across the center console, squeezing Casey’s thigh. His hand traveled higher, and Casey met his eyes, smiling. Whatever expression had crossed his face moments earlier was gone, replaced by a look of challenge.

“How about you focus on driving?” he said smoothly.

Laurel smiled back. “I’m impatient.”

“I can tell. Get us back to your place. I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Rain had started to fall in earnest by the time Laurel pulled up to the beach condo, warm, satiny sheets that enveloped them as soon as they got out of the car. Laurel hardly had time to click the lock button on the key fob before Casey’s hand was on his belt buckle, yanking him up the stairs like he owned the place, pressing Laurel up against the front door and kissing him luxuriantly, rainwater sweet on his lips.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Casey whispered, grinding his hips against Laurel’s.

“I kind of need my hands.” They were pinned above his head.

Casey laughed, letting him go, and then they were stumbling in through the door. Casey smacked his ass as they crossed the threshold, saying, “I like these pants,” and Laurel wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or beg him for more, caught between hilarity and heat, self-consciousness beginning to creep in. This condo, with all its bland coastal bric-a-brac and themed linens, held no trace of Laurel’s personality, and he found himself wondering suddenly if anywhere did. It shouldn’t matter; Casey was undoing his shirt, scattering kisses over his shoulders and collarbone, and Laurel closed his eyes, breathing in the rain-damp smell of his hair.

They were in the kitchen somehow, no illumination but a hall light that one of them had turned on as they’d fumbled their way through the house, leaving a trail of wet clothes. Laurel was completely naked, but Casey had only lost his jacket, and Laurel felt himself tremble as Casey’s hand slid over the vulnerable curve of his ass.

“Do you have condoms?” he asked.

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