Page 18 of Undercover
I mean, if you want to take it that way… :)
And finally:
Sorry. It’s really just a lunch invitation. Do you like sushi?
I blinked, trying to recover from the whiplash. I did like sushi. I’d really prefer to be eating him, as he’d accidentally implied, confirmed, and then denied all within five seconds. But that wasn’t on the table, literally or figuratively.
Either way, I couldn’t think of a more perfect opening to start winning my dishonest, ulterior way into his confidence than lunch.
Feeling like every kind of asshole, I sent back:
I like sushi. I’m not picky, so order whatever you like, only two of them. I’ll be there in half an hour?
His thumbs-up emoji appeared a few seconds later.
I probably had enough time to jerk off before I left. And hopefully I could take the edge off enough that he wouldn’t be able to see how much I wanted to eat dessert.
* * *
Gabe opened the door wearing cutoff jean shorts—the operative word beingshort—a green Burlington University Bulls t-shirt, and a shy, tentative smile. He’d clearly gone the same purposely-casual route I had.Just having lunch!his clothes seemed to say.No seduction here, no sir, not at all.Except that his long legs and the way that shirt draped around his body screamed seduction.
Or maybe that was just my response to him. I should’ve taken the time to jerk off twice.
“Hi,” Gabe said, and stepped back. “Um. Food’s not here yet. How are you?” His cheeks went hot pink.
“Good. You?”
We stared at each other for a minute. Yep, still awkward.
And still aroused. The curve of his neck and shoulder where it emerged from the oversized shirt had me mesmerized.
“Well!” Gabe said brightly, his face still flushed. “Something to drink?”
I ended up following him into the kitchen and accepting a beer, which he’d pulled out from behind the milk and a bottle of orange juice. Like maybe he’d gone to the store earlier this morning and bought the beer then, long before lunchtime.
Impromptu lunch invitation, my ass.
And I really, really wanted not to be flattered and touched. I failed.
Gabe leaned up against the kitchen counter as I propped my shoulder on the kitchen doorframe and took a swig of my beer. The kitchen matched the rest of the place, at least what I’d seen so far: lots of hardwood and fancy granite and shiny chrome appliances. It also bore all the signs of someone having cleaned up in a hurry, with a pile of papers on the kitchen table that looked like several stacks all heaped together, and streaks across the counter where it’d been wiped down too quickly to get it perfect.
He toyed with his own beer, taking a sip without enthusiasm. He’d definitely gotten it just for me. It wasn’t a brand I’d have bought; clearly he’d gone for the most expensive six-pack in the store without having a clue what beer-drinkers looked for, or what I’d ordered the night before.
“So I—” he began, at the same time as I said, “Thanks for—”
We both broke off into silence.
“You first,” Gabe said, with a low little laugh that made me smile automatically in response. Christ, I never smiled when people laughed. Usually I was totally immune.
“Thanks for inviting me over. I really would’ve called you, y’know.”
“Yeah,” Gabe said softly, looking down at his beer bottle. He’d started peeling the label. “I’m sure you would have.”
All of a sudden, nothing felt more important to me than making sure he believed it. My case—fuck my case. What case? Fuck.
I crossed the kitchen until I stood right in front of him, not quite close enough to touch. Close enough to feel that little frisson of heat or static electricity, or whatever it was you felt when you came into proximity with another human body, one you wanted to touch.
Slowly, he tipped his head up, enough to look at me. Enough to show me his rosy lips, slightly damp from his last sip of beer and way too tempting.
