Page 29 of Prince of the Northwest Forest
I slump down on Justice’s bed. And as I do, I accept what I know to be true. I let myself drink my fill of Justice, who’s oblivious to the sea change that’s just happened inside my brain.
I watch him stir pots and get out plates, all in his lithe, efficient way.
As I sit on his bed, surrounded by his scent, my dick is getting harder and harder.
Okay, time to move.
I stand and join him in the kitchen. “Can I please do something?”
Justice, who is now sautéing vegetables, points to the small refrigerator with his chin. “Why don’t you get us something to drink?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Justice turns a megawatt grin on me that makes my insides melt.
I may not survive this dinner. To get to the refrigerator, I have to step past him in the narrow space between the stove and counter. My hip brushes against his ass, and something sparks inside me. Shaking my head slightly, I open the refrigerator and take out two bottles of beer.
“Second drawer to the left,” Justice says. “For the opener.”
“Ah. Got it.” I open the drawer, the contents of which are unsurprisingly sparse. I spot a tool that’s a combination bottle opener, corkscrew, and knife—makes sense that Justice would have one tool instead of three—and pop the caps. I set one of the bottles by his side, and he thanks me and takes a swig of the beer. My fingers itch to pull him to me.
Somehow I stay standing while he cooks, even though he makes my knees weak. Thankfully, he chats away, letting me adjust to my new feelings.
We sit down for dinner, which is a generous portion of a hearty vegetable pasta, covered in freshly grated Parmesan. It’s as good as anything made by the palace chefs.
He puts music on a record player to listen to while we eat. I keep getting distracted from my dinner—and Justice’s handsome face—by watching the vinyl spin.
“What is this song?” I ask after swallowing another bite of the delicious pasta.
Justice smiles. “Let me introduce you to the world of David Bowie. In my opinion, he’s one of the best artists ever.”
“I’ve read about him, but I haven’t listened to him.”
“You don’t have a way of playing music in your realm?”
“Only live music. We know that things like smartphones and MP3s exist, but we don’t have a way of playing them.”
“Unless you plug into a currant bush.”
I furrow my brows. “Excuse me?”
“That’s a terrible hiking joke. You know, like electrical current?”
“Ah.” I chuckle. “That is a bad joke. But I like the song. It sounds futuristic and vintage at the same time. What is the title?”
“It’s called ‘Moonage Daydream.’”
We listen to the song, and my foot taps the floor. The song ends and another begins. “What’s this one’s title?”
“‘Starman,’” Justice says.
“These songs really make you feel like you’re in a different world. Like you’re floating in space.”
“They do.”
We keep talking, and I can’t help but want to do this again with him.
Every night.
