Page 218 of Coach
“He does work with wood,” I muttered, cheeks burning.
“HE’S GAY. OF COURSE HE DOES,” Matty shouted, his eyes gleaming. “God, you’remanifesting your own erotic novella.”
Shane blinked. “I just make furniture.”
Matty fanned himself with a napkin. “With those forearms? That’s obscene. You should be arrested.”
“He could come work some wood at our place,” Omar offered.
“Absolutely not!” I snapped, far too forcefully.
Matty, Omar, and Elliot grinned in unison. Their shared glory rippled through me, and I knew beyond all doubt I’d just made the night a hell of a lot longer.
Shane, undaunted, said, “I have room for more clients. Sure.”
Matty’s smile fell, and his mouth quirked.
Omar’s caterpillar returned.
Elliot’s mouth fell open.
“He means for actual woodwork,” I said, desperate to get their minds out of the gutter. “None of you get to see his mighty oak.”
Oh, shit. I’d done it.
“Mighty oak?” Matty squealed. “So, you have seen it. Is it as big as he is? I bet it’s bigger than those meaty forearms. Did you need poppers just to get it in or—”
“Jesus, take the wheel,” I groaned.
Shane, still showing zero reaction to anything, said, “It is mighty, though not an oak. No, it’s smaller than my forearm, but poppers are alwayswelcome. And no, Mateo hasn’t seen it. This is only our second date, and he’s a gentleman.”
Matty had just lifted his tequila shot to his lips and spat it across the table.
“Our boy? A gentleman?” His grin grew lecherous.
“I am, thank you very much, not at all like you sluts who sucked and spanked on your first date!” I said.
“They spank?” Shane deadpanned.
The entire table froze, as though someone had pressed the pause button on life. Only eyes moved, flicking from me to Shane and back.
Then everyone burst out laughing.
Except Shane.
He sat there like, well, an oak.
The bar lights dimmed as the DJ-slash-host-slash-shirtless-man-in-a-referee-uniform climbed up onto a small stage and tapped his mic. “Welcome to trivia night, you knowledge-thirsty heathens!”
The bar roared.
Mike clapped his hands, cutting through the chaos. “Okay! Trivia time, hookers!” He then passed out laminated scorecards like SAT proctors pass out doom.
Then he cleared his throat. “Trivia. Focus,people.”
And that’s when it happened.
Shane’s hand, resting on his thigh, brushed mine.
