Page 21 of For the Win
Who knew grumpy but nurturing was my weakness? Honestly, that’s how I’ve been describing Val for years, and I’ve never once been attracted to him. Why is it an irresistible combo with this guy? The chocolate and peanut butter—or in my case, the jalapeños and ice cream—of personality profiles.
Don’t judge me. I almost died today.
I see a packaged toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste by the sink and nearly cry in gratitude. As I brush, I look around the room. I actually like it in here. If most of the cabin is wood-on-wood violence, this floor-to-ceiling tile in a soothing grayish-blue ombre makes me think spa retreat in the clouds. The excessively large tub is sized for at least a couple and sits temptingly beside a walk-in shower with a bench and multiple shower heads. As long as there is hot water and the power stays on, I wouldn’t mind spending the next four hours in there.
My mind instantly adds Michael to that shower scenario and I rinse out my mouth, silently swearing at the heaviness of my cock. This is not a good time, I tell myself, even as every daydream I’ve ever had about him returns with a vengeance. My hand drops to my hardening dick without my permission and gives it a solid stroke through the fabric. Then another. God, that feels good. A little shameless too, since I can still hear him humming. What is that song anyway?
And what is it about him? I enjoyed everything about our impromptu office meeting that night, except for the way it ended. But that can’t be why I’m still reacting so strongly to the man. I’ve been interrupted mid-bang before. It happens. I’ve always been able to let it go and move on. No regrets and very few repeats, that’s my jam. No one has ever captured my attention this completely, or made me want them to the exclusion of my sanity and all common sense. Until Michael.
You’re different with him. He’s different.
I can’t deny that. I saw him from a distance and had to find him. I found him, and I had to stay. I stayed, I flirted and I unzipped his pants. I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.
That isn’t casual, it’s a compulsion. Troubling but irresistible. It’s still there, that something I can’t put my finger on, like a cord connecting us. Drawing me closer to him since he walked down those stairs. Making me want things, most but not all of them related to orgasms. Thenot allbits are more alarming.
“Do you need any help in there?”
I yank my hand away from my dick, and my jolting twist of surprise sends pain shooting up my leg. “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath as I hop on one foot. When did he stop humming? “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve been doing this on my own for a while now, Michael,” I snap unfairly, glaring at the closed door. “I know your heartis in the right place, but trust the person with sixteen years of roommate experience when I say solitary bathroom time is sacred. We can’t all be LBJ holding meetings while doing our business, can we?”
There was a moment of silence and then, “No?”
I slump against the sink in shame. LBJ? What a perfect fucking visual to add to the mix. I don’t care how big Jumbo (his nickname, not mine) was purported to be—or how many times he let the press in while he was in the restroom or skinny-dipping in the pool to show it off—the man wasnotattractive. Am I actively trying to turn Michael off and chase him away?
Well, you’re really into him. So, yes?
“I’m sorry. I think it’s low blood sugar.” If low blood sugar is code forI was about to jerk off and you interrupted me, then I’m not lying. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
He doesn’t respond, so I sigh and turn on the tap again, running wet hands through my hair until I no longer look like Sonic the Hedgehog. That’ll have to do for now, I think, girding my loins.
(Weirdest saying ever, by the way, but I guess telling people to “make diaper-shorts out of your man-skirt so you don’t trip in battle” isn’t nearly as catchy. The more you know, right?)
As soon as I open the door and see Michael leaning against the dresser, an ACE bandage in his hand and a look on his face that is the opposite of casual, my girding unravels and leaves me hanging.
Woodis still the word of the day.
“I found this in the first aid kit,” he says quietly. “It should help stabilize your ankle so you don’t twist it again.”
I’d like to argue, but I’m still hurting from my bathroom excursion so I nod grimly. “Where do you want me?”
Leading question, I know, and so does he, based on the spark I see in his eyes. Before he can answer, I carefully step towardthe uncomfortable-looking wooden desk chair. The only place to sit that isn’t that bed. “Let’s do it there.”
I roll my eyes because everything sounds sexual at the moment, then turn to face him, lowering myself into the chair. When he’s right in front of me, I look up at his face. Mostly so I’m not staring at the zipper of his jeans—and what I already know it’s hiding—like a sex-starved perv.
But that’s what you are.
I’m also his guest and a man he would have rescued regardless of who I was or whether we’d met before. I need to try and keep some perspective here. Which isn’t easy when he kneels at my feet like some knight about to ask for a damn quest to win my favor or a prince who wants to make sure the slipper fits before he pops the question.
I snort when he gently takes my foot in his hand.
He looks up. “What? Are you ticklish or did that hurt?”
“Neither. I was just thinking about Cinderella.”
“That’s…unexpected.”
