Page 42 of Topping the Jock
“Nah. You’re the type who’s probably in bed by, like, eleven most nights.” His eyes narrowed. “I think you definitely have a kinky side, though.”
“I’m not kinky.”
“So you’renota secret Dom?”
I laughed. “Is that really what you think of me?”
“Yeah, kinda.” Monty returned my laugh. “At least when it comes to sex anyway. You like being in control. It gets you off. But you also take damn good care of your partner, like you did with me both times we’ve hooked up.”
“We’ve only hooked up once.”
“The locker room totally counts as the first time,” he disagreed.
“Whatever.” I sat up and searched the floor for my clothes. They were strewn everywhere, both his and mine. I let go of his hand and stood up before putting on my boxers, then jeans. Monty watched me with a soft smile. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because it’s been a good day,” he answered, sitting up and running a hand over the top of his dark hair. “You. Me. And a bed. Couldn’t have asked for anything better for my birthday.”
“Your standards are pretty low, then.” I tugged my shirt over my head and smoothed it down.
“Is that what you think of yourself?”
I looked back at him. “What do you mean?”
“If you think me being with you is having low standards, you must not see yourself that well.”
He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t see why Monty would ever want to spend time with me. The years of being treated like I was dirt beneath his shoe had really done a number on my self-esteem.
My cheeks heated, and I turned toward the door. “Good night, Montgomery.”
“You haven’t given me the rest of my spankings.” He cocked a smile.
“Buy a flogger and spank yourself.”
“Oh.” He scrunched up his face. “See, I knew you were kinky.”
Shaking my head, I left his bedroom, letting the cool façade slip once out of his sight. Sex with him had been amazing, but it wouldn’t happen again. I had released all my built-up tension toward him by fucking him into that mattress. I’d gotten him out of my system for good.
If that was true, though, why did I find myself smiling the whole drive home?
***
The next day, I was sitting with my dad in his backyard as he grilled burgers. It was a bit too chilly to grill out, but when he wanted a burger, nothing could stop him from getting one. He whistled as he checked the meat.
“You seem… happier,” I said.
“I can’t be happy?”
“No, you can.” I shifted in my seat, even more suspicious by his defensive behavior. “You just never whistle.”
“It’s a free country, I can whistle if I want to.”
“Dad…”
“Quinton…”
I sighed and let it drop. My dad was a lot like me. He kept things close to his chest. When he was ready to tell me, he would.
“We going to the next football game?” he asked, popping open a beer.
