Page 68 of Still Bruised
“You seemed like you liked it,” Foster said, pushing his luck.
Jude sighed. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
“Sorry.”
Jude scoffed but said nothing else.
“It was good for me,” Foster whispered.
Jude snorted with laughter, shaking his head.
Foster grew nervous. Had he failed to perform? “It wasn’t for you?”
“It was fine,” Jude muttered, his lids closing.
Fine. Foster suddenly hated that word.
He stared at Jude’s face, softening with sleep.He said no sleepovers. Should I wake him? Or leave him?Either way felt like stepping on a potential landmine. He’d already been called annoying. “You can stay here if you want.”
“No sleepovers,” Jude mumbled, never opening his eyes. “I’m just resting my eyes for a minute.”
Jude trembled, a soft moan escaping his lips. Soon after that, his breathing slowed, and it was clear he was out. A few minutes later, a faint snore sounded, confirming it.
No sleepovers, hmm?
Foster smiled to himself. He pulled up the sheets and laid them and a light blanket over Jude before snuggling in beside him. The futon was barely big enough for him. Two big guys were too much. Foster didn’t care. He didn’t want Jude to leave.
Not after blowing his mind yet again and leaving him weak.
He couldn’t stop smiling to himself, quite pleased with the turn of events.
Hopefully he’d be paying off his debt for a long,longtime.
A loud crashingnoise woke Jude. He blinked a few times before realizing it was sanitation workers rattling trash cans outside. As his eyes began to work, nothing looked familiar. Why wasn’t he at home? Pale light streamed in through the windows.
Glancing around, there was a man beside him, backed turned. Then it all came back to him, and he remembered where he was.
Foster’s place…
Fuck!
Reaching for his phone, he saw he had fifteen minutes to make it to work. He jumped out of bed and did a mad dash to find all of his clothing.
“Whazz wrong?”Foster asked sleepily.
“I’m late for work,” Jude spat as he pulled his shirt on, ignoring how cute a half-asleep Foster was with his hair tousled and half open eyes. “And I don’t have a car.”
“You don’t have a car?”
“I don’t need a car,” Jude said.
“You have a business,” Foster argued.
“I have a refrigerated work truck for deliveries, but I don’t make a habit of driving it around town or parking it outside some random guy’s house, advertising where I spend my evenings.”
Foster peeled back the covers. “I can drive you home.”
“Fuck no.I’m not going to be seen with you,” Jude snapped as he pulled on his running shoes.
