Page 4 of Brushed and Buried
I pretend to think. “Science or demonstration?” I let the silence stretch. I hook a thumb into my waistband, drag it down just enough to show skin. “Here’s the thing. You don’t have to be gay to enjoy prostate stimulation. You just need a body and an open mind.”
Trevor’s jaw drops. George clears his throat, uncomfortable but not looking away. Lance actually fans himself.
And Vince…
Vince is stone, rigid. His knuckles flex against his arms. His jaw could break diamond. His eyes haven’t left me, especially since I touched my waistband.
Good. Let him squirm.
The laughter rises and falls. More tequila vanishes. Trevor is getting progressively more horizontal, his coherent observations replaced by delighted whoops and half-finishedsentences. Lance tries to convince me to do a body shot off him. George just chuckles, settling back like he’s bought front-row tickets to the best comedy show in town.
And through it all, Vince watches me like I’m a problem carved into his night.
When I stand to fetch another drink, and lean close to fix Trevor’s sash, his exhales slip sharply through the noise, his eyes pretending not to follow my every move. It’s electric and invisible, just between us. A storm no one else hears brewing.
By midnight, I know I should leave. I should go downstairs and join Holly with the actual hens. I should collect my paycheck and call it a night.
But Vince Holloway is here, watching me like a thundercloud, daring me to crack.
And I’m not wasting that.
2
Adrian
It takes me a few seconds to settle into the room. The energy hits first, something big and masculine, lightly drunk, buzzing in the air like static before a summer storm.
Some jokes fly around about the groom’s impending doom, or happiness, depending on who’s teasing harder.
“So, how’d you two meet?” I ask, nodding at the groom.
“We were fifteen. High school sweethearts. She was one of my mate’s sisters,” Trevor says with a lazy smile. “A few breakups, lots of drama. But yeah, she’s the one. She always was.”
That earns some ribbing from the others, but it’s all affectionate. George tosses in a quip about how marriage is just extended manual labor. Lance says it’s not real until the joint tax return hits.
Trevor waves his beer at Vince. “How are you doing, mate? What’s the golden boy up to these days?”
Vince leans back, unbothered. “Same as always. Football, training, and a few modeling gigs. They pay me to break my body on TV, and I’m dumb enough to keep doing it.”
Trevor snorts. “Dumb? You’re a millionaire with abs. Nobody’s crying for you.”
“Tell that to my knees,” Vince says dryly, taking a sip.
Trevor claps him on the shoulder like it’s a running gag, and Lance jumps in with some crack about Vince’s insurance bills.
George talks about the headaches of running his auto shop. “You’d think fixing cars was the hard part, but no. It’s getting high schoolers to show up sober and on time. I got a couple gay guys in the crew too; they flirt with me really hard, more than my ex ever did.”
I raise an eyebrow at George. “And when they flirt…do you flirt back?”
George snorts. “No, not really. I’m flattered, yes. It makes work interesting. But sometimes, I wonder what they even see in me. I’m always covered in grease and yelling about timing belts.”
Lance smirks and elbows him. “What’s not to like? You’re tall, hard as rebar, and move like you’re about to bodycheck a truck. You used to be in the Navy, for god’s sake. That alone will get you all the attention. Hell, if I even halfway liked dick, yours would probably make me switch teams.”
I laugh with them, until I glance over at Vince again. He’s still quiet, just sipping his beer like it might answer a question he hasn’t dared ask yet. I hear him grunt or give clipped answers tohis friends, but I’ve obviously made this night complicated for him.
“I would too,” I add lightly, eyes skimming over George, before landing on Vince. “Big guys with callused hands? Yeah, kind of my thing.”
Vince meets my gaze briefly, but something flickers behind his eyes. A scowl, or maybe just discomfort, I can’t tell. I’ve put on more muscle since high school. Back then, Vince kept his hair cropped short, his build lean from sports. Now his shoulders are broader, chest thicker, hair grown out just enough to curl a little at the ends. He looks less like the quiet boy from art class and more like a man who could snap a doorframe just by leaning on it.
