“Uh, what do you mean?” he asks, looking positively offended. “We had plans.”
Staring at him, befuddled for a moment, it clicks. “Oh, shit, you’re right. We did.”
I completely forgot that Shooter and I made dinner plans tonight to check out this sushi place they just opened right outside of town. His boyfriend, Sterling, doesn’t like sushi, and he asked if I’d go with him. How the fuck did I space that?
Shooter snorts as if he can read my mind. “Given the way Dr. Andino just had you pinned to the couch with his cock in your?—”
“Alright, okay,” William growls. “That’s about enough from you. I will be leaving now.”
“You don’t have to go,” I murmur, even though I know it’s futile. He’s practically one foot out the door already.
“Yes, I do.” He still won’t look at me, but he has no problem looking Shooter right in the eye as he points a finger at him. “Itrust you to keep this to yourself?”
My God, he’s so serious. The vein in his forehead is about to burst.
Shooter, looking like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, pinches his lips together as he nods. “Yes, sir.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so shocked.
Finally, William’s gaze flits to mine, but only for a moment. “Very well.”
Then he leaves.Very well?The man gets caught balls deep in somebody, and he turns into an eighty-year-old professor? Shooter and I don’t say anything for a moment. The sound of William’s car door shutting and the engine starting reaches my ears, and I finally glance over at Shooter, who’s already watching me. Laughter bubbles up his throat as I shake my head, a rogue smile splitting my face.
“This is bad,” I curse, bounding down the hallway toward my room, needing to change before we leave. Although, now I don’t even want to go. If I’m being honest, I’d rather follow William. Yes, to finish what we started—because that was insanely fucking hot—but also to smooth things over. He was already on edge and not wanting to take things there with me, butnowthat he knows somebody knows, he’ll never want to touch me again.
And oddly enough, that makes my stomach clench in a way that’s foreign to me. I don’t like it.
It’s no surprise to me when I hear Shooter’s footsteps following behind me. “I’m going to need a little fucking clarification here,” he drawls.
“What you need,” I call out, “is to learn to knock, my friend.”
He scoffs. “Not you too.”
“Well.” I laugh as I rip my shirt over my head, tossing it in the hamper as I pull a new one out of the closet. “I knock when I come over to your house. People do that, you know. It’s called common courtesy.”
Flopping onto my bed, Shooter rests his hands under his head. “Oh, fuck off.” He huffs out a chuckle. “You’re just mad that I scared your fuck buddy away.”
“He’s not my fuck buddy, and I’m not mad. Get your fucking shoes off my bed, you animal.”
Flipping on the light in the bathroom, I hear the sound of his boots hitting the floor as I reach for the stick of deodorant.
“So, how long has that been going on?” he asks.
“I don’t know, not long.”
“Well, what I saw definitely looked far too comfortable for a first time, so how long? A few weeks? Months?”
I chuckle to myself, knowing it’s driving Shooter nuts, not knowing. “We made out at my dad’s birthday party.”
He’s quiet, most likely doing the math in his head. “That wasn’t all that long ago.”
“Yeah… and there was that time when I was twenty-one…”
Wait for it…
“What the fuck?” Chuckling, I turn my head, watching as Shooter sits up, eyes trained on me. “This has been going on for multiple years, and I’m just now finding out about it?”
“No, dipshit. Let’s go. I’ll explain on the drive.”
