Proud.
His smile is going to ruin me.Frat bro. Repeating that isn’t making my cock soft like I thought it would, so at this point, I doubt anything about him will.
I wrap my arms around Jack, holding each of his sculpted biceps. Like I’m hugging him from behind. “Breathe in,” I tell him.
He inhales.
“And out.” I lean back with him in my grip as he exhales. The cracking sound comes, then his sigh of relief.
When I draw away, my arm skates against his bicep, and his gaze descends my muscular build from head…to toe.
My chest rises, blood sweltering. I can feel myself resisting the pull towards Jack. I’m just afraid of where this ends.
It has short-term fling written all over it.
Normally I wouldn’t even give a shit. But I just wanted more for myself.
I detach from his attractive sphere and start to chuck off leather sofa cushions.
Jack stops me. “Don’t pull out the sofa bed. I can just sleep on it.”
I hesitate because he clearly has muscle aches. But he’s yawning again, too tired to have a full-on debate.
Fine.
I toss them backon the couch, and Jack takes a slouching seat with another sigh. “This is a good place to be stuck, I guess.”
“You guess?” I give him a look. “You fail Geometry in high school, Long Beach? Your place ishalfthe size of mine.”
“Mmmhmm, true.” His eyelids weigh heavy. They close, then open. He’s even more exhausted than I realized. Evidence: he’s still wearing Allbirds. I don’t remember a time Jack has ever kept his shoes on past the doormat.
I kneel in front of the couch. My fingers gingerly unlace the sneakers. When I shift off his left shoe, he glances down at me.
I meet his eyes as I untie the right laces. “You know you don’t have to follow Charlie the whole time. You can grab a couple hours of footage and call it a night.”
“I want to make sure I have everything,” Jack replies softly. “I haven’t figured out the narrative structure of the pilot yet…and I figure…more footage will make that easier on me in the long-run.”
I know next to nothing about filming a documentary. And Jack only has one person to rely on. His seventeen-year-old brother.
I feel badly I’ve made it harder on him by requesting a small crew. But then I remember how annoying it is to have five people shoving around me with cameras and booms and I’m less upset by this outcome.
I pull off Jack’s right shoe. “You should get some sleep—”
“Wait,” he cuts in. “Just…” He sits up more on the couch, legs spread open. “Can we talk?”
About the kiss.
I ask, “Yeah, we can talk if you don’t fall asleep on me.”
His lip quirks. “I won’t. I’m really stoked—” He tries to catch another yawn.
I decide not to point it out. “Not shocked you’restoked. You are Mr. McCheerful.”
He laughs quietly. “You’re Mr. McDreamy then?”
“Oh no, I’m Mr. McSnacky.” I grin. “And you’ve been eating my heart out.” My friends would be giving me such shit for that line, but I’m too confident to care.
Jack leans forward, elbows on his knees. Still fighting exhaustion. “Yeah? Let me take a bite.” He playfully fists my Yale tee, and I grab his wrist.
