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Michael winked, said, “Think eighties teen comedy,” and his lean, six-foot-four frame went smoothly out the window. She heard him climbing the drainpipe and scrambling onto the roof. She thought, Well, that’s it, I’ll be marrying a corpse.
But there was no crash or thump, no great cry of a groom with a broken back—just the thunder of footsteps on the roof, and the climb down the far side; for fuck’s sake, that man sure had feet.
If anyone missed the thumping sound of Michael leaping off the rear deck onto the gazebo, they were clueless—but then, this was her family.
When she opened the door to embrace her hysterical father, Avery really was crying—with a great explanation.
“I don’t have anything borrowed!” she cried.
“Jesus Christ!” cursed her father, and she clutched him tightly, then winked at her mom—who, from the suspicious look on her face, knew exactly what she’d been doing in there.
Outside, she heard cheers and people crying out Michael’s name. “Oh, thank God,” said her father. “He’s shown up.”
“Look at that,” said her mother. “He hadn’t sped away in that goddamned jalopy of his, after all.”
“Yeah, he was busy,” said Avery, taking pleasure in her shamelessness; it still eluded her father, but Mom rolled her eyes—a mother knows.
Outside, Pachelbel’s “Canon” was playing; tradition, right?
Avery kissed her father on the cheek. “Come on, Dad. Walk me down the aisle.”
“With pleasure,” he said, relaxing with a sigh.
She wiggled, straightening her dress. She felt suddenly lucky. She decided she had the best, the very best, kind of good luck.
Something Old, Something New
Sophia Valenti
I sighed softly as I lowered myself onto Justin’s cock, relishing the familiar yet thrilling sensation. My eyes nearly fluttered closed as I savored that initial moment of penetration. I struggled to keep my gaze locked on him, and I was rewarded by the sexy look of longing etched on his handsome face. Although I could tell he was nearly consumed by lust, he didn’t dare think of rushing me. He simply rested his hands on my hips, his fingers occasionally clutching my flesh, but otherwise holding himself still as I enveloped him with agonizing slowness. The anticipation was sweet and the wait maddening, but it only served to make us hotter.
Justin and I had been so busy orchestrating our wedding during the past few months—and, more recently, being gracious hosts to our out-of-town guests—that we’d barely had time to breathe, much less have sex. But finally, it was all over and we were alone—completely, totally and blissfully alone. I didn’t need flowers, limousines or a frilly dress to be happy. All I needed was his hot shaft plunging inside me. I wanted to lose myself in the pleasure that only he could give me.
When I felt my bottom hit his plush sac, I let out a happy little gasp and ground down against him, rhythmically shimmying my hips. Each sharp spark of friction against my clit was like a match strike, the sudden influx of heat inflaming my lust and inching me closer to orgasm. I bucked and moaned, stroking the dark hair sprinkled across his muscular chest. I was torn between wanting the moment to last forever, and being desperate for release. I could see the same lust smoldering in my husband’s gray eyes. I was hopelessly lost in ecstasy, but as always, he knew what to do and how to take us over the edge.
Justin lifted me off him and positioned me on my hands and knees on the bed, so quickly that he made me laugh out loud. But that exclamation of mirth turned into a loud groan as he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back against him, shoving himself inside me with one smooth motion. I glanced over my shoulder and smiled, knowing that I was in his very sexy and capable hands.
As I turned away from him, a flash of white caught my eye. It was the extravagantly priced French silk negligee that my maid of honor had insisted on giving me as a wedding gift. There it was, neatly draped over a nearby chair: a luxurious, full-length gown with a beaded bodice and delicate lace trim. I’d never even put it on. I had been considering slipping it over my head when Justin had stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower. The sight of me standing there naked had been enough for him, and he’d immediately swept me off my feet and dropped me in the middle of the mattress.
Justin kept up his steady pace, pumping into me and occasionally leaning down to scatter kisses on my freckled shoulders. I tossed my head back and bucked my body against his, wanting him to thrust into me harder and faster. The slapping noise of flesh meeting flesh was hypnotic, sending me deeper into an erotic trance. Justin reached underneath me and cupped my breasts in his warm hands. His fingers danced over my nipples, making them achingly erect. He teased the tiny nubs, squeezing them between his fingers and thumbs until I gasped. The little bursts of pleasure-pain caused a rush of wetness to flood my pussy, and I began to corkscrew my hips as I continued to rock back toward him.
I may have begun our encounter with the desire to go slow, but that thought had completely flown from my head. I could hear Justin’s erratic breathing, and I knew that he was also rapidly approaching his limit. I closed my eyes and concentrated on what I was feeling: the blissful sensation of fullness that was now coupled with his fingers strumming my clit. I was so slippery wet—and thrashing about so intensely—that I wondered if he’d be able to keep up his delicious actions. But I had nothing to worry about, because after only a few minutes of his determined circles against my puffy button, I felt weeks’ worth of sexual tension disappear in a fabulous explosion of pleasure. I locked my thighs tightly together, trapping his hand and making an even tighter tunnel for his thrusting cock. Justin was clearly on the edge and didn’t let me distract him from his goal. As I shivered beneath him, he bucked into me one last time. I felt his shaft pulsing inside me as he let out one final groan and then collapsed against my back.
Gradually, my senses returned as we lay entwined on the bed. I glanced out of the window of our little cabin and saw the inky blackness of the night punctuated by the glittering stars we were never able to see at home in the city, even from our apartment building’s rooftop. The ship we were on was gliding through the Gulf of Alaska as we cruised our way toward fields of ice-blue glaciers. Most of our friends thought we were crazy, wanting to honeymoon amid snow-capped mountains, but Justin and I were never much for beaches, so we’d politely declined everyone’s well-intentioned recommendations of resorts in Jamaica and Cancun and forged our own way.
Justin lay back with me in his arms, trying to catch his breath as I lost myself in my thoughts. Sex with him had been amazing from the day we met, but I did occasionally have nagging little worries. Would we still feel the same way—have the same desire for each other—one year from now? How about ten or twenty? I’d heard married friends complain about disappearing sparks and mind-numbing routine creeping into their beds. I didn’t want that to happen to us, but I wasn’t yet convinced of the possibility of lifelong passion. I wanted to believe that it wasn’t a pipe dream. I knew there were happily married couples out there, and I hoped that Justin and I would be one of them.
Once we’d rested, we were both eager to rejoin the world. Well, the world as it was at that moment. Since we’d boarded the ship, we’d been hidden away in our tiny cabin. It was late and well past the official dinner hour, but we were ready to put on some clothes and explore what would pass as nightlife aboard our floating hotel. We weren’t expecting much, to be honest, because we’d been warned by our travel agent that the vacationers who favored that particular tour were often considerably older than us. We’d confirmed that fact during our check-in, when we’d noticed that most of the people surrounding us were elderly couples and there wasn’t a single child in sight.
I collected my tousled auburn curls, slipped on a dress and heels and headed out the door with a casually attired Justin, who led me through a maze of decks and hallways toward one of the ship’s lounges. As we approached the doorway, I could hear the smooth notes of an old standard that sounded as if it was being performed by a live band.
We crossed the threshold to find a cozy lounge lined with red velvet banquettes and dotted with small round tables. There were a handful of sweet-looking older couples slow-dancing to the band’s interpretation of an Ella Fitzgerald classic. Justin smiled and squeezed my hand as he led me out onto the dance floor. As I swayed in his arms, my eyes kept wandering to a handsome-looking man and woman who seemed to be greatly enjoying each other’s company. They appeared to be much younger than the other people who were twirling around us, but they still had a good twenty-five years on me and Justin.
The man was tall and tan, and his dark hair was fading to gray at his temples. Every time he laughed, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and he’d occasionally lean forward to kiss his companion on the top of her silver-streaked head. His dance partner was a trim lady who was smartly attired in a stylish black dress that I envied, her bare legs looking as fit as those of a woman half her age. Her hair was styled in a chin-length bob that accentuated her high cheekbones and beautifully framed her face. They effortlessly danced across the floor, looking breathtaking and elegant, and seeming to have eyes only for each other. But it wasn’t just their good looks that caught my attention. There was something about the way they interacted with each other that seemed so alive and affectionate: the way he’d stroke her cheek, the way she’d melt into his embrace. I actually wondered if they were newlyweds themselves. Don’t get me wrong, the other couples also seemed like they were having a swell time, but I didn’t sense the same sort of electricity sparking between them.
Justin pulled me closer, and we danced out the rest of the song before stopping for cocktails. As he handed me my drink, he noticed that I seemed distracted, and questioned me about it. I discreetly pointed out the arresting pair, who were still gliding across the floor. The man’s baritone laugh mingled with her lighthearted chuckle, creating a sweet melody that merged seamlessly with the music.
“They just seem so happy,” I said in an awestruck whisper, as I followed their every move.
“That’ll be us in thirty years,” Justin said, kissing me softly on the cheek. My eyes met his and I smiled. I was feeling more confident by the second that he was absolutely right.
Justin and I spent the next day enjoying all that the ship had to offer, and that evening eagerly dressed for dinner. After weeks of eating fast food on the run and dealing with seating-chart crises, it was luxurious fun to don formal attire and head off to the ship’s dining room. It was as if we were going out on a dinner date for the first time in months.
We were to share our table with only one other couple, who had not yet arrived as we took our seats. I wondered which pleasant set of grandparents we’d be spending our evening meals with. At the same time, I saw the attractive pair from the lounge enter the dining room and stride toward us. My mouth literally dropped open in surprise, but I managed to regain my composure before they’d reached the table.
Rafael and Suze greeted us warmly and introduced themselves before taking their seats across from us. We announced that we were on our honeymoon, which made them both smile as they told us they were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. So much for them being newlyweds—although they could have fooled me! As we chatted throughout our meal, the depth of their affection for each other was even more obvious in such a close, intimate setting. I could sense their connection, and without either of them ever saying anything remotely sexual to each other, I just knew that sparks still flew between them. During our conversation that evening, Suze assured me that there weren’t any deep, dark secrets to being a happy couple, aside from remembering to have fun and enjoy each other’s company. It was as if the heavens had made our paths cross to allay all of my unspoken fears about married life.
For the rest of our weeklong trip, I looked forward to our dinner conversations. I found the two of them absolutely charming, and I eagerly listened to their stories. The entire trip was everything I could have wished for: plenty of alone time with Justin, the opportunity to meet new, interesting people, and awe-inspiring views of Alaska’s sweeping vistas. However, Justin and I stumbled upon the most amazing sight of our vacation on the last night of our trip.
As much as I’d enjoyed our honeymoon, I was really looking forward to going home and beginning our life together as husband and wife. I was too excited to sleep that night, and I was sitting up and gazing out our window at the full moon. Justin wasn’t having much success falling asleep, either, and since it had been unseasonably warm the past few days, he suggested we take a walk outside on the deck.
I slipped on a spaghetti-strap dress and a cropped cardigan, while Justin stayed in his drawstring pants and T-shirt. His black hair was cutely mussed, and I ruffled it with my hand as I passed him to fetch my sandals. He simply laughed and grabbed the key card for our room before we quietly made our way outside, being careful not to disturb our slumbering neighbors.
The night breeze was soothing—cool but not cold—and perfumed with the scent of the salty sea. Justin wrapped his arm around my waist as we strolled along the deck. Aside from the crashing of the waves against the sides of the ship, there wasn’t another sound to be heard—until we approached a nook near the ship’s bow. We soon realized we weren’t the only night owls on board.
As we neared the corner, we heard voices—those of a man and a woman. They sounded like hushed, breathy whispers with a decidedly erotic edge to them. I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at Justin, my lips parted in surprise. I could easily make out his amused smile in the silvery glow of the moon. Silently, he cocked his head toward the source of the sound and urged me onward with a steady hand at the small of my back.
I was conflicted. The strangers’ whispered words were becoming interspersed with feminine moans. Their encounter was escalating, as was the pace of my rapidly beating heart. I knew we were about to spy on a couple’s most intimate moment. The rational part of me knew that it would be proper to turn away and head back in the opposite direction. But at that moment, the last thing I wanted was to be proper.
Justin and I hugged the wall, ensconcing ourselves in shadow as we approached the bend. My husband urged me in front of him, resting his hand on my shoulder as, together, we peered around the corner. There, in an oversize deck chair, were Rafael and Suze. He was sitting up and his wife was facing him as she straddled his hips. Her silky white robe was parted slightly, showing off her delicate shoulders, and her silver-haired head was tilted back as Rafael trailed sensual kisses down her neck. Her whimpers carried on the night air to our ears. The hungry, desperate sound of her cries made my own sex ache with longing.
Suze tangled her hands in Rafael’s thick hair, her diamond wedding band glittering in the moonlight as her fingers roamed wildly. Rafael responded by pulling her robe off her shoulders, stripping her to the waist. Her teacup-size breasts were capped by already-erect nipples that her husband clearly found irresistible. His mouth slid downward to kiss and suckle each nub in turn. Her moans of pleasure increased in volume. It was as if they were in their own private world, even though that world happened to be in a very public place where they could be discovered at any second.
Of course, they had already been discovered, but Justin and I were careful not to make a sound. I was nearly holding my breath, feeling the dampness in my panties grow as I took it all in. I was hesitant even to blink. Their passion for each other was electric and inspiring, and I didn’t want to miss a second of it.
Justin was resting his head on my shoulder, and I heard his gentle breathing grow more erratic. He turned toward me, and the hot puffs of air that he exhaled against my neck caused shivers to travel down my back. I wiggled against him playfully, and I wasn’t surprised to feel his cock thickening underneath his pants. He swallowed a moan and grabbed my hips, both to still me and to pull me tightly against him. I kept staring at Suze, who was grinding against her husband as my own man began bunching up the sides of my dress to expose me to the night air. I silently thanked myself for being so lazy and forgoing panties; they would have only gotten in the way.
I blindly reached behind me to grope the bulge hiding in Justin’s pants. With his help, I eventually managed to tug them down enough to release his erection. It popped free from the waistband of his pants, which were now bunched at his hips, and I wrapped my fingers around his warm flesh, stroking him gently and pulling him toward me as I watched Suze rise and reach between her spread thighs for Rafael’s erection, which she’d freed from his shorts. I bent forward slightly, urging Justin to slip inside me just as Suze lowered herself once again, her head turned toward our hiding spot. It was almost as if we were in her line of sight and she were mirroring me, although I was fairly certain that we were still hidden in shadow and it was all simply a sexy coincidence—especially since Suze didn’t seem startled in the least.
I bit my lip to ensure my continued silence as I rocked back against my husband, my ears full of our friends’ moans and groans. Watching such a private, forbidden scene was thrilling, and the knowledge that we could possibly get caught ourselves excited me in ways I didn’t know were possible. I’d never done something so daring before, and was fairly sure my husband hadn’t, either.
Justin steadied me with one hand on my stomach and the other cupping my left breast. He gently toyed with my nipple as he kissed my neck and buried his face in my windblown curls. I, however, kept my eyes locked on the couple in front of us. Rafael had grabbed Suze’s hips and was raising and lowering her on his cock as she threw her head back and moaned loudly. The two of them were gilded in moonlight, their figures glowing as though they were imbued with some sort of sensual energy that I could see as well as sense.
I braced myself with one hand against the wall as I reached between my legs with the other. My fingertips grazed Justin’s cock the second before he thrust himself back inside me. I reached for his shaft again when he pulled out of me, to gather up some of my sticky wetness. He moaned at my brief touch, and I brought my slick fingers to my clit, too impatient to wait another second. Justin continued to thrust himself in and out of my clasping sex as I rubbed my puffy button in frantic circles.
Justin’s dick was hitting me exactly where I needed it to in order to trigger my release. I struggled to keep my eyes on Rafael and Suze, but the sensual image in front of me seemed to shimmer like a desert mirage as my sense of sight was dulled by the ecstasy swelling inside me. I let the feelings overwhelm me as I spasmed in pleasure, squeezing Justin’s thrusting shaft and sparking his release. He came with a whispered groan against my neck, holding my body tight to his.
Our friends’ orgasmic cries were still ringing in the air as we caught our breath. Suze collapsed on top of Rafael’s strong body, and from our hideaway we heard their breathless laughter, which inspired restrained giggles of our own. As they lay there together in an exhausted embrace, we straightened our clothing and sneaked off before we could be discovered.
As we rolled our luggage through the ship’s lobby the next morning, we heard our names being called behind us. We turned to find our dinner companions, who wanted to say goodbye. Suze hugged me tightly as she congratulated me on our wedding one last time and wished me a lifetime of happiness. “Although something tells me,” she said with a wink, “the two of you are going to do just fine.”
Kiss the Bride
Lana Fox
“No, lower,” said Jake, sliding my fingers down his side. His breath was warm against my cheek as he pressed me to the wall. “So I pull your veil off—” he mimed doing just that “—and throw it on the ground … like this … and now …” He cupped my face, leaning right in, and I felt my eyelids closing, felt his thigh brush mine. The smell of him filled me—a strong, herbal heat—and I parted my lips, ready for his.
“Just a stage kiss,” I whispered.
“Sure.” He opened his mouth on mine.
“So let me get this straight,” I’d said, the night Dan offered me the part. “I have to screw this guy in front of—what?—a hundred people?”
Dan groaned across the phone line. “Sweetness, it’s an act. Besides, the boy’s hot. If he liked men, I’d be in there like swimwear.”
“Do we have to do the sex?”
“Darling, it’s amateur theater. Who’s gonna come if there’s no serious action?” Dan, who was training as a drama teacher, was required, as part of his course, to stage a play for adults. “Besides,” he added, “they’ll be generous on the feedback forms if we make ‘em hot ‘n horny.” He went on to tell me what Kiss the Bride was about. Two marriages—one that starts well and one that doesn’t. “Two brides, two grooms,” he said.
“So you wrote a play that has no gay characters?”
Dan gave a snort. “I’m obsessed with weddings, dollface. And it’s not as if I’m ever gonna wear a veil myself.”
I asked him how explicit the sex was going to be.
“Think steamy.”
“Keith’ll kill me,” I said.
“Well, if he won’t give you mouth-to-mouth the bastard can’t complain.”
Dan was right. Since the arguments had started, Keith and I had hardly kissed. We’d fight, get hot and bothered, then he’d turn me to the wall, enter me briskly and take me. It wasn’t bad sex, but it was all about the fight, and he gave me no passion, no warmth. And the kissing rarely happened—even when I begged. Oh, many times, when we weren’t fighting, I’d fall to my knees as if I was joking, pleading for a kiss.
“Me first,” he’d say, pulling my head toward his groin. I’d feel his fingers running through my hair—and this, at least, was a kind of affection. Then I’d quickly unbutton him and take him in my mouth. His long groans of pleasure made me feel like I was wanted, and he’d slam his head back so it thumped against the wall, crying, “Terri, oh baby, go harder …” When he came, he’d ram against my throat, and though I’d gag, I felt like I was his.
But afterward, he’d laugh and take me in his arms, just for a minute before he drew away. “I should shower,” he’d say, blue eyes crinkling. And I’d watch him walk off, buttocks perfect in those jeans, my lips tingling, an ache between my thighs.
Dan always said, “If ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ is his idea of tender, the guy isn’t worth it. Let him go.”
But I’d stand up for Keith. A medical student, he worked most nights, and I’d find him in the early hours, sighing over his books. Sometimes, in those moments, I’d come and kiss his head, and startled, he’d reach up and squeeze my hand.
“Dan, he’s training to save lives,” I’d say. “I have to give him some slack.”
“Dollface,” said Dan, who knew me too well. “No man who treats you badly is getting slack from me.”
Jake, who was to play my onstage groom, really wasn’t my type. For starters, he was fair, and I’d always liked them dark, plus he thought he was God’s gift. Once, when he caught Dan eyeing his arse, Jake sauntered up, tipping him a wink. Dan laughed it off. “You’re a prick-tease, love. You know I’d eat those buttocks!” And Jake grinned sexily, enjoying the attention.
Still, onstage the boy was sublime. He occupied the space with a pantherlike grace, touched my body easily without a single prompt. The first time we practiced the proposal scene, he fell to his knees and kissed my hand; the feel of his lips, so warm against my skin, and his breath on my wrist made me flush. For the first time, he gave me The Look—twisting his head, he glanced at me sideways, blue eyes glinting, smile half-cocked. I’d never been regarded with such absolute flirtation. As Dan directed from the seats below the stage “—Jake, hon, turn or we can’t see your face—” Jake remained kneeling beneath me, my hand still in his. While he talked with Dan, he stroked my fingers, and I imagined those hands sliding down my body. A few inches closer and he’d be against my groin, unbuttoning my jeans with his teeth. I let go of his hand. He cast me a grin. Then, still replying to Dan down below, he idly touched my thigh. As he slowly caressed, I felt my breath give, and I arched against him, imagining his mouth.
“And Terri, love?” called Dan, from the row below us, his sandy-colored faux-hawk soft beneath the lights. “A touch more romance! He’s inviting you to marry him, not ride him like a mule.”
Blushing, I asked what he meant.
Dan flapped a pale hand. “More Audrey Hepburn, less Joan Jett. You’re eyeing him up like he’s sex-on-a-stick.” And I’d notice, in that moment, Dan’s wandering gaze, as he himself inspected Jake’s superhot bod.
But Jake was now feeling up the back of my thigh, leaving a trail of heat. “Okay,” I gasped. “Hepburn. I’ll give it a try.”
I liked Dan’s idea for the sex scene. While Lee and Tina staged a fight to our left, Jake and I, to use Dan’s phrase, would be “at it like bunnies.” The sex was meant as the ultimate contrast—though our marriage started well, Lee and Tina’s was doomed. As Jake and I stage-fucked, the classical music would build, and both scenes would come to a climax.
“Listen, cupcakes,” said Dan one night. “Before we rehearse the sex scene, you two should prep it yourselves. Bring me something you’ve worked out already. I’ll add my thoughts. Okay?”
“I forbid it,” Keith had announced the week before. “No sex scenes. He so much as touches you, and you and I are through.” This seemed unfair. After all, I’d recently caught him with Ella Rogers in the beer garden at the Stony Swan. It was December, and the garden was empty, the wooden tables slick with ice, but there was Ella on the edge of one, thighs parted, spine arched, knee-high boots jerking as Keith pounded into her. She’d dropped back her head, eyelids closed, scarlet lips glossed with saliva, and Keith was grunting like a dog in heat, his hips thrusting, his hand on her breast. As he grew wilder, Ella’s eyelids fluttered and she cried, “Oh, do it, do it …” and the table jolted beneath them, as her fingers gripped the wood. But I’d soon forgiven him, knowing it was for kicks. Besides, Ella Rogers went with anyone who asked.
Yet now he was jealous of a sex scene? I felt my anger spark.
In our bedroom, as he was pulling on his socks, I told him he couldn’t stop me. “After the thing with Ella …”
“Sex is different for men,” he said. “We don’t attach like you do.”
“Tell me about it!”
He rose and grabbed my shoulders. “You wanna do your sex scene? Fine. But I’ll be there, so you’d better behave.”
I blinked at him. “You mean I can get you a ticket?” He’d never come to a play of mine before.
Softening, he smiled. “I’ll be there, Terri, baby.”
“To check on me? Or what?”
“I just want to see you shine.”
But I knew the sex scene was still an issue, so backstage, I told Jake we couldn’t meet at my place. “My partner wouldn’t like it,” I said.
Jake gave a boyish shrug. “Let’s do it at mine.”
We agreed to the following evening. He winked as he walked away.
That night, in bed, I dreamed of screwing Jake, his body hard on top of me, his hands on my breasts. I could feel him filling me, warm between my thighs, and thrusting with a wildness I hadn’t felt in years; but still, in spite of the vigor, he pressed his lips on mine, moaning into our kisses, drinking at my mouth. The more crazed his thrusting, the hotter our kiss, and I splayed my thighs widely, begging him for more. He worked me deep, plying me open, nudging at the perfect spot that Keith had never reached. But just as I was coming and our bones were jolting hard and the bed was rocking savagely, I woke quite suddenly and found Keith upon me, sweating like an animal, no tenderness, no kiss. I cried out, but he didn’t stop rutting, eyes half closed in the darkened room. “Christ,” he groaned, pelvis slamming down, as he came at my ear with a long, loud moan. At last he rolled off me, groaning with pleasure, and my insides twisted as I saw his proud grin. “See, baby?” he said. “We can screw when we’re not fighting.” And the saddest thing was the kindness in his voice.
The following evening, I stood in Jake’s kitchen as he poured us amaretto. Aroused by our rehearsal, I’d chosen thigh-high stockings, and I kept on flushing at the thought that he might guess. “I’m serious,” he said, with a shy smile. “If we don’t have some alcohol, I won’t be able to do it.”
Amazed at his coyness, which seemed so out of character, I took the glass and asked why he was nervous.
“It’d be fine if you and I weren’t attracted, but.” He shook his head, as if he’d said too much, then raised his drink and downed it. He widened his eyes as he swallowed. “Fuck it, you’re hot.”
I sidled in next to him and said I felt the same.
He laid a hand on my arm. “What would your guy say if he knew you were here?”
