Page 90 of I'm Your Guy
“So good,” I promise him. “Just, uh, out of my league, here. I never showered with anyone before.”
He blinks. “So Rigo’s fantasies about what happens in your locker room are off base, huh? I think there’s even fan fiction about that.”
I snort. “Way off base.”
He puts one wet hand on my shoulder muscle and squeezes. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make a joke out of your life.”
“You’re fine. But locker room showers were, like, a place of terror for me when I was young. I got really good at showering fast and exiting quickly.”
“Okay, yeah.” He flinches. “I was on the track team in high school, and I don’t think I ever set foot in the showers. I would stare into the back of my locker while I threw my shorts on, and then hurry out of there.”
“That sounds about right.” People think the gay kid in the locker room is probably staring at them, but it’s just the opposite. The idea of getting turned on in a locker room filled my teen years with abject horror. “In the showers, I used to focus on the tile grout just to keep my mind busy.”
“Huh. What color was it?” he asks, lifting his hands to my face.
“Um, gray? Usually. Sometimes white.”
“See?” he says, his eyes brightening. “You do notice furnishings. I knew I liked you.”
I chuckle, and when he kisses me, it’s just so nice. I nudge him back against the tiles and circle his wrists with my fingers. When I raise them overhead—like I’d done that night in front of the fridge—he moans.
Our kisses pick up speed. It isn’t long before we’re both revved up again. I lose myself in the slickness of heated, wet skin, and a dollop of body wash that Carter applies to us at exactly the right moment.
Sex has always been a fraught concept for me, but tonight I’m easy. Carter’s hand—and the sounds of pleasure that he makes—have me cursing and shooting once again.
We sag against the tiles, trading lazy kisses. Carter has to shut off the water as it begins to turn cold. And now I understand where Rigo gets his fan-fiction fantasies.
We’re both too spent to talk as we towel off and stagger into my bedroom.
Carter pulls back the covers and gets into bed without discussing it, and I’m grateful, seeing as I can barely keep my eyes open.
Sleeping with a guy will be another first for me. I don’t know the etiquette.
As usual, Carter makes it easy. He rolls toward me, throws a knee over mine, and rests his head against my shoulder.
“Mmm,” he says, kissing my neck. “You are a good time.”
Huh. “You’re the first person to ever think so.”
“That cannot be true,” he mumbles.
But I’m pretty sure it is.
* * *
The next thing I know, Carter is putting my phone in my hand. “Wake up, Jersey. Your phone is ringing.”
My eyes spring open in the dim light. It’s two minutes after seven, and my phone’s screen says, One Missed Call.
I sit up quickly, and my head spins.
“Hey, take a breath,” Carter says. “You want me to go make coffee?”
“Uh, sure,” I say, eyeing my phone the way I’d size up a scorpion.
He leaves the room. I scrub the sleep out of my eyes and then poke my sister’s number.
“Hey, Tommy,” she says, sounding remarkably cheery. “Want the latest?”
