Page 41 of The Science of Attraction

Jules.

MisterI fancy women more than men, which is why I have an erection the size of the Eiffel Tower pressed against your stomachLane.

It shouldn’t be as hard as it was.

Meditation 101.

I had this shit down pat.

Or I used to.

Past tense.

BJ. Before Jules. Ironic, I know. The mindfuck to end all mindfucks.

I shook my head and gave it another shot.

Aaaaaaand... nope.

No matter what I did, every time I closed my damn eyes, Jules’ face popped into my brain.

Meditation wasn’t going to do it.

A sledgehammer to my cerebral cortex rated a much better chance.

Jules bloody Lane.

I was trying really, really hardnotto dwell on where the man was or what he was doing right at that moment, but it was super fucking hard.

Because I knew damn well he had a date with Laura.

That much I’d gleaned from Tennyson who’d proceeded to explain that the whole station was agog because Jules didn’t date much, something that still surprised me, although I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he was one of those rare, really nice guys you could spend years waiting to walk into your life. Or maybe because he was hot as a habanero and you’d think women would be lining up to jump in his bed. Likely both.

But he was also confused as hell, deep in the bisexual closet, and had left me feeling like a fool after I’d gone against my better judgement and reciprocated getting all hot and heavy only to have him shut me down. He also came with a homophobic dad who happened to be my client. Cue the alarm bells ringing loud enough to bring Jericho’s walls tumbling. I needed a sexy closeted complicated man in my life like I needed a hole in the head.

But was I running?

Hell no. That would be way too easy.

Nope. I was sitting in the dark, swallowing my acid reflux while tryingnotto imagine Jules’ hands all over Laura whoever the fuck she was, instead of me. I wanted it to bemylips he was kissing,mybed he was warming,mybody his was tangled alongside,mydick he was sucking—not that Laura had one of the latter, but whatever.

Was I fixated? Damn right I was. And it was driving me crazy. That kiss at the river had been sizzling. Who’d have guessed the quiet shepherd could kiss like that? And I wanted more. Alotmore. We had chemistry to burn even if Jules refused to see it. Preferred women, my arse. I’d hooked up with a lot of guys in my time and few of those encounters had gone from zero to incendiary quite so fast. Hell, if Jules had wanted to fuck me in the bed of his ute next to a dozen smelly trout, I’d have been down with the idea in a heartbeat.

And that was a huge warning flag.

I didn’t jump to anyone’s snapped fingers. If there was any finger snapping to be done, it was going to be mine. It wasn’t that I was a bossy, domineering top... it was just that I was generally a... bossy, domineering top. And on the rare occasions when I bottomed—good Lord, it had been so long I could hardly remember—I’m pretty sure it involved being... bossy. But I was upfront about it. I just liked what I liked.

And then along comes Jules who hasn’t kissed a guy since his teenage acne years, and who is prepared to die on the hill of preferring women to men. He shoves me against a car door, asks if he can kiss me, and all I want to do is spread my arms and let him have his wicked way with me, however that pans out. Worse yet, the man dumps my arse like a hot potato mid-grope, avoids me all week, and I was still obsessing over him.

Holy tamole.

Tops R Us were gonna revoke my membership for sure.

What a mess.

I ditched the meditation attempt, scrambled to my feet, and headed to fix myself a drink and maybe watch a movie after. I got as far as my hand on the kitchen light switch when I heard it.

The unmistakable creak of my top step.

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