Page 73 of Love in Mission City: The Shorts

Whether the guy was bigoted about August being Black, me being gay, or some combination, I wasn’t sure.And why I was thinking about that asshole while the most amazing man was sticking his tongue down my throat?

With my free hand, I ran my hand through his crinkly, short hair.I scratched his scalp—the way I knew he liked.

He groaned.

And pulled back.

Damn.

He met my gaze.“Can we take this to the bedroom?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Wait, what does my bedroom look like?

I don’t think he’s going to care if your underwear is on the floor.

Good point.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Chapter Two

August

Thisissowrong.

Nia’s dead.

Seize the day.

I should’ve been reluctant to enter Julian’s bedroom.The guy’s car was a disaster—with garbage shoved behind both the driver and passenger seats.I’d once glimpsed his trunk.Not good.But he kept my equipment in tip-top shape and had never once made a misstep.

Okay, except that tree on the Kittinger property, but really, they deserved it.

As he led me by the hand into his bedroom, I held my breath.I was really going to do this.Of course, I had no idea whatthiswas.But whatever we did, it’d take my mind off Nia for a while.Anything.I’d do anything for a reprieve from the never-ending grief.And I probably shouldn’t be making out while my sister was barely in the ground, but I wanted to obliterate the memories of the past week.Julian could do that.

He released my hand as he moved swiftly to scoop up his work clothes and toss them into the closet, missing the laundry hamper.Only his pride hat remained, and he placed that carefully on his dresser.

Honestly, the room was neater than I imagined.And smelled of lavender.A scent I often used while trying to get to sleep.

His bed was unmade—not a surprise—but I didn’t care.“Can I?”I pointed to my suit.

He nodded.Then he yanked his wrinkled white-cotton shirt over his head and made quick work of unzipping his jeans and yanking them down.

Commando.

Delicious.

Removing my clothes was a slower process.For reasons I couldn’t fathom, I worn a suit and tie to Everett’s office for the reading of the will.

He’d raised an eyebrow.

As I expected, I was the only person present.My best friend didn’t care what I wore.His assistant, Tyrone, didn’t care either.But I wanted to show respect for my sister—for what she represented to me.

Now, as I tore at my tie, I regretted the decision to go quite so formal.The day’d been so hot, and even moving swiftly from Everett’s air-conditioned office to my air-conditioned car, I’d gotten overheated.

Speaking of overheated.

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