Page 72 of The Hang Up

“Good. Really good. How are you guys doing?”

“Sean and I played video games the other day, and he cheated.”

“So, back to normal?”

“Almost.” Then his eyes lit up. “The real news is that today, while you were gone, Bagheera let me hold him.”

I narrowed my eyes. My cat definitely didn’t like Brock. “Really?”

He held up his hand with his fingers spread. “It was five seconds—I know because I counted—but that’s progress.”

I grabbed his hand and kissed each of his fingers. That led to more kissing. I stood, took his hand, and started toward the bedroom. We didn’t get very far before he stopped and gave me a mischievous look.

“What?”

He bit his lip and sighed helplessly.

I immediately shook my head. “No.”

He studied the floor for a while, giving me quick little glances through his lashes. “Sean’s asleep.”

“Brock.” He was killing me.

“No one has to know, Mr. Miller.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I can do this.”

He gave me his pleading eyes. Mitch was right. I couldn’t deny him anything.

“I feel like a creepy old man.”

“You’re not, babe. You’re a hot old man.”

I swatted his ass. “Brat.”

“So punish me. And by me, I mean eighteen-year-old me.”

I kissed the top of his head, and he scowled at me. “Let’s go to bed.”

He let me lead him upstairs, and we got ready for bed. Once we were wrapped around each other, he gave me a look, and I knew we weren’t done talking about it. I turned off the light. He turned it back on.

“Last week, you pretended you were a cop. You had no problem restraining me.”

“This is different, and you know it.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

“Sweetheart, thanks to you, I already think about it way too much.”

“Give me something,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist. “What’s one thing Joshua would tell eighteen-year-old Brock?”

“Stop fantasizing about older men?”

“One man,” he said, smacking my chest. “Come on.”

“Fine.” Could I do this? Maybe in third person. “While everyone’s asleep, Joshua would pull Brock into the kitchen, tell him they needed to be quiet, and then Joshua would pull Brock’s shirt up by the hem and take it off so he could look at him.” As I talked, I lifted Brock’s shirt up, and he extended his arms so I could pull it over his head. He was so beautiful. “Then Joshua would touch him, tracing the freckles on his shoulder and then leaning in to kiss the one at the top.” I brushed my thumb over Brock’s freckles and kissed the one I loved so much.

“Joshua,” he said, sounding breathless. “And then?”

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