Page 4 of Flirt
“That must be one big bedroom.”
Fuck. Shut up, idiot!
“I like to be thorough.” Heat flared in Asher’s gaze as he took another step toward him. “Make sure you’re familiar with every surface so you can really appreciate it.”
He stood so close Cameron could feel his body heat and smell the clean, crisp scent of the soap that still clung to his skin. His head spun, his eyes went wide, and his heart climbed into his throat as he struggled to make sense of the conversation. This couldn’t be happening. Things like this did not happen to him. Yet, he could no longer deny the interest in Asher’s gaze, couldn’t keep believing the guy was simply fucking with him.
He just didn’t know what to do with the information.
Thankfully, he was saved the need to come up with a reply when a young man in leather pants and a sheer, baby blue shirt sashayed down the hallway and bounced to astop right beside Asher. He held a pair of boots in one hand while his other darted out to smack Asher on the ass.
“I had a good time, but I need to take off.” His gaze settled on Cameron, and he pushed his mess of golden curls out of his eyes. “Have fun,” he said without a trace of embarrassment. Something in Cameron’s expression must have given him away, because the kid—he couldn’t have been more than twenty-three—laughed and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”
When he walked away, Cameron shifted his gaze between the retreating back and Asher’s face several times, still unsure of what to say. He’d never found himself in such a situation, and it was so far outside of his experience—or comfort zone, for that matter—he just couldn’t wrap his head around it.
“You fucked him,” he blurted, and immediately wanted to die.
Asher grinned, utterly shameless. “Jealous?”
“What? No! I don’t care who you sleep with.” Well, he shouldn’t, but that was a topic for self-analyzation at a later date.
“Good, then you won’t care that I want to see you naked.”
Wow, the guy had some nerve. Worse, Cameron couldn’t decide if he found it arousing or infuriating. While his brain rebelled at the idea of tumbling into bed with Asher—a bed that had very recently been vacated byanother man—his swelling cock clearly didn’t have the same reservations.
God, he really needed to get laid if the poster boy for anonymous sex was flipping his switch. Sure, he’d introduced himself, but he doubted the cocky bastard remembered his name, or cared for that matter. While the realization didn’t entirely douse the lust burning in his veins, it tempered it enough to bring his brain back online.
“I have to go. It was nice meeting you.”
When he pushed passed, Asher let him go, but not before calling out a parting shot. “I’ll be at Swerve tonight. If you change your mind, come find me.”
Cameron shook his head but didn’t reply as he strolled away with his hands tucked deep into his pockets. He wouldn’t go to the nightclub. In fact, he doubted he’d ever see Asher again, and he exhaled in relief. Not because he didn’t find the guy attractive, but because he didn’t trust himself not to cave to Asher’s charms.
He’d learned that lesson the hard way, and he knew himself well enough to avoid wandering down the path of temptation. He didn’t do arrogant pretty boys, not anymore. Cameron liked problems he could fix, but he didn’t welcome trouble.
Asher Dare had trouble written all over him.
CHAPTER TWO
Asher admitted to acertain level of irrationality as the last of his third Vodka Sour slid down his throat. He’d been sitting on the same barstool since he’d arrived at Swerve, his back to the bar, half his attention on the dance floor while the other half remained fixated on the entrance to his right.
He wasn’t obsessed or anything. Intrigued, maybe, but not obsessed. Just because he’d spent most of his Saturday hiding in his office and thinking about a stranger instead of working didn’t mean anything. If he worried a little more than he should that Cameron might not show up, well, that didn’t mean anything either.
His uncertainty irked the hell out of him.
Most guys tripped over themselves to get close to him. They didn’t run screaming in the opposite direction. More to the point, he couldn’t remember the last time he fucking cared. If someone didn’t want to follow him to his bed, no skin off his nose. There was always the next guy in line. Then the next. And the next.
Cameron fucking Stone.
If he could just figure out what it was about him, he could move on and forget they’d ever met. As it stood, he couldn’t get the man out of his head. Honestly, Cameronwasn’t even his type. Yet, he couldn’t deny the juxtaposition between Cameron’s prim and proper appearance—who the hell did up all the buttons on a fucking polo?—and the fire in his eyes when he’d unabashedly raked his gaze over Asher’s body had been sexy as fuck.
Then, the moment he’d realized he’d been caught, he’d turned about twelve different shades of red and ducked his head shyly. It had been the cutest thing Asher had ever seen.
And he didn’t do cute.
At first, he’d thought Cameron had been flirting with him, but it hadn’t taken him long to understand the poor guy just kept putting his foot in his mouth. Every time Cameron’s eyes had widened or his cheeks had flushed, Asher had been tempted to push him up against the wall and kiss him breathless.
Or drag him to his bedroom like a caveman and see how many more ways he could make him blush.
