Page 30 of Flirt
“Okay,” he answered easily. “Oh, hey, those guys are waving at us.”
Asher groaned and hurried his steps. He had the distinct feeling that if he didn’t get them out of there soon,his kindhearted, tipsy Cameron was going to do something absurd—like offer to share their cab with the next guy who smiled at him. He wasn’t innocent or naïve exactly. He just honestly seemed to have no idea the effect he had on people.
All night long, Asher had watched men covet what was his, some from afar, some bold enough to approach Cameron with Asher sitting right beside him at the bar. The first time it had happened, he’d been…jealous. Yeah, he’d been fucking green with it, especially when Cameron had smiled and nodded, chatting with the asshole like they were long, lost friends.
Then, halfway through the conversation, after a particularly salacious comment that oozed with innuendo, his jealousy had shifted and settled. Not because he didn’t care, but because it had been obvious that Cameron had no idea the guy was coming on to him. When his would-be suitor finally gave up and walked away, Cameron had just smiled and offered some comment about him being “nice.”
The second guy to approach struck out in much the same manner. The third had either watched and learned, or he was just more brazen by nature, because he hadn’t been subtle about his intentions. Cameron had blushed so red Asher had worried he might have a stroke, but he’d just smiled andthankedthe guy before leaning into Asher for a heated kiss.
Subtle? Not really. Effective? Absolutely.
“I want hash browns,” Cameron said, completely out of the blue. “Oh, and biscuits. Bacon.” He groaned, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “I fucking love bacon.”
“We are not getting hash browns or bacon.”
“Waffles! We should totally get waffles. Or pancakes. Oh, my god, French toast.Yes.”
Asher didn’t know what the hell had just happened, but somewhere between Landon and the exit, his saucy little flirt had apparently become obsessed with breakfast. Here he was, about to come in his jeans like a goddamn sixteen-year-old boy, and Cameron’s version of drunken horniness had turned him into a food whore.
Just fucking great.
Grumbling in defeat, he pushed Cameron through the doors ahead of him, then led him to an idling cab on the curb in front of the club. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
God, that grin made everything worth it. “Does that mean we’re getting hash browns?”
Sliding in beside him in the backseat of the cab, he kissed Cameron’s forehead with a choked laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. We’re going to get hash browns.”
CHAPTER TEN
Coming awake slowly, Cameronsnuggled deeper into the blankets and sighed. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but it must have been good, because he felt warm and tingly, and a smile lingered on his lips.
Still buried under the comforter, he stretched experimentally, surprised at how relaxed he felt. Considering the amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before, he should have been kneeling in front of the toilet and praying his head didn’t explode. He always had a hangover after drinking, even from just one beer. The severity fluctuated depending on the type and amount of alcohol, but he never escaped without at least a minor headache.
Throwing the covers off him, he flopped onto his back and opened his eyes, blinking several times when the sunlight spilling into the room threatened to scorch his retinas. When he could finally open his eyes without squinting, he stared up at the ceiling and thought over the events that had led to him waking up alone in the guest room.
He remembered arriving at the club. The tequila. A lot of tequila. People had randomly stopped to talk to him atthe bar. He didn’t really remember what they had talked about, but they’d seemed nice enough. He’d danced.
“Oh, Jesus,” he moaned, covering his face with his hands as heat crept up his neck and into his cheeks.
No, he hadn’tdanced. That description sounded too tame for what he and Asher had done. The way that man moved his body was practically indecent, but damn if Cameron didn’t want to do it again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun, even if his modesty was barely clinging to life.
He’d never really considered himself a sexual person. Sure, he enjoyed it, but it had never been something he craved. With Asher, though, he couldn’t even look at the man without getting hard. Every touch, every taste, only made him desperate for more. He thought Asher might be on the same page, so how the hell had he ended up in the guest bedroom?
Things had been getting heated, and they’d decided to leave. He vaguely remembered stopping to talk to someone on the way to hail a cab. Then…hash browns.
In the full minute it had taken to get from the dance floor to the exit, he’d decided he wasstarving.Not just hungry, but a deep down, ravenous need for food like he hadn’t eaten for days. Drunk him clearly couldn’t be trusted to make good choices.
The diner had been cute. ’50s-themed…or maybe it had been the ’40s. Asher had forced him to drink about a gallon of water. There might have been coffee in there somewhere as well. Then plates upon plates of just about every breakfast item on the menu. After that, everything was kind of blank. He didn’t even remember leaving the diner or coming back to Asher’s house.
Embarrassed by his behavior, mortified that Asher had witnessed it, and feeling guilty about inadvertently being a cocktease, never leaving the bed sounded like an excellent plan. Even as he thought it, though, his bladder protested, forcing him out of bed. It was probably for the best. He’d have to face Asher eventually, and he might as well do it sooner rather than later.
Dressed only in his boxer briefs—he’d have to ask Asher what had happened to his clothes and pray he hadn’t puked on them—he plodded into the bathroom to relieve himself. Once finished, he took his time brushing his teeth as he studied his reflection in the mirror. Shadows swept under his eyes, and his face was still a little puffy from the alcohol. A glint of light had him leaning closer to the mirror, curious as to how the hell he’d ended up with glitter in his hair and eyelashes.
Hoping a shower would help not only his appearance but his mood, he started the water to let it warm while he shuffled back into the bedroom to grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from the closet. He had a few new things from their lavish shopping excursion he could wear, butwhile they looked amazing, they weren’t exactly made for comfort.
Thinking of shopping made him think of the clothes he’d worn to the club, which in turn, brought him back around to the way he’d derailed the entire night. Embarrassment flared again, and he bit his bottom lip to stifle a groan as he made his way back to the shower.
As much as he was tempted to linger—he wouldn’t call it hiding, not really—he didn’t take as much time as he would have liked. He washed quickly, shampooing his hair twice to make sure he got out all the glitter. Then, he cleaned under his fingernails, scrubbed his face, and thought about shaving, but decided he could go one more day.
