Page 46 of Happy Krampus Xmas & the Meet Not Cute
He suddenly erases the distance between us and proceeds to slap me hard on the cheek.
“We have eyes on you, Thor. Behave! And remember, pecker-nail-scoreboard.” He then growls in my face, pushing himself onto his tiptoes. He only reaches my shoulder and I still loom over him which kind of nullifies the…warning.
He sashays away from me as I massage my aching cheek. He surely knows how to land a hard slap. That doesn’t stops my eyes from falling appreciatively on his butt. My dick doesn’t seem to be interested, though. An image of another plump, round ass fills my head again, and the half chub inside my pants lets me know how much my body is on board with the idea of fooling around with a tall, no-fucks-given badass named Spencer.
I don’t know why I stuttered yesterday when he pointed out I got hard for him. It was self-preservation I guess; my brain tried to fight the automatic denial, and all I got out were incomprehensible words. I’ve never talked about my appreciation for a man’s bod before.
But the truth is that I…I’m bi. I’ve always tended more toward girls, and while still glancing at and lingering on a nice male figure, I never felt real attraction toward a guy.
Until…him.There’s something about him.
Those hard amber eyes in contrast with his kind acts and his unpredictable personality combative one moment, playful the next urge me to discover more.
That’s one of the reasons why I’m knocking at his apartment door an hour later. He opens after a long moment with only a towel around his waist and another in his hand. My lips part in surprise as my eyes eagerly run down his long and very defined torso covered in tattoos.
He runs his inked hand through his wet hair, leaving it a wild tangle of waves, as drops of water start rolling down his lightly freckled skin, one catching on his hard pale pink nipple.
I swallow hard, unable to stop my eyes from ogling and my dick from lurching inside my jeans. He must have just gotten out ofthe shower. The smell of jasmine envelops me for a moment, and I take a big breath, hoping it will stay with me a little longer.
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue, and I jerk my gaze to his unhappy face. He has a bruise under his eye and another on his jaw. The sight pours cold water on my libido.
“Here for round two?” he asks, bringing the towel to his head to rub it over the wet locks. The eye tattoo on his hand looks lifelike, staring at me too deeply.
“I…” I clear my voice and repeat, “I brought you a new bike.” I open my palm and show him the lock keys. He doesn’t say anything nor attempt to take them from my hand.
He pushes me to the side and walks barefoot to the landing, leaning over the railing to look down at the parking lot.
“You can’t see it well. It’s under the bike shelter. It’s the yellow one,” I say awkwardly.
“Why?” he asks, turning toward me.
“It’s from me and the guys. They won’t give you any more trouble,” I assure him. When he remains silent I add, “Hard to believe, but in the shower, when I pushed you, I was actually trying to protect you.”
He scoffs scornfully at that.
“I thought that acting like nothing happened in front of those idiots was the right choice, that not giving them an explanation would make them let go of the whole thing. But I was wrong.” I quickly say, “And also I was protecting myself. I’m still trying to understand a few things about myself. One in particular.” I tuck my lips inside my mouth, unable to say more than that; my tongue feels like one of those heavy weights I lift in the gym.
The heavy silence that falls between us is broken after a few, interminable seconds by his sigh. He walks back inside his apartment without saying a word but leaves the door open. I take it as an invitation and step inside, closing it behind me. After dropping the bicycle lock’s keys on the small table on the right I make my way in.
“Heyyyy, wanker! I don’t like to be kept waiting.” That’s his feral friend’s voice—Lori—coming from the phone on the flamingo pink sofa’s armrest.
“Shut your trap,” Spencer replies, dropping himself on the small, comfortable-looking sofa. He tosses the damp towel on a chair and pushes his hair back, revealing another tattoo under his arm. Fuck, he looks good. All that ink gives him a bad boy charm. I didn’t think I was into that, but I also never thought I was actually into men.
“So rude!” I hear Lori scolding him. “Are you gonna do it? If you decide to indulge me, I’ll stop. It’s a promise.”
I studiously avert my eyes from Spencer to stop the ogling and look around instead. The place is nice. The small kitchen to the right looks untouched. The airy living room I’m standing in has only the essentials: a big TV, a desk with a laptop and notebooks on top, shelves filled with books, and a door that must lead to the bedroom.
Spencer huffs with what sounds like exasperation. “It’s always a negotiation with you. I’d like to say I’m gonna hold you to that promise, but nobody can hold you to?—”
Lori cuts him off. “Gabe and Bez did just that yesterday when they bent me over the kitchen counter and poun?—”
Two guys? Wow, that sounds…hot.
“Hanging up now,” Spencer lets him know.
“Tomorrowsixo’clock. Havefun,youslut!” Lori quickly says, all in one breath before Spencer ends the call.
I’m still standing in the living room, but now, he’s the one staring at me. From my old gray baseball cap to the tips of my sneakers. I usually don’t mind. I have a great body, and enough girls hit on me to make me feel confident about myself. But under his amber eyes, I feel self-conscious and second-guessing.
