Page 47 of Happy Krampus Xmas & the Meet Not Cute
“Nice place. Comfortable.” I was going for a light tone, but my voice sounds stilted and awkward.
“Better than your opulent frat house, you mean?” He raises a challenging dark red brow at me. How does he know I’m part of a fraternity? Did he ask around about me?The thought pleases me more than it should.
“Definitely. It’s peaceful here.” I nod. And I’m not lying. I love my bros, but I’d like to have more fucking privacy. Since I’m a frat legacy, though, I need to stay put.
“Beer?” He stands and walks toward the small white fridge in the kitchen.
“Uhm, no thanks.” Why am I so tense? I follow and lean my hip against the small counter.
I suddenly feel the need to tell him, “Sorry about your job. I talked to your ex-boss, but he already hired someone else.”
He gives me that scrutinizing, sober stare before going back to sit on the sofa. He takes a long sip from his can, and I find myself hypnotized by his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow. My head goes straight to the gutter in half a second, and I haveto force my eyes away from him again. They fall on the pile of sociology books on the desk.
“You following Professor Corder’s class?” He nods in reply. “He’s a bore,” I state, remembering his endless lessons as he spoke in that monotone, sleep-inducing voice.
He shrugs.
“Wanna become a sociologist? Or a psychologist?”
“Nope.”
He’s a damn hard nut to crack. And for some inexplicable reason, I want to crack him open, even though the odds for a positive outcome are not on my side. “Nice tattoos.” I wave my hand toward his torso.
He sighs. “Are you always so loquacious?”
“Do you always use fancy words?” I counter.
“It’s a hobby of mine.”
My lips kick up because it’s not at all something I’d attribute to him. But I know literally nothing about the guy, so I guess every new little thing would be a surprise.
Those deep, inscrutable eyes continue studying me with grim insistence. I feel like I’m under a microscope, which makes me both uncomfortable and excited.
He looks away before turning his eyes back to mine. I hear the click of his tongue, then he points at the tattoo on his hand. “The evil eye wards off wicked intentions and gives personal enlightenment. It keeps me on the right path.” He takes another sip from his can. “What does yours mean?”
“When did you see mine? Oh, right.” The shower.
“Yeah. Oh,” he repeats with a hint of mockery.
I ignore it as I take off my jacket and make my way toward him. “The sleeping bear was the mascot of my high school football team. It’s where I fell in love with the sport, and every time I see it, I can remember an echo of that feeling. The weight of the ball in my hand, the smell of freshly cut grass, the adrenaline running in my veins.” I stop near the sofa and raise my shirt to give him a good look at it and at the same time show off my incredible abs. Chicks love them, and it seems Spencer is no exception. His eyes slide down my torso with interest, stopping on the crotch of my pants.
It sends a prickly sensation straight to my balls while my dick gives a twitch.
“Do you like any sports?” I ask him, letting the shirt fall down and then dropping next to him. The sofa is small, there’s only a couple of feet between us, and I’m assaulted by that jasmine scent again.
Instead of giving me an answer, he abruptly asks, “Why are you here?”
My wooden voice doesn’t help my attempt at sounding convincing. “Uhm, the bike.”
“Why are youstillhere, TJ?” he insists.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. His head tilts slightly to the left as his gaze turns intense once again. He lowers it on my lips and holds it there. Then he spreads his legs, letting the towel part slightly, although without revealing more skin.
“Tell me, why are you really here,” he perseveres, using a softer but commanding tone. My eyes focus on his fingers brushing the eagle tattoo on his pec, then going around one nipple and trailing down the intricate orange and black ink to his flat belly. My cock grows inside my jeans until it turns painful.
“Mm, if you have nothing to say, maybe you should go.” His hand drops flat on his leg. He wants me to confess my reason for coming here. Which was the bike, wasn’t it? An innocent gesture. Totally innocuous, right? I’m not so sure anymore. Because it morphed into something completely different—way far from innocent and innocuous.
I take a deep breath. “I-I need to know.”
