Page 64 of The Best Men
Flicking the signal, I pull into the lot. “Seriously? Do you need shampoo? Shaving cream? Deodorant? Is that what can’t wait?”
His lips curve into the smirkiest smirk of all time. “And to think I was going to tell you. Not sure I will now.”
When I park, he gets out of the car, tips his forehead to the pharmacy. I follow him, because of course I do. He’s where I want to be.
Asher strides through the air-conditioned store with purpose. He does everything with purpose, and he’s hell-bent on passing the gum aisle, the aspirin row, the lotion shelves. Till he turns down . . .oh . . .
Oh, yes.
This is the best errand of my life.
Asher doesn’t even look at me. Just swaggers down the aisle to the condom display. When he stops and reaches for a box, all the air evacuates my lungs as reality hits me squarely in the chest.
I’m going to have sex with a hot man.
This hot man.
I don’t know if we’ll do it tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next night. But it’s happening. It is on. I can barely breathe, I want it so badly.
Wanthimso badly.
My face goes up in flames as I stop next to him, catch a faint hint of that rainfall and summer breeze smell. What does he smell like when he’s fucking?
Don’t know, but I’m going to find out.
I nearly sway. I may topple over from desire and turn into a puddle on the floor of CVS.
He turns to me, steps closer, brushes his jaw along mine, dips his mouth to my ear. “Like my errand now, Banks?”
My bones melt. “Uh-huh.”
As he pulls back, he locks eyes with me. His flash with dirty deeds. “Some of your list items require lube.”
I say nothing because if I tried to speak, all I would do is croak.
“Now, do you think it’s a good idea we . . .camehere?”
It’s the best idea ever, I want to shout.
But there’s no way I can speak without sounding like an overeager teenager who just discovered his first X-rated video. I simply nod, though I can’t hide the smile that’s taking over my face.
I, Mark Banks, am on a sex errand.
My lips twitch and they don’t stop.
“Ah, so errands do get you hot?” Asher teases.
I tug at my T-shirt. “A little.”
He stares at my neck, then his eyes sweep down my body, landing at my crotch. “A lot.”
I just nod several times, giving in. “Yeah. A lot,” I say, and I’m in a trance.
But a question hangs over my head. How exactly are we doing it?
Like I did last night when I asked him to dance, I dive into the deep end. “Asher,” I ask, in front of the extra-large condoms, since that seems fitting. “What you said in the car yesterday about not being a control freak. Were you alluding to . . .”
Asher laughs. “Yes, I was.”
