Page 4 of Burden of Proof

Was that really it?

Marshall on one end of the spectrum and Smith on the other, and I couldn’t bring myself to muster up attraction for either of them.

“You’re…you’re something else,” I said.

“That sounds bad.”

“It sounds like the truth.”

“You know…” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders and letting them fall. “I spent my whole adult life wanting to be just like Marshall, but the older I get, the more I think we’re not the same.”

“You’re nothing like him. I mean, on the surface maybe, but not fundamentally.”

He scrunched his nose.

“I don’t mean it badly,” I assured him. “I see it, but…you’re both very different.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed to lace up his sneakers, pausing far longer than necessary on the second one.

“You’re not attracted to me, are you?” he asked.

I really fucking hoped I hadn’t said any of that other stuff out loud.

“You’re not my type, but you’re not unattractive. You made me come, Smith. It’s not like?—”

He cut me off, cheeks burning red. “I didn’t need an explanation. I just…thought it would be easier to be friends if we both agreed we didn’t want to have sex again.”

“You already over the idea of asking me to top you?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “The more you talk, the more I want you to keep your clothes on.”

“I think I should be offended.”

He stood up, looking lanky and boyish and so fuckingkind.

“But you’re not,” he said.

“No,” I agreed, “I’m not.”

After that, we ran through a quick check of the hotel room, gathering our things and making sure no wrappers had landed on the floor instead of the trash. With the exception of the bed, the room was in the same condition as when we’d arrived. Smith stopped me at the door, squaring his shoulders and sticking his right hand into the small space between us.

“Friends then?” he asked.

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to kiss him—platonically—or run the other way screaming. I did neither, instead sliding my hand alongside his and squeezing.

“Friends.”

CHAPTER 2

HUNTER

The hotel room was mid-range, but the bed was bolted to the wall and didn’t squeak so I counted it as a win. The stack of crisp bills on the table beside my cell phone, another win, and the force of my orgasm as I shot long and hot stripes of cum across another man’s chest, the biggest boon of all. He groaned, reaching up and smearing my load into his skin, and I carefully tucked my still-hard cock back into my pants before I’d even finished emptying onto him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The app said his name was John, but I found that to be highly unlikely and also unoriginal.

“Thank you?”