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AARYN

“ W hatcha thinking about?” Errol comes into the living room, a beer in each hand.

You. But I can’t exactly tell him that. “How the hell such a small amount of shit could be such a pain in the ass to move,” I say instead.

I’m sprawled out on the sofa. We spent a good part of the afternoon moving me into Errol’s house. It was more strenuous than I expected it to be.

I was grateful for the exertion, though. It gave me somewhere to channel my energy away from the strange, thrilling, scary memory of making out with my best friend — another guy — in the cab of a beat-up box truck.

Just the memory of the sensation makes my heart race. So do the questions that are now rattling around in my brain: Is he in love with me now? Am I gay? Do I feel the same way about him? Are we more than just friends? Should we be?

I stretch my arms above my head and grimace.

Maybe I should start working out again. It usually bores the hell out of me, but if I don’t make an active effort to keep on muscle, it just vanishes.

And even though I don’t have to worry about impressing Eliza anymore, I have reasons for wanting to get back on the proverbial horse sooner rather than later.

“Here. I think you’ll like this one.” Errol hands me one of the beers as he plunks down onto the opposite side of the sofa.

He rolls the other condensing bottle across his forehead with a groan of appreciation.

“Man, that feels good. So nice and cool.” His cheeks are still flushed, his hair curling into damp tendrils and his gray T-shirt damp with sweat.

“Oh, thanks. And Eliza.” I don’t ask why he thinks I’d like this particular beer. But when I take my first sip, I discover that he’s right. “Huh, this is good. I swear, it’s like you’re psychic sometimes.”

“I just know you,” he says with a smile. “What about Eliza?” he asks. He brings the bottle to his lips and tips it up.

“She might’ve been a cheating bitch, but she sure could suck a dick.”

Errol chokes on his beer. He puts the bottle down on the coffee table with a sort of strangled cough.

“You OK there, man?” I lean over and give him a couple good claps on the back.

“Yeah, yeah —I’m good.” His voice is scratchy. “Just went down the wrong pipe.” After he catches his breath for another few seconds, he asks, “Do you miss her?”

I sigh. It’s a damn fine question. “Yeah and no at the same time, if that makes any sense?”

Errol takes a long pull off his beer before he answers. “Were you happy with her?”

I frown. “I thought so. I guess so.”

“You weren’t in love with her, then?”

“ What ?” I was picking at the label on my beer where the paper had gotten wet and started to lift, but Errol’s comment makes my head snap up. “What do you mean?”

“If you only kind of miss her, and you’re not even sure if you were happy with her when you look back…” he trails off and kind of shrugs.

I sigh, not wanting to admit he has a point. “I don’t even know if I miss her , or if I just miss having… somebody,” I concede. “Definitely miss the blowjobs, though,” I say as I huff out a sigh.

“Anything I can do to help?” Errol’s expression is teasing, but it’s paired with that same coquettish flutter of lashes he did in the truck.

And for a second time, it sends a little frisson through me.

With that kiss in the back of my mind, it’s enough to embolden me to think about doing something stupid, something dangerous.

But as soon as I blink, it vanishes. I’m once again just looking at Errol’s warm brown eyes and a little half-smile.

Jesus Christ, Ran. He’s just joking around. Fuck’s sake — he’s my best friend… who I just discovered I really like kissing.

Afraid of tumbling down a mental rabbit hole, I hurriedly change the subject, blurting out the first stupid thing that comes into my head. “It’s kind of weird that your hair went all white but your eyebrows stayed the same.”

“No.” He gives his head a little shake, his expression sheepish. “I —OK, I know this sounds really vain, but this is basically a tattoo.” He sets his beer on the coffee table.

“What?”

I’m caught by surprise when Errol changes positions and abruptly drops his head into my lap. “See?” Looking up at me, he traces along the top of his brow line with a finger.

I lean forward, letting the logical side of my brain take over.

“Huh. That’s kind of wild. Did you do this because your eyebrows went white, too?

” The illusion works so well that I can barely distinguish between the actual hairs and dark lines that look like they were made with the finest stroke of a pen.

I need the distraction, because I can’t think about the horrifying and very real possibility that Errol’s head in my lap could wake up my dick.

Even though we shared that electric kiss in the truck and he confessed to having a crush on me in high school —and maybe since then — that doesn’t mean an unsolicited hard-on will go over well.

“Yeah,” he says, seeming not to notice my rising panic. “The white grew in patchy and it just looked awful. This was a godsend. I felt like my face was back to normal.”

“That doesn’t sound vain.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m only half-listening, distracted by the awful thought that I’m going to pop a boner right next to Errol’s face.

He shifts slightly without taking his head out of my lap.

The silky brush of hair on my inner thigh does what that sensation always does, and my worst-case-scenario comes true.

“Shit —oh God, I’m sorry, I don’t —” My mortified attempt at an apology comes to an abrupt stop when I see the corners of Errol’s mouth turn up.

“I don’t mind,” he says softly. “I think I’m kind of flattered, actually.”

What in the everloving hell is going on here?

Your best friend likes your hard dick in his face, dumbass.

“I can take care of this for you if you want, Stud,” Errol murmurs, nuzzling at my hard-on through the fabric of my shorts. His eyes flick up to mine. “Is this OK? I’ll stop if you want.”

My mind is spinning. I’ve gotten plenty of blowjobs in recent years. In fact, it sometimes felt surreal. Because while nobody wanted to blow a nerd, plenty of people did want to blow a tech hotshot.

But sitting here on Errol’s sofa with his head in my lap and that same hungry look in his eye as when we were in the truck is uncharted territory. I’m not sure what to think. Maybe I’ll just stop thinking.

As if. My throat is dry, so the only two words I can summon come out as an embarrassing croak. “Don’t stop.”