Page 18 of Next Season

I turned on the lamp next to the sectional and followed him to the laundry room where—

Oh. Shit.

The basket of dirty clothes overflowed from its precarious heap, spilling onto the floor.

“Tomorrow’s laundry day,” I commented, kicking a stray pair of boxer briefs out of sight and shoving the basket away from the door with a sheepish half smile.

Jean-Claude didn’t reply. He moved to the fuse box and clicked the latch open. “It looks fine, all the levers are in the right place. Always check this one here…on the bottom, see?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I inched closer to him, nodding along like an idiot. But it was all I was capable of at the moment. I could barely breathe. He smelled so fucking good, like soap and woodsy cologne. Heat emanated from him in waves. Two grown men in a small laundry room, so close the hair on his arms tickled mine…it was too much.

I did my best to pay attention, but I was more concerned about the inferno zipping through my veins than the fucking electricity. I stepped back to give myself room to reset.

“How is your head?”

“My head?” I repeated. “It’s…fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

Jean-Claude smiled. “Good. Well, I should go now. Don’t worry, I will wash your T-shirt and sweats before I return them. I see you have enough laundry to do.”

“Ha. Right.”

That was my cue to step aside and see him to the door, but I couldn’t seem to move. I braced one hand on the washing machine in a not-so-casual pose while my brain catalogued Jean-Claude’s size and strength, the tattoos on his right biceps, the bulge in his borrowed gray sweats. And yeah, my mouth was watering now. He was…hot.

I’d been in countless locker rooms with celebrated, handsome athletes with chiseled bodies and I’d never ever so much as blinked in their direction. I wasn’t gay.

But was I bi?

Something was up with me because I couldn’t deny that I was seriously attracted to this man. I’d been drawn to him since the day he’d come after me for not eating my burger with gusto. I liked his company, I liked his gruff yet kind manners, his melodic accent, and…his smile. I really fucking liked his smile.

I stared at him and damn, I couldn’t look away.

He stepped closer. “You are sure you’re okay?”

“Yep. I’m…” I sucked in a breath and licked my lips. “I’m…oh, fuck it.”

I grabbed a handful of his shirt, yanked him toward me, and fused my mouth over his.

Yeah, I kissed him.

I’d officially lost my mind. This was what happened when the threads of your carefully stitched world came apart at the seams—inhibitions flew out the proverbial window and the entire world went tits up. I could tell myself I was straight all day long, but obviously that wasn’t true ’cause this felt so damn good.

But Jean-Claude hesitated.Shit. This was about to go supernova awkward.

Not yet. Please, not yet.

I was about to pull away just as he cradled my face between his hands, backed me against the washing machine, and thrust his tongue into my mouth.

That spark and hum I’d felt earlier combusted into a full-blown blaze. Our tongues dueled for dominance, and I was totally okay with him winning. All I cared about was this kiss.

I pulled him closer and rested my hands on his hips as he caressed my jaw, sucked my bottom lip, and kissed me as though he’d been waiting for it his whole life.

We made out in a growing frenzy. Careful touches gave way to manic exploration…all above the waist. I wasn’t brave enough to go south. My dick was an iron rod behind a thin polyester-blend layer, so yes, I was turned on and I assumed he felt the same way, but I’d never felt a man’s erection. That might be too much.

Yet this fire burned hot and wild. It wasn’t reasonable to think I could keep my cock out of the equation.

I tentatively raked my fingers along his sides and accidentally lifted his T-shirt up, exposing his stomach. Jean-Claude broke off with a sharp inhale and brushed his nose on mine.