Page 40 of Next Season
I pounced on top of him, straddling his torso and pinning his wrists to the mattress. “I never ordered seventy-five sandwiches. Take that back.”
“Fine. It was sixty-two.”
“Sounds more like it.” I nipped his chin and released his hands to run my fingers through his chest hair. “I guess I’m not so straight after all.”
“No?”
“I’m bi and I wish I’d figured it out years ago, ’cause I fucking love this.”
“To be clear…you fucking love fucking a man?”
“Yes. Not just any man, though. You.”
Jean-Claude put his hand over his chest and fluttered his eyelashes. “I am honored.”
I punched his pec playfully and tweaked his left nipple. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Feed me,MonsieurBouchard. I need to keep my strength up if we’re gonna do that again.”
“So bossy.” He hauled his sexy self out of bed and stretched his arms over his head, then scratched his nuts as he meandered to a dresser and pulled out a fresh pair of boxer briefs. I redressed, sniffing my tee and wrinkling my nose. “Here. Wear this one.”
I caught the T-shirt he tossed at me and stared at it for a beat. “I can’t wear your clothes.”
“Yours stink, mine are clean. They might be large on you because I’m taller, my muscles are bigger, and I like food more than you, but so what? No one will know.”
True, but sharing clothes with the guy who’d just fucked my brains out felt…intimate. Maybe even boyfriend-y. Did I care? Not at all.
I dropped my shirt and tugged his over my head. “Thank you.”
Jean-Claude’s lips twitched in amusement. “You’re welcome. You look cute, you know. Like my cute little friend.”
“Fuck off and feed me,” I grumbled without heat.
He ruffled my hair as I walked by, catching me around the waist and pulling me close. “We should do a lot of fucking before you leave,oui?”
“Oui.”
We made out till my stomach growled, then parted with a laugh and headed downstairs to his kitchen, hand in hand. I sat at the island, eating olives and cheese from the charcuterie board he’d prepared, while watching him sear salmon on his professional-grade stove. Some kind of French jazzy music played from the portable speaker on the counter under an open shelf stacked with white plates and mugs.
I admired his blue-and-white French farmhouse-style kitchen, the delicious spread in front of me, and his fine ass in his thin gray sweats as he hummed to a melody I’d never heard till now. I wallowed in a sense of harmony and well-being, and let myself just enjoy.
There was no need to fret about phrases like “before you go.” Not yet.
I didn’t want to think about leaving when I felt like I was somewhere I belonged.
8
JEAN-CLAUDE
Rise and Grind was busy this morning. I had an hour to spare till I was needed at the diner and though I knew my coffee was better, this was a good neutral place to be seen in public with a secret male lover. No one thought twice about daily caffeine jaunts. And if they wondered why Riley and I were together so often, they probably assumed he was too new in town to be bothered by my curmudgeony ways.
“This is a…giraffe?” I guessed, squinting at the foam art in my latte.
Ivan rolled his eyes. “It’s a rose. That’s the stem…see?”
No, I didn’t see it at all. I cast a questioning glance at Riley, who countered with a “Be nice” half smile. It was a peculiar power to be able to communicate with someone without words. A quick look, a clandestine touch, a hand gesture…it was a private language, safe to use in public, and I liked it more than I would have thought.
Of course, I preferred having him to myself.
We spent every night at either his place or mine, and every day off or free hour or two before work belonged to him now. Our outings generally consisted of a trip to the gym, the skating rink, or the coffee shop—rarely the diner. I needed to concentrate and besides…Nolan was there. I didn’t want to invite questions I couldn’t answer.