Page 67 of Try Me

“Your expression right now…” Chet laughed. “Fuck yeah we can. C’mon.” He reached out a hand.

Suddenly, I was wide-awake again.

* * *

Honestly,there wasn’t a whole lot that changed. We were still competitive as hell at the firm, still taunted and teased each other relentlessly. Still argued. The difference manifested in the small moments. When I’d come into the break room for coffee and Chet would wordlessly fill my mug and hand me two creamers if he was there. Or the glazed chocolate donut I’d grab for him and set on his desk—with a napkin—if I beat him to the firm in the mornings.

Instead of wielding sex like a weapon against each other, there was an added intimacy to our hedonistic pursuit of pleasure. And Jesus, if I’d thought the things we’d done before were smoldering hot, now we’d moved into flame-broiled territory.

I waited for Chet at his place on nights when he had shifts at Fuego, and we still messed around at work sometimes, though we were more careful than before.

A lot of times, we took the stairs down when we left for lunch because, well, no one used the stairs and the acoustics were pretty fucking sexy. The booming echo of a guy growling your name as he fell apart? Yeah, it got my blood pumping.

One day, instead of going down, Chet led me up. Turned out anyone could access the rooftop, though few did in the blazing heat of summer.

We walked the perimeter of the building, looking over the city below, and then Chet pushed me into a rectangle of shade. He kissed me until my head spun. The noonday heat of the bricks at my back melded with the heat of his mouth, and my entire body felt so light and warm, like only his hands on my shoulders were keeping my feet on the ground.

He pulled away a fraction of an inch and licked his lips. “I swear to God, you’re the best damn kisser in existence.”

“So why’d you stop?” I grinned, and he flicked my side, but his mouth was on mine again in seconds.

We stayed up there until the combination of the skyrocketing temperature and the heat between us threatened to give us heatstroke.

For the rest of the day, though, that whispered compliment glowed against the back of my mind like an afterimage of the sun. I had to make an effort to tame the permasmile that kept trying to set up camp on my face.

* * *

Chet:Hey.

Mark:No.

Chet:What?

Mark:I’m not letting you get me hard again in a meeting.

It was too late,though. I’d been sneaking glances over at Chet between PowerPoint slides. He was wearing a silvery-gray oxford shirt, sleeves rolled up, index finger rubbing idly over the edge of the armrest. A circle, a swoop, back and forth. The way he sometimes rubbed over my slit when he took a break from blowing me, because he knew it drove me crazy. So I was already sporting a solid semi that became the full monty when his name popped up on my screen.

Chet:I wasn’t going to try to get you hard.

Chet:Was gonna tell you that tie’s not awful.

Mark:Thank you, I think.

Chet:Would be better as a blindfold. Or wrapped around my fist. With you on your knees. Think I could persuade you to try a different kind of ropes course?

Mark:JFC this is exactly what I’m talking about. Bye.

Chet:Wait.

Chet:I want to take you out.

Mark:Mafia style? Or like to dinner and a movie.

Chet:Idiot.

When I glanced across the room, he was snickering down at his phone.

Mark:Seriously? You’re asking for a formal date? You’re more of a sap than I realized.