My threat to quit if Harry ran a story outing someone against their will was real, but now we’ll never know because we beat them to it. Having said that, I don’t know if I want to work for someone who even contemplated it.
But what other options do I have? Everyone knows print media is dying. Jobs are rare, and wages are low. I need to play this smart and bite my tongue until I can figure out what to do.
“Whoa,” Soren says, “you’re dating a journalist? You’re brave.”
“Nah, I’m just super irresistible. Clearly.” I gesture to my nerdy self.
“He’s being self-deprecating, but he doesn’t realize how true that is.” Ollie’s lips land on my cheek, and even though I put up a front by rolling my eyes, I’m giddy on the inside, and that mushy feeling I woke up with this morning is back.
Damon offers us a lift back to the city, seeing as he has to go that way anyway, so the four of us climb into his car.
It doesn’t take even five minutes for Ollie’s hand to start wandering over my thigh, and I have to stop him from practically groping my dick numerous times.
Damon and Soren talk in the front, seemingly oblivious, but still. I give Ollie my best scowl, which only makes him smile. Of course. His new favorite thing is torturing me, it seems.
“Should’ve caught a cab,” Ollie mutters.
“I wouldn’t have let you touch me in a cab, either, Mr. Grabby Hands.”
“But I’m totally allowed to now. Whenever and wherever I want.”
“Uh … not to eavesdrop or anything,” Damon says from the front, “but that’s not a good idea. Especially in public.”
“Wait, I’m out now, and I still can’t touch my boyfriend in public?” Ollie asks.
My heart skips a beat at the boyfriend label again. I have no idea how we’re going to make this work, but fuck, I want to.
With my job in limbo right now, I don’t know what that’ll mean.
“Let things die down a bit first,” Damon says, and I frown.
I understand it, but I feel sorry for Ollie. He finally gets his chance to be out and he’s told to still hide it.
Ollie’s hand grasps mine. “What are you thinkin’ so hard about over there?”
“Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”
“There you go calling me pretty again,” he grumbles.
“You are kinda pretty.” Soren turns to us from the passenger seat with a charming smile showing off the dark scruff on his face.
Ollie chuckles at me. “I think you’re growling. Are you trying to growl? Fuck, that’s adorable.”
“I’m not growling,” I argue. “I’m not that dumb. Soren could snap me in half.”
“I’m not after your man,” Soren says. “I’m after my own.”
“Any guy in particular or any random one?” I ask.
He barks out a laugh. “An ex. Broke up because I wasn’t out. That’s fixed now, so I guess I’ll make myself grovel to get him back.”
Damon pulls up to Noah’s house and double-parks to let us out. “I’ll call if there’s any developments you should be aware of, but I doubt anything unexpected will pop up.”
We’re no sooner out of the car before Ollie’s dragging me to the steps leading to Noah’s front door.
Climbing stairs without paying attention to where my feet are going is harder than I’d thought it would be, but I don’t care when I have Ollie’s mouth on me. His hands are all over me, and his lips trail down the back of my neck.
We make it to the landing, and I go to push open the door, but it’s locked.
“Awesome,” I say.
“Why’s it being locked awesome?”
“Because they only ever lock it when they’re out.”
“And how are we getting in?” he asks nervously, as if I’m about to ask him to break into Noah’s six-million-dollar mansion.
“I have my key, and I have plans for you.”
That perks him up. “Plans? What plans?”
I fumble with my keyring and open the door. “Why don’t we go shower, and then you’ll find out?”
Ollie dips his head, his breath ghosting along my skin as we stumble inside. “Can’t I find out now?”
I shut the door with my foot and pull Ollie toward the stairs. “No. We both have plane on us, and I want you clean for what I want to do.”
Ollie’s eyes light up. “Are you going to fuck me?”
I was worried he might ask that, but I’m hoping what I have in store will make up for it. My lips land right by his ear as I whisper, “I want to fuck you with my tongue.”
“Sweet Neil Patrick Harris in a harness,” he mutters, and I laugh.
“Did you steal my line?”
He starts moving faster, and suddenly he’s the one dragging me. “Like you said. Sometimes fuck just isn’t enough.”
I have to laugh at how fast he runs up the stairs. The sound of the shower hits my ears before I even reach the top step.