“Are you confused?” Straight to the point, as always with her.
“Nah. I never told you, but freshman year, I had this … thing. With … this guy.”
“Who?”
“Oh, hell no. I’m not telling you who.” I don’t think Matt and Stacy had any classes together, and Stacy barely hung out in our room, but I won’t risk it. Matt and I swore we’d never tell anyone.
She slinks back in her seat. “Huh.”
“That’s all you have to say? Huh?”
“What, you want me to throw you a pride parade for figuring out you like dudes? I don’t give a shit who you fuck, so long as it’s not me.”
Another laugh. This is why I love Stacy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DAMON
I haven’t even dumped the clothes from my duffel into the washing machine when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Smiling, I figure the message is from Maddox already telling me Stacy took his news well. My face falls when I see it’s from Eric.
Eric:
You around?
“Not for you,” I mutter to myself.
I throw my phone on my bed and go for a shower. As much as I try to not think about Maddox while I’m naked, I’ve been hard up for two days—ever since I laid eyes on him standing in the doorway to his apartment with that confused look on his face as he stared at the half-naked guy in front of him.
His blond hair and blue eyes … damn it, now I’m painfully hard.
Taking myself in my hand, I close my eyes and picture a different set of piercing blue eyes—the ones that belong to my future husband: Matt Bomer. It works for all of two strokes, until the name Matt makes me think of Maddox’s Matt, which makes me jealous as I picture some frat guy going down on him. Then the faceless guy morphs in my mind, and I’m the one on my knees, giving Maddox what he wants.
No matter how many times I try to stop picturing Maddox, my brain has other ideas. And because my hand is attached to my brain, it pumps my cock in hard and fast pulls.
My spine tingles, and my orgasm slams into me. “Fuck,” I grunt when the guilt comes before I’ve even washed the evidence away.
I may not have done anything wrong, and it’s not the same as when I was a teenager jerking off to the thought of Eric, but it feels exactly the same. I’m thinking of a guy I can’t have, which is going to screw me up. Even though Maddox wants us to … fool around or whatever he wants, I can’t be the one.
That doesn’t stop the smile when I towel off and check my phone again.
Unknown number:
You were right. She’s cool with it. Offered to set me up with a guy named George. Then we got into an argument about not knowing any sexy Georges. George is not a hot name.
Damon:
Let me guess, she argued that Prince George will be a heartbreaker when he grows up. She has a weird obsession with Britain’s royal family.
Maddy:
I know. She literally cried on my shoulder when Prince Harry got engaged. I freaked her out today by saying I’d do Harry. This whole being bi thing could be a new fun way to fuck with her.
Damon:
Play nice, children.
I wait for him to respond longer than would be considered normal. My fingers itch to keep talking—maybe even flirt a little. And that’s exactly why I need to stop. When I realize how sad that is, I finish dressing and get stuck into studying. Three more months until I’m done with my law degree—another reason I shouldn’t hook up with Maddox. I need to focus on finals and my career. I also need to come up with a game plan for getting myself some clients.
The last thing I want to do right now is stick my head in a textbook, but I need a distraction. I get lost in the words but am pretty sure none of it’s sinking in. Two hours later when my phone plays the rap version of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” I sigh at my sister’s name lighting up the screen.
“What?” I answer.
“Why won’t you hook up with Maddox?”
“Jesus H. Christ.”
“He said you’re not into noobs.”
I laugh. “Pretty much. I don’t want to be that guy for him.”
“Too late. One kiss and you turned him gay.”
I stiffen. “Stacy, don’t say that shit.”
“Why not? You know I’m joking.”
“Just don’t, okay?” I can’t tell her the real reason I hate that attitude, and it’s probably thrown her off because she’s always saying un-PC shit to me and I don’t usually care. I have to say something, or she’ll know something’s up. “I had a guy accuse me of trying to do that. It’s a touchy subject for me.”
“What the fuck? Who?”
“That doesn’t matter.”