Him (Him #1)(28)

“What are you waiting for, Ryan? Suck it already.”

“Fuck, Wes, you’re making me come.”

It bothers me that I remember every word I said to him. I’ve been on the receiving end of some pretty phenomenal blowjobs these past four years, but can I tell you what was said during them? Can I repeat, verbatim, every single word I uttered to those chicks? To Holly? Every dirty command that left my mouth?

No, I can’t.

My gaze shifts back to the pool table, locking on Wes’s mouth. My dick stirs, remembering that mouth wrapped around it.

Shit, maybe I’m more drunk than buzzed.

Sam and Wes’s laughter wafts toward me. Looks like Sam finally won a game, and knowing Wes, he’s taunting the guy about it being a fluke. Or hell, maybe Wes let him win. Maybe he decided to throw the guy a bone before he…throws the guy a bone.

My chest goes rigid. The thought of Wes hooking up with someone tonight pisses me off.

Jealous? a little voice mocks.

Screw that. I’m not f*cking jealous. I don’t care what Wes does—or who he does—but we were supposed to hang out tonight. Me and him. Not him and some random guy he met through a hook-up app.

I abruptly hop off my stool and make my way back to the pool table. They’re not even playing anymore, just standing close together, chuckling about something. Sam’s hand rests on Wes’s hip. A casual gesture. Light, harmless.

But it sparks resentment in my gut. Why the hell is he touching him? He doesn’t even know him. Presumptuous *.

“Ready to go?” I raise my voice, because neither of them notices me standing there.

Wes blinks. “Now?”

I answer through clenched teeth. “Yes. I want to take off.” I can’t help but offer a cool look. “You’re my ride, remember?”

Wariness floats through his expression. Then he gives a quick nod and turns to Sam. “Thanks for the games, man. Looks like we’re taking off now.”

The other guy’s disappointment is impossible to miss. He glances at me, then back at Wes. “Uh, yeah…sure. Let me just grab your number before you go?”

Asshole.

I grind my molars as I watch them exchange numbers. Well then. I guess they’re going to meet up again. So much for getting to spend the summer reconnecting with my best friend.

Wes doesn’t say anything as we head for the exit. The music in the bar had been too loud to hear what was happening outside, but when we step out the door, we find ourselves in the middle of a torrential downpour.

A cold gust of rain slaps me in the face, soaking my clothes in seconds. “Shit. Run to the car?” I shout over the deafening pounding of the rain hitting the pavement.

Wes stays put. His expression is as thunderous as the weather. “What the hell was that?”

I can barely hear him over the wind and rain. “What?”

“You acted like a total douchecanoe in there.” Then he stalks away, his boots splashing the puddles forming on the asphalt.

The little awning spanning the side of the building does nothing to protect us from the rain. Our clothes are plastered to our bodies. Water clings to my hair and drips down my face as I hurry after him.

“I was the one acting like a douchecanoe?” I yell after him.

He stops, spins around to face me. “Yes. Jesus, dude, the way you treated that guy, you’d think he was carrying the Ebola virus.”

“Maybe I just didn’t appreciate the way he was pawing you right in front of me!” I shoot back.

Wes’s mouth falls open. “What?”

My mouth slams shut. Jesus f*ck. Why did I say that?

“I mean…” I swallow. “It was rude.”

Wes stares at me. Droplets run down his chiseled face, catching in the beard growth shadowing his jaw. His lips are slightly parted. I can’t stop looking at them.

“What is happening right now?” he asks slowly.

Misery lodges in my throat. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what’s happening. The rain falls harder. A flash of lightning slices through the black sky. I should be cold, but I’m not. My body feels like a furnace. Three beers shouldn’t be having this effect on me.

Maybe it’s him? Maybe he’s making me hot?

Wes’s tongue darts out to lick at the raindrops on his bottom lip, and I catch a glimpse of his tongue ring. It wasn’t there when we were eighteen. It wasn’t there when his tongue had circled the head of my cock the night he gave me the best BJ of my life.

And there it is.

Ryan Wesley had given me the best BJ of my life.

“Canning…” He trails off, watching me again. He looks uneasy, but…there’s something else in his gaze. A flicker of confusion. A hint of interest.

I take a step closer, but I’m not sure why. My heart is pounding harder than the rain. My eyes are glued to his mouth.

“Jamie.” A note of warning this time.

I suck a gulpful of oxygen into my lungs.

Then I ignore the warning.

His eyes widen as I shove my fingers through his hair and tug his head closer. “What—”

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because I’m smashing my mouth against his.





14





Wes