“Nope.” He raises his makeshift sword. “Think we can make it through the whole thing this time?”
“Let’s try.”
We both lift our swords, and then, I lunge. He blocks me, and I spin immediately, trying to get in a hit to the side, but Payne knocks me off-balance before I make contact. He kicks at my leg, I hit his side, and then we bring our swords together. Somehow, we make it through the steps without screwing up, and I’m about to drop my umbrella when Payne goes off book.
He whacks my ribs, my thigh, before I block him.
“What are you—”
“Think you can beat me?”
“You’re on.”
It’s nothing like our practice. Where that was rehearsed and careful, this is a complete mess. Payne gets in a hit to my jaw before I stab the umbrella at his abs, then his back. He grunts in pain, hand flying at my face as I try to wrestle the broom handle off him. Our makeshift weapons are flailing before we drop them, forgotten, and then it becomes a competition of who can get the other to the ground first.
“Damn.” He grunts. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”
“Yep.” I get him into a headlock, shoving him toward the ground, but before he hits, Payne wraps an arm around my waist, heaves me over his shoulder, then staggers us toward the couch. He collapses into it, sends the couch flying back upright, and in my surprise— “Fuck.” Payne releases me as he folds in half, clutching at his balls.
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”
“Yep.” His voice is strained. “I think you win.”
I can’t help it—I laugh, and when the pain settles, he joins in. We’re both breathing hard, him sprawled over the couch, me, sitting on the floor, and when we calm down enough and catch eyes, I’m back a few nights ago, on my knees, face buried in his groin.
The humor dies on his face, and I’m pretty sure he’s reminded of the same thing.
I can’t help licking my lips, desperately wanting to offer it up again.
There’s a moment where we both stare at each other, and I’m dying to know what he’s thinking. His stare drops to my lips, and then he clears his throat and looks away.
“Heard from Lee?” he asks, and the fun afternoon we’ve had evaporates.
“Ah, yeah.” I look away from him. “He messaged me earlier.”
“When’s the big date?”
“Friday night.” Exactly one week after I hooked up with Payne. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself it’s for the best, I can’t get excited over the date. I’d rather stay in. Watch a movie. Eat popcorn with Payne, then maybe swallow his dick again, who knows?
“Want me to stay at Marty’s that night? You know, in case …”
“No. No, no. This is your home. I won’t be … I won’t …” Yikes, I can’t finish that.
Realistically, any other time, I’d probably go home with Lee or bring him here; even if the date turned shit, I’m still fine with a hookup.
The problem is Payne was the last guy I was with, and I don’t want to let go of that just yet.
So no, I definitely can’t explain that.
I clear my throat. “I’m sure we can go back to his place if we …”
Payne waves his hand to cut me off, thankfully not needing me to finish that sentence either because it makes me feel gross. Fuck, these feelings.
I need to make a better effort at trying to move on, despite the tiny voice telling me I don’t want to.
It’s not healthy.
I’ll be so much happier in a relationship with someone who sees me the way I see Payne.
If only I’d kept my mouth closed, maybe we’d still be hooking up.
But that wouldn’t be fair on him. The first time wasn’t either, but it’s not like that was planned. It was spontaneous, and once it started, there was no way I was stopping to be like, “oh, PS, this means a lot to me, just want you to know. Now can I suck your cock, please?” because that would have brought it to a grinding halt.
I needed that one time.
I need more than once, if I’m honest, but I’m not letting that thought get ahead of me. I’ll respect Payne’s boundaries. Payne’s stupid, stupid boundaries because he’s disgustingly, stupidly sweet.
Out of nowhere, Payne reaches forward and covers one of my hands. “Hey, what happened? You got real anxious out of nowhere.”
“What … how did you …”
He laughs. “Your hands started going crazy.”
“Oh.” I let out a breath. “Yeah, the thought of dating does that.” Sure, let’s go with that excuse and not the one where I’m desperately trying to downplay my feelings.
His thumb rubs light circles over my wrist, and he surprises me by saying, “Why don’t we cook dinner together, and then I’ll let you use my tats?”
“You’d let me do that again?”
An adorable, bashful expression crosses his face, and he rubs at the back of his neck. “Maybe we do it here and you can use my arms. That’ll be fine, right?”
I’m nodding hard before he’s even finished talking. An excuse to touch him again? I should be saying no. Thanking him and protecting myself.
Instead, I wait for him to go and shower off the day’s work, then stash the pile of coloring books I ordered into one of my drawers.
Nothing to see here.
Other than an idiot in big, big trouble.
DMC GROUP CHAT
Me: Date ideas?
Griffin: Getting back on the horse? Good for you.
Art: Want-to-date-you date, or get-in-your-pants date? Important distinction.
Orson: If Payne only wanted to hook up, I’m sure he wouldn’t have needed us for that.
Art: Good point. In that case, I’m of no use here.
Orson: Who are you romancing?
Me: Beau. But it’s less romancing, and more helping him with a practice date before his one this weekend.
Art: And suddenly I’m interested again.
Orson: This sounds dangerous.
Griffin: And by “dangerous” Orson means Beau is going to be snapped up if you’re not careful.
Me: There’s no snapping, no danger, I just need a low-key date idea.
Art: Low-key? No. What you need is to give him the most mind-blowing date so that whatever this other guy is planning is an utter disappointment by comparison.
Me: And again, it’s not real. He’s nervous, I’m trying to help.
Griffin: “Help” ;）
Art: With his dick?
Me: You all suck.
Orson: What did I do? I think you’re being very sweet.
Me: I’m not trying to be sweet, I’m trying to be a good friend.
Griffin: “Friend” ;）
Orson: Of course we believe you.
Art: Nothing friendlier than a suck and fuck.
15
Payne
I close out of the chat with a short laugh. I should have known better than to expect those dumbasses to help me. My back is prickling with sweat as I climb out of the car I’m detailing. The fans in the warehouse are rotating above, but they’re doing fuck all to reach the ground.
“You look happy,” Ford says, holding out a bottle of water.
I accept it with a grateful smile. “Mostly fine, just dealing with annoying friends who like to give me shit.”