“I’m coming,” I reply, following closely behind him. Because that’s what I do.
That’s what I always do.
Rule #30: If it sounds like an invitation, it probably is.
Hunter
We shut down Salacious for two nights this week for renovations. One of those renovations is the addition of quickie closets as Garrett has deemed them. There’s one on either side of the club, toward the back, so they’re not obvious, but just discreet enough. Of course, for the purpose of red tape and city codes, they are officially classified as changing stalls…like a dressing room.
What they really are is enough space for a little action, without having to reserve a room or change any sheets. A clever idea to boost membership, honestly.
The other renovation is turning the back two rooms into an interchangeable workshop room, and Drake is being obstinately resistant to this one. Maybe because we’re only giving him two days to work on it when he fought Emerson for more. Maybe because the mention of workshops brings back too many tense memories.
It’s kept Drake’s mood a little grumpy lately, and I can’t help but feel like that it’s partly on me. So when he doesn’t come home…I mean, back to the house, one night, I decide to pay him a visit. Isabel is teaching a class at the studio, and I hate being home alone.
It’s past seven when I show up at the club. All the trucks are gone, and it’s quiet inside. For a moment, I start to worry that he’s not here. That maybe he’s on another date.
After our little rendezvous in the kitchen last week, I sort of figured he was done with dating for a while. As far as I know, things with Geo didn’t go well.
If he can just avoid seeing other people, stay at the house with Isabel and me, and we don’t have to define this or make anything official, it would be perfect. Seamless and easy for everyone.
Yeah, right.
Even I know how unfair and unlikely that is.
I just never expected all of this to get so complicated. Everything is a mess, and it’s only a matter of time before our flimsy little arrangement implodes. As far as what happened last week with Drake, I’m not really mentally acknowledging that right now.
As I enter the club from the staff entrance at the back, I hear music coming from somewhere down the hall. It’s a heavy rock beat, and it’s blaring through the empty club. I walk cautiously down the hall toward the two back rooms, where the bulk of the renovations are happening.
Once I reach the doorway, I pause, blood pumping its way up to my cheeks, making me blush as I stare with my mouth slack. Drake is shirtless and sweaty as he lays planks of wood on the floor, pounding in each piece. He’s completely oblivious to my presence, and I keep it that way as I let my eyes rake over the rippling muscles across his back and shoulders with each piece of wood he installs.
Have I always been this attracted to him or is it just happening now that I’ve finally allowed myself to act on it? I’ve always known that Drake is good-looking. He gets the attention of every girl, in every bar we walk into. I’m not much shorter than him and I don’t consider myself that much uglier, but I don’t have those long blond locks or charming blue eyes.
What really finishes off his attractiveness is the way he flirts, smiles bright, and gives whoever he’s talking to the whole of his attention, as if they are the only person in the world who exists. I watch it, night after night, work its magic, and it’s maddening.
And until last week, I never felt that charm directed at me. Until we were standing toe to toe, naked and aroused.
Suddenly, I’m remembering the taste of his neck as I kissed him. And the way those abs felt against my tongue. My dick has begun to stir in my pants. Then I remember exactly how it felt to wrap my lips around him, the swell of his cock down my throat and how badly I wanted his pleasure.
My own cock is doing a lot more than stirring now—it’s throbbing and trying to talk me into walking across this room to get another taste.
So yeah, I guess that answers my question. I’m definitely fucking attracted to Drake.
Adjusting myself, so I’m not showing off a major hard-on, I cross the space and walk into his line of sight; he looks startled for a moment as he glances up at me.
“Hey!” he shouts, grabbing his phone out of his pocket to lower the music. Once it’s low enough to hear each other, he kneels back on his boots and waits for me to explain why I’m here.
Why am I here?
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“No. You just didn’t come back to the house…so I figured I’d check on you.”