Page 45 of Secrets and Lies
“Me either,” I say, even though I have no idea if that’s true since I didn’t actually read the whole thing.
“What about the second one?” he asks, leaning even closer so I can better see his phone screen.
We end up going through the entire list of fifteen topics like that, and it takes way more effort than it should for me to pay attention to the conversation and not think about how good Anthony smells or about the little flurries of tingles that detonate on my skin every time our arms brush.
Thankfully I manage to keep my shit together, and after a bit of back and forth, we settle on the topic we want to go with.
“Well, I’d say that was productive,” Ant declares and tucks his phone back in his pocket.
“It was,” I agree.
“Same time and place on Wednesday?”
That’s two days from now, which should give me enough time to get my shit together so I don’t act like a dumbass again.
“Sounds good,” I tell him as we both stand.
His sweats are riding even lower now, and it takes way more effort than it should to not stare at his treasure trail, hisridiculous muscles, or the tiny patch of dark hair peeking out the top of his waistband.
“It’s a date,” he says with another of those teasing grins.
I have no idea what to say to that, so I just nod like a moron and scoop my phone up from the coffee table.
“See ya.” I give him an awkward wave.
“See ya,” he echoes, and the last thing I see as the door is closing behind me is Anthony’s smiling face while his eyes seem locked on my ass.
8
WEST
The patternof lights moving over my ceiling from the moonlight trickling through my window is strangely mesmerizing.
I’ve been trying to sleep for the past half hour, but it’s like my brain refuses to stop spinning.
I was feeling anxious and restless again when I got back to my room after working on the project with Ant. I lasted about ten minutes before I changed into my gym gear and went down to the basement to work out.
It was late enough that I was the only one there, and I went through my usual routine, then added twenty minutes of stair climbing at the end just to make sure that I was good and exhausted when I finished.
Things were fine until I got back to my room and took a shower, and that’s when my brain went into overdrive.
I’ll never admit this to anyone, but lately, I’ve been thinking and fantasizing about things I know I shouldn’t. Instead of picturing McKenna or another woman while I jerk it, I’ve been thinking about men.
At first it was more of a concept of a fantasy where I thought about how it might feel to be with a man. I didn’t picture anyone or think about someone in particular; I just imagined what strong hands might feel like on my skin, or how a hard body over mine and wide hips between my thighs would be different from what I’m used to.
Then I started thinking about particular acts, like blowing someone or getting blown, and that eventually turned into full-on fantasies that could rival most porn videos.
The vast majority of my fantasy costars were fictional, like the actual character from a show or movie, not the actor who played them. But one night, the image of a fitness influencer I’ve been following for years shifted until all I could see was a pair of familiar blue eyes staring up at me, and I nearly came just from the vague thought of Anthony on his knees for me.
An image of exactly that forms in my mind’s eye, and I let out a frustrated sigh as I roll over and smush my face into my pillow.
Why the fuck am I getting hard from just the memories of my fantasies? I thought I was past the days when a strong wind could get me hard if it blew over me the right way.
Thinking about guys when I’m jerking off isn’t the problem. Picturing one of my frat brothers—who’s also going to be one of the leaders next year—when I do it is.
Groaning loudly, I roll onto my side and wiggle around to try and find the perfect pillow position.
I probably wouldn’t be such a mess about my inconvenient crush on Anthony if he weren’t so damn confusing.
