Page 46 of Bone Deep
“Also,” I continue, “you know how I feel about the lack of resources for queer youth.” My chest squeezes slightly as old memories continue to flicker at the edges of my mind.
“I probably would’ve considered this with a pay cut,” I admit. “So, getting to make a difference while earning the same money I currently do to keep wealthy people wealthy…”
I shrug.
“…it’s not something I can shoot down immediately.”
Jen lets out a tiny squeak of excitement.
“But” I hold up my hand, “I will, of course, need to review the agreement, company structure, funding, liability—well, you know the drill, I’m sure.”
Chance smiles warmly. “Jen can forward everything to you.” Then he reaches forward, and taps two knuckles lightly against my desk. “Thank you, Spence,” he says as he stands. “Ant speaks highly of you. I know he’d be proud to have you leading that project. I hope you decide to join us.”
Something in my chest warms at that.
Then Chance adds, “Just remember—this istop secretuntil the night of the exhibit.”
I nod. “Understood.”
Jen springs to her feet beside him, looking like she might vibrate out of her own skin. I move around my desk to extend my hand toward Chance, but before he can shake it, my office door opens. Ryan Buterbaugh walks in.
Fucking hell.
My brain scrambles and my dick twitches.
He’s wearing white compression tights showing off his sizable bulge, a mint green skin-tight performance shirt he knows damn well brings out his eyes, and a fucking backward baseball cap.
The overgrown menace does this shit on purpose. Three of his five dimples are on full display, and his gym bag is slung over one shoulder. Ryan stops mid-step when he sees the room. His eyes flick from me, to Jen, to Chance.
Chance turns and his face lights up. “Oh,” he says easily. “Here’s the first athlete to sign with the agency…” Ryan grins as Chance gestures toward him. “…and the primary donor for the youth center.”
I freeze as Ryan’s grin grows and I stand there completely speechless.
Fuck me sideways.
What did I just do?
Twelve
I Want It That Way
Ryan
I shove my gym bag into the locker, the metal door rattling against the frame as it swings back. Behind me, Spence’s voice cuts through the locker room. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”
I turn to answer him—ready with some smartass comment—but the words die in my throat. Spencer Stark is standing there in nothing but white boxer briefs. Even after six months of this, I still need a second.
My brain shorts every. Fucking. Time.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now. We’ve been working out together three or four nights a week for half a year. I’ve seen him strip down in this exact locker room more times than I can count. But apparently my body did not get the memo because the sight of him still hits me like a linebacker to the chest.
The first time he graced me with this view, I nearly forgot how to breathe. My mouth went dry as soon as his slacks hit the bench and those thighs were suddenly bare for the first time.
Fuck.
Those thighs.
They were the first thing I noticed about him but now it’s worse. Over the course of our workouts, Spence has gotten bigger. His thighs and ass are impossibly thicker. His arms have real size to them now. His back spreads wide when he pulls a shirt over his head. His chest has that hard, sculpted line that makes it impossible not to stare.
