Page 78 of Twisted Little Game

I order a second refill of coffee, then another, as I bring Maks to speed on the name Lucian Farina. Maks has contacts in the city who can discreetly gather information for us.

The diner is nearly empty the whole time we’re there.

Thank fuck.

It’s long after lunch, but not dinner time yet, and by the time we’ve explained everything, the only other customer in the place is an old woman doing crossword puzzles in a booth across the restaurant.

After we get the check, Tate stands up to go use the restroom.

As he walks off, I turn my head to watch him walk over, staring at the exposed sides of his torso and the way his pants hug his ass.

Finally he disappears into the bathroom.

“You are fucking him,” Maks tells me the moment I turn back toward the table.

He’s looking at me like he just told me something obvious.

The sky is blue.

Pigs can’t fly.

You’re fucking Tate Landrey.

“No,” I say, reaching down to stir my coffee even though there’s absolutely nothing to stir. I pause for a long while, and pressure grows inside me, then suddenly blooms, cracking open in my chest. “I have not fucked him yet.”

“Yet,” Maks says.

“And when I do fuck him, it will be my business, not yours.”

Maks is fully smiling now, leaning back on the booth and putting his arms up on the top edge. “I knew it when I saw him sitting in the front of your car. Weeks ago.”

“There was nothing to know.”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I’ve fucked enough cute jocks to know you wouldn’t be able to resist. Those tank tops, Romik…”

I reach over the table to shove him as he laughs.

“I’m not like you,” I tell him.

“I’m aware of that. If it were me bodyguarding for Tate Landrey, I would have fucked that perfect ass the moment I knew he wanted it. You had to be convinced by that greedy cock of yours...”

“Quiet. You’re a dog.”

“I know. It’s different with a man, isn’t it?” Maks says, looking very pleased with himself.

“It is.”

“Better?”

I take a slow sip from my mug. “No one is like Tate.”

Better.

Of course he’s better.

It doesn’t even have anything to do with him being a man, although it’s less and less possible for me to care that I thought I was straight until him.

Tate just seems to have direct access to everything on Earth that turns me on.