Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Canaan made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go shower.”
“Fine.” Feeling more than a little patronized, he grabbed a change of clothes and his shaving kit and headed for the bathroom, which was small but adequate with a tub/shower combo that was bigger than the stall showers he had to contend with at the barracks.
He was actually a little surprised that Canaan hadn’t tried to make him change in the room, to get a look at his equipment. Maybe he really was a decent guy. Clearly game to hook up, but he’d meant it when he said he wasn’t going to push. Instead he was letting Renzo do all the flailing and debating. It would almost be easier if Canaan took it out of his hands and made the first move, but instead it was all up to Renzo, and hell if he knew what he wanted. Smart thing would be to continue trying to resist Canaan’s charms.
But as he soaped up, his body was intent on reminding him how hard that was going to be. Emphasis on hard. All he had to do was remember Canaan’s little sounds of pleasure when he’d eaten his tacos or the way his full mouth moved drinking his smoothie, and he was all the way up and ready to go.
Now what was he supposed to do? Couldn’t really jerk it with Canaan mere feet away. Even he wasn’t that much a heel. Groaning, he did the trick that always worked in the barracks and flipped the switch to cold. But his cock took its sweet time complying. It was going to be a long, hard weekend, a point that was driven home when they switched places and Canaan headed for the shower.
He took the sink outside the bathroom to shave, but his mind kept racing. Was Canaan jerking it in there? Did he have Renzo’s hang-ups about doing that with other people close by? Just like that he was halfway up again, cock not getting the message that no action was coming its way.
And he still hadn’t talked it down when Canaan came breezing out, shirtless and whistling.
“Sorry. Forgot to grab a shirt when I headed in there.”
“It’s okay.” Renzo’s tongue felt too thick for his mouth. Damn but Canaan was sexy, miles of creamy, pale skin on a lean, compact body. He’d expected some tats or nipple rings given how punk Canaan liked to present himself, but Canaan was ink free and his nipples were perfect and pink and unadorned. “You... No ink?”
“Not yet.” Canaan shrugged as he pulled on a black T-shirt, yet another in what seemed an endless supply. This one was closer fitting and of a more expensive-looking fabric, making Canaan look even more like the ex-drummer he was. “Grandma hated tats. Like hated. And I didn’t want to keep a secret from her. Now she’s gone, but I haven’t seen a design I can’t live without.”
They were standing way, way too close, but Renzo couldn’t seem to step away. Canaan smelled good—not like the hotel products either, but a light beachy scent that made him want to go on a hunt to figure out if it was shampoo or aftershave. Canaan reached around Renzo to grab the hair dryer mounted on the wall, which brought him closer still.
“Can I...”
“Yeah.” Renzo licked his lips. This was it. They were going to kiss. And it would be—
“Thanks.” Canaan plugged in the hair dryer, arm brushing Renzo’s but no kiss was forthcoming. At all. Apparently Canaan was oblivious to his turmoil, because he turned away, toward the mirror, and started putting mousse in his hair.
Fuck my life. Now it was Renzo’s turn to flop on the bed, legs jelly for reasons that had nothing to do with the flights of stairs and everything to do with Canaan.
“How’s that?” Canaan came back over by the bed, blond hair perfectly tousled like usual, small black earrings in his ears, and jaw still a little scruffy. He had no roots, but his darker eyebrows said the near-white color was helped with a bit of science of some sort. Renzo really dug the contrast. “I need a haircut soon.”
“I like it,” Renzo said before he could recall the words.
“Yeah?” Canaan stretched out next to him, easy as could be, like they did this every damn day, like he belonged right there next to Renzo. “Maybe I’ll keep it.”
Fuck. This. Noise. Renzo was going to have to do it. Right then. If only for his own freaking sanity. Rolling toward Canaan, he reached out and—
Buzz. Canaan’s phone vibrated on the nightstand.
“Oh, hey, we better get downstairs.” Canaan sat up and stretched. “Showtime.”
Right. Showtime. Because that was why he was there. To play a role. Not to get his feelings all jumbled up and to do stupid shit.