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Face Offs & Cheap Shots
“Why would I be nervous about that? It’s no big deal. It’s nothing special—we’re just two dudes who are dating. There’s nothing to be nervous about.” “So … you’re terrified, then?” “Quietly shitting myself, yes.”
“See this?” Mom asks my brothers, pointing at us. “This is the standard of partner you need to bring home. Anyone else gay? Bi? Pan? We need some more hockey players to round out the family.”
“And you win.” Jacobs still hasn’t caught his breath. “Power bottom of the year goes to you.” “I’d like to thank the academy and my agent for this award.”
“You know, this is practically a date.” Jacobs sprays coffee all over the table, and I lean back in my seat victorious.
My newfound enjoyment of manhandling does have some limits. Rough sex, good. Murder, bad.
“Fucking shut up, Beck.” His mouth slams against mine, and I stumble back, but I don’t get far. Because his big hands are there to hold me and pull me against him, and I pray to God he doesn’t let go.
“Guess you know what to do next time I’m pissing you off.” I jerk away from him, defaulting back to a scowl in order to hide the way his low voice stirred in my gut. “If I kissed you every time you annoyed me, my tongue would be permanently in your mouth.”
“You’re right. I liked it. Wanna know why?” My response clearly takes him by surprise because when I dip my mouth down next to his ear, he doesn’t pull away. “You were finally fucking quiet.”
What did that Katy Perry sing about again? I kissed a guy. And my dick really fucking liked it.
“I think we’re all a little gay after that. That was hot.” Rossi slaps Cohen’s shoulder. “Still only you, dude.”
Tension, yes. He’s right about that. Sexual tension? No. Nope, nope, nope. Never. Nope. No. Seven no’s should cover it. No wait, one more: fucking nope!