Following the Rules (The Script Club 1)

Right. And now? This was so dangerous. I could not be trusted alone with Simon Murphy.

Any second now I’d say something crazy like, “Lattes are good for you.”

“Are they?” he asked, quirking his brow.

“In moderation, they can prevent cardiovascular disorders and aid in burning fat.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know if it’s true, but moderation is the key to everything in life.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, yes, of course. This is actually a very watered-down latte—half-caf, extra foam, and extra ice. I don’t know why I ordered the extra foam. It evaporated immediately. Physics, you know. It’s pretty tasty, though, and refreshing on a warm day. And wow, it really is a scorcher! It’s supposed to be eighty-five later. Perfect beach weather, if you’re into sand and sea and lots of people and—” Save me, someone! I had to shut up. Stat. I wasn’t sure how to make my mouth stop, so I went on instinct and shoved my drink at his chest. “Would you like to try?”

Simon blinked in surprise but took the cup. He locked his gaze on mine, wrapped his lips around the straw…and sipped.

Now that was hot.

“Thanks.” He handed the iced latte back.

“You’re welcome. You’ll have to call me ‘master’ now.”

Gasp! Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.

“ ’Scuse me?”

“Never mind. Um…”

He chuckled. “No, I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, ‘I have coffee, peasants. You may call me master.’ I can’t call you ‘master,’ though,” he said in a serious tone. “I’d make a terrible sub. I’m too alpha. I like to call the shots, and I like things my way. You know?”

My brain fell a few steps behind as I stared at him like an idiot for a beat.

Totally understandable. Simon Murphy was the most handsome man I’d ever met. His dark hair tumbled over his right eye, giving him a rakish look. And that body could stop traffic. No joke. His broad shoulders practically tore the seams of his black “Think like a protein, stay positive” T-shirt and—

I swallowed hard and pointed at his chest. “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but that shirt is an inside joke about a different type of protein. Uh—never mind.”

He glanced down on cue. “Cum? Am I wearing a cum rag?”

My chuckle morphed into a hearty laugh. I couldn’t help it. His expression was a perfect blend of amusement and mortification.

“It’s not my shirt. I have no idea if it’s ever been used as—” I circled my wrist meaningfully. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. Come on. Let me help you with that box.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I insisted.

“I want to and as you probably guessed, I also want to talk to you.” He must have seen my hesitation. His features softened and his tone was earnest when he added, “Please.”

“Okay. This way.”

Simon followed me through the living area, effortlessly hoisted the box, then continued upstairs to my bedroom, across from the linen closet and a private bathroom. I had this section of the floor to myself. There were three more rooms and two bathrooms on the opposite side of the stairwell and a fifth room downstairs adjacent to a dining room we’d probably never use. George took that space and had already dubbed it his lair. We’d both agreed to pay a bit more in rent for the privacy perks.

Totally worth it, I mused, pushing the door open.

Other than the queen-sized bed, the nightstand, and a few boxes stacked under the window, the room was bare. It had great bones though…hardwood flooring and a sloped ceiling that created the perfect reading niche. The blank space next to the built-in bookshelves was the ideal spot for my desk.

“Where do you want this?”

“Anywhere on the floor is fine. Thank you,” I replied.

Simon dropped it at the end of the bed and cast a curious glance around the room. “This is nice.”

“Yes. What did you want to talk about?”

“You. Me.”

“Simon…”

“I braved Friday traffic, a night under my parents’ roof—which was pretty nice, actually—then got roped into moving a heavy sofa while dressed in a cum rag to get here,” he said matter-of-factly. “I need you, Christopher.”

I set my drink on the end table and sat on the mattress. “You don’t need me. Anyone will do. I’ll help you find someone more appropriate.”

“Appropriate?”

“Someone who’ll act professionally.” I narrowed my gaze in frustration at his blank stare and growled, “Someone who won’t kiss you or—”

Simon pounced.

He leaped across the bed, cupped my face in his hands, and sealed his mouth over mine. His momentum knocked me flat on my back. It was more of a playful maneuver than a real kiss, but it sent me reeling. My heart skittered, my pulse raced, and my dick swelled hopefully against the zipper of my khaki shorts. I pushed at his massive chest and stood before I did something I’d regret.