The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)

“Good.”

I smiled and gave a careless shrug. “But I’ll never do it again.”

“Why not?”

“I might not get quite so lucky next time. Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re very good at…”

“At what?” he prodded.

“Sex. With a man.” I sat up, shamelessly gawking at his flaccid penis, his muscular thighs, and toned abs before meeting his gaze. “Very, very good.”

His roguish grin made my pulse race. “Gee, thanks.”

“And you’ve definitely had a lot more experience than you let on.”

He frowned. “I didn’t mis-advertise. I’m legit bi-curious.”

“If you say so. However, I personally don’t agree that bi-curious is your label. You’re not curious—you know what you like and how you like it. And you’ve obviously had more than a couple of male partners.”

“So what am I?”

I opened my mouth, intending to give him my hypothesis along with a short scientific analysis, but I caught myself just in time. It was not my place to assert sexual designation on anyone. If he said he was straight, so be it. Not my business.

“You are what you say you are,” I amended. “I apologize. It was rude of me to suggest otherwise. I don’t know you at all. But I do know that you’re quite…talented.”

“Thanks. You’re very good for my ego,” he replied ruefully.

I chuckled. “That’s because we’re strangers who’re destined never to meet again. In the real world, if we met at a bar, I wouldn’t bother striking up a conversation with you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not my type. And I’m not yours.”

“You’re wrong about that,” he huffed. “You’re definitely my type. As far as guys are concerned.”

“Oh? How so?”

He lay back and stretched his arms over his head. “I have a thing for brainiacs. I swiped right when I saw the lightsabers. And then you forwarded the photo of you in glasses…sold. But since you also seem to be relatively intelligent, I feel like I totally scored.”

I fixed him with a pointed look. “Hmph. For your information, I am not relatively intelligent. I am a genius, sir.”

Rich snickered. “I believe you. What’s your field of expertise?”

“Aerospace engineering. I’m a couple of months shy of finishing my master’s degree.”

“Congrats. Do you want to work for NASA someday?”

“I already work for NASA,” I blurted before covering my mouth. “Oops. I wasn’t supposed to tell you anything real about me, was I?”

“That’s a small detail. We’ll let it slide.”

“Small detail? I think not! My internship is my greatest achievement to date. Of my friends, I’m the only one already assigned to the Mars mission. I know it’s unseemly to brag, but I assure you, it is a big deal.”

“Congratulations.”

Okay, now I felt like an idiot.

“Thanks.” I took another sip of water, then peered over the bed for my clothes. I was sated and exhausted enough to want to curl into a ball and sleep here.

“Just to be fair…I’ll tell you something true about myself.”

I set the water down again and got out of bed. The idea of putting clothes on without showering was beyond distasteful. Shoot. I could not go to sleep with dried cum on my body, but if I ran the shower when I got home, everyone would know. I could sponge-bathe. It wouldn’t be as effective, however, and I hadn’t left myself with many choices. My libido ruled my brain tonight, and something had to give.

“That’s not necessary. I wouldn’t know if you were telling the truth anyway,” I replied distractedly as I gathered my discarded briefs and khakis.

“No one knows when I’m telling the truth,” he scoffed. “That’s my secret.”

“How is that a secret? We all assume the truth until a lie is proved. Even in science. That’s why you must test every theory and debunk falsehoods immediately.”

I worried my bottom lip as my mind drifted to the myriad of bacteria I might bring home with me. I plucked my T-shirt from the floor, wondering if there was a polite way to ask if I could use his shower. I had a feeling that was a tad too familiar for a one-time-only booty call. He seemed relatively sane though, and—

“Yeah, well…it’s been proved.”

“What has?”

He sighed. “I’m a world-class liar.”

I dropped the T-shirt and blinked like an owl. “Excuse me?”

“Hey, it’s not something I’m proud of, but—”

“A liar,” I repeated in a shockingly calm tone for someone potentially pondering his last moments on Earth. “Are you…villainous?”

His eyebrows shot to his hairline before he burst into laughter. “No. I’m not a bad guy. I promise.”

“Lying is bad. It’s one of the first lessons your parents should have taught you. Don’t lie, cheat, or steal. And for God’s sake, don’t mention that you are guilty of any of those things to someone with OCD. OMG. To think I narrowly escaped a reenactment of the infamous shower scene from Psycho.”

I hopped into my boxers like a demented kangaroo. Screw germs. I had bigger issues to deal with…like escaping with my life.