Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

“What? I can’t call you Millsy?”

“I don’t know.” He gives a quiet sigh as he gets up. “I guess I’ll accept it.” He means to tease, but his energy is too downbeat for that. He’s quiet as he gets his keys and wallet off his dresser, scoops his phone off the duvet.

Shit, I guess he must be feeling down.

Of course he is. Fuck.

“Let’s get some lunch on the way,” I say as we start down the stairs. “What do you like?”

“No lunch.”

I look back at him. “How come?”

“I have to get an MRI…or I might? My mom forgot to tell me, or maybe she didn’t know. I got an automated text last night, though. Telling me don’t eat.”

Well, shit. “You ever had one?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s been a long time, though. I don’t remember it well.”

I should tell him I’ve had one. That they’re not so bad.

“I think they’re not too bad,” I say as the sunlight from the skylight slats over my face. “My mom had one once. It’s just lying down on a table, and the table slides into this machine. It’s loud, but you wear headphones. Then it’s over.”

“Seems like they might put me to sleep for it,” he says. “If they don’t want me to eat.”

I look back at him, trying to fight the somersaulting feeling in my stomach. “You ever done that? Gone to sleep?”

He nods as I open the front door for him.

“Broke my ankle when I was a kid,” he says.

“They had to surgerize it?”

“Surgerize?” That makes him laugh, which makes my chest feel less tight. As we approach my car, I really want to fucking hug him before we get in. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Even when he’s sad and pensive, DG is so fucking good. He’s way too good for me, in every way. I can fuck around with him for a while, ease us both for right now, but he’ll never really be mine.

Something hits me as I reach for the passenger’s side door. “Hey, you wanna go in your car instead? So it feels like home?”

He gives me a cute, squinty-eyed smile with his nose scrunched. “I don’t think so. Your car smells like Bubble Yum.”

“Bubble Yum it is.” I open the door, and DG climbs into my Jeep. For a second, my Chucks are pasted to the ground as I drink in the way his body moves. How bulky he is. Sturdy. Still somehow elegant. He’s beautiful and so fuck hot it nearly kills me.

Last night we sucked each other’s cocks and fell asleep together…

I rip my thoughts away from that and blink at him here in the moment. He’s got on a lime green Polo and khaki cargo shorts with white Jordans. He’s looking sharp as shit.

I can’t help telling him that, even though it’s better if I don’t act like a boyfriend. “Lookin’ good, man.”

I walk around the Jeep before he has a chance to answer. It hits me: I wonder if he’s dressing for the doctors. A lot of them are judgmental as fuck, and they have a whole damn lot of power. I feel sick at that thought as I slide behind the wheel. Mills should never have to see a doctor. All the pain that people go through—it should skip right over him. I’d take some of it if I could. Fix that karma for us.

I crank the Jeep and try to give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. He smiles back. It’s strained, though.

We start off the drive with gum, which helps with the tight-chest feeling I get when I don’t smoke right after waking up. I notice Mills is mostly looking out the window. Shifting around in his seat like he’s not comfy. He’s nervous. I can feel it. I don’t know what to say about it. Probably don’t need to mention it directly.

I could always suck his dick on the way. Just pull over somewhere…

I’m sort of zoned out, driving local roads toward the highway that will take us down to Birmingham, when DG lets out a laugh.

“Dude! What’s going on there?”

I blink, and I realize I’ve got my hand on my dick. And I’ve got serious wood. I cut a wide-eyed look at him and try to tuck the thing between my legs.

He snickers. “You’re like…driving, dude.”

“With you. Got those legs all stretched out in my front seat. Smelling like that fuckboy soap.”

“What?” He’s laughing his ass off, just like I hoped he might. “Dude that shit is fucking Dial.”

“It’s not real Dial. It’s some get-your-dick-up Dial.”

He throws his head back laughing, and my gaze laps at that smooth, tanned throat. His Adam’s apple. Fuck, I’ve got a thing for thick necks. That’s not gonna help the problem in my pants.

“I can’t believe my soap gets your dick up,” he laughs.