Caveman (Wild Men 1)

I crack up. “Go away. I need to appreciate the new pic in peace.”

Appreciate it a bit more. Maybe it’s time to break out my favorite dildo.

“Girl, what you need is a piece of them.”

“You have a specific piece in mind?”

She vanishes from online for a bit, and I lean closer, taking in Joel’s grin, the twinkle in his eyes, his messy hair. The taut abs, the shorts hanging way too low on his narrow hips. Jethro’s body is a shadow beside his, his biceps impressive enough to show through the blurriness.

The fantasy returns, the fantasy that torments me and delights me and accompanies me to bed every night. A dirty, dirty fantasy of Joel pushing into me as I lean back on the bed, while Jethro—always blurry, always mysterious and half-formed—claims his mouth in a filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth and a sexy growl that I feel in my bones, in my pussy, everywhere.

Then he moves behind Joel, runs his big hands over Joel’s taut ass, and he—

“You still there?” comes a message from Connie, and I blink, the image shattered beyond repair. “Tell me everything.”

“Everything?” I type back, baffled.

“About meeting Joel Kingsley, stoopid. What did he say, how did he smell, how did he speak? What did he say? Help me improve my sexual fantasies. Help a friend out.”

What can I say? In her shoes, I would have asked exactly the same.

Besides, I recall clearly the intense blue of Joel’s eyes, the faint scent of boy musk wafting from him as he took the book from my hand. This is no hardship at all…

“Hey,” she types after I tell her everything, “you going to the Indie concert tomorrow?”

Oh holy crap, not her, too. “No.”

“That’s a shame. I heard through the grapevine that J-Two will be there.”

“Yeah right.” Ha. “You’re w

orse than Bry. I bet you’re making this up to see if I swallow it. Shame on you.”

“Listen, biatch. My brother lives near Madison, you know that, right? So he’s best buddies with Mason Archer, owner of Archer’s Own, one of the sponsors of the concert. He will have a couple of stalls selling drinks there.”

“And?”

“And. He just hired a certain Jethro Connors to man one of them. I found out by chance.”

“You’re not serious.” Because, Holy Athlete Buns! “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious as a heart attack, woman. If I could go to this concert, trust me, I would, and I wouldn’t be taking you with. I’d have him all to myself to lick and wow with my mad tongue skillz.”

I can’t even. I’m snorting coffee through my nose. But through it all, one thought shines like a nuclear blast.

Holy shit, I could meet Jethro Connors!

Chapter Two

Joel

Jet comes at me with his fists raised, and I jump out of reach of his right hook. I know his style. And he knows mine. Years of doing this—dancing around each other, exchanging punches and kicks and insults, afterward showering and getting dressed in the gym lockers before heading out for a drink.

He kicks out. I knock his foot aside and grapple him. He grunts, his taped hands still curled into fists, thumping on my back. I twist us and throw him down on his back, locking my knees on either side of him to keep him down. He bucks against me, trying to get a hit in, but I pin his hands against the mat.

“Give up,” I tell him, wheezing. “You’re done here.”

“Get off me.”