Rossi leads the way to the neon bar and orders for us both. “You like rum, right?”
“I’ll drink anything that’s alcoholic.”
A few minutes later, we’re presented with our drinks. His is served in an orange, and mine …
“Just how drunk are you trying to get me?” I pick up the watermelon with both hands and take a long sip. It’s divine. “I’ve changed my mind. Fuck having a nice place. I want that full-time position so I can come here every night and live like a king.”
He chuckles and leads me to one of the hanging chairs with a coffee table in front and a view of the city.
He picks up a tapas menu. “You want to help me pick, or can I order?”
“You order.”
He rattles off a handful of things to the waiter when he stops by our table.
“I’m happy to pay half …” I say uncertainly. He ordered a lot of food.
“My treat.”
“But—”
“Shut up and drink your watermelon.”
“You know, I like this side of you.” Bossy Rossi. I’m on board with that.
“In that case, get your sexy ass over here.” He raises his arm, and I curl into his side.
I pretend to swoon. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.” And, if I’m honest, he doesn’t even need to do that. Easy ho? Yes I am. Proudly. Life is too short to miss out on the fun, and when it comes to Rossi, I have a feeling we could have a lot of fun.
We sit side by side, legs entwined as we sip our cocktails and rock slowly back and forth.
“Did you grow up in Boston?” I ask.
“Yep. What about you?”
“Providence.”
“Ooh, Rhode Island,” he says. “That’s not too far, right?”
“About an hour. That’s why when Seth mentioned this job in Boston, I jumped at the chance.”
“It’s so wild.” His knuckles lightly brush my skin. “That in all our time at college, we’ve never crossed paths, and then we hook up, and here we are …”
“Well, I saw you. At your games that Seth dragged me to. I always thought you were a cutie patootie, even if I was bored out of my brains. You’d think you guys could at least lose some of that padding so those of us not athletically inclined could indulge in all that eye candy.”
“We could skate in assless chaps if you’d prefer? Sounds kinda painful, but as long as you get your opportunity to perv.”
“Exactly. See? Now that’s a reasonable suggestion.”
“What happens when we’re shoved into the boards? Or if”—he cringes—“we land ass-first on the ice?”
“I’m the ideas man,. I don’t care for logistics.”
He shakes his head, but I can tell he’s amused. It’s one of the things I like about him. Rossi always seems happy, relaxed, and doesn’t take things too seriously. If I let myself think about it, he’s the kind of person I could see myself looking for more with, but given his gay experiences extend as far as one blowjob where he didn’t even touch my dick, I’m not going to get too excited.
Though it’s hard not to when he’s being affectionate.
I still can’t allow myself to read into it though. Not yet. There’s nothing worse than crushed hopes.
Our food is brought out and splayed across the coffee table in front of us. We pull apart to eat, and my gaze keeps dropping to his lips and the sinful way he licks his fingers.
“Do you miss hockey?” I ask, trying to distract myself from naughty thoughts.
“Playing, sure. I might join a team for fun one day, but I never had huge dreams about it.”
I pretend to swipe my forehead. “Thank goodness. I’m not the most sympathetic person, so if you’d turned into a sobbing mess on me, the most support I’m capable of is a light pat on the shoulder while I flagged down more drinks.”
“That is lucky because I’m planning on staying mostly sober and wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of that.”
I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but then he goes and says things like that and suddenly all I can picture is him naked in my bed. “If I tell you my sheets have an extremely high thread count, will that give you incentive to the staying sober thing?”
His laugh is scratchy and sexy as he leans close to my ear. “You’re all the incentive I need.”
“You’re playing all the right cards tonight, aren’t you, Mr. Rossi?”
“And you’re playing all the wrong ones. You really don’t wanna see me naked, huh?”
I shrug. “I’m not going to beg you or anything desperate like that.”
“Interesting.” He lifts the shirt I gave him, revealing his abs and sexy as fuck cum gutters. “I’ll keep this covered, then.”
“Nope, I change my mind. I’ll beg. Because I’m a pathetic, thirsty little man. English? I got you. Italian? You teach me, and I’ll do it.” And it’s a universal rule that when a guy like that is offered up on a platter, you have to touch. So I do. The feel of his muscles rippling as he shivers has me wondering how responsive he is to other things.