10
NATE
I’m pretty sure I’ll pass the first lesson on being a most excellent boyfriend. In all fairness, I’m already a fucking A student in this class and have been for some time. It’s hardly a test to get down on my knees on the plush sapphire blue carpet of The Extravagant suite when Hunter sits on the bed, legs spread, cock out, offered to me.
It’s not a tough task at all to tease him.
Nope. It’s a sinful pleasure to show off my top-notch skills at giving head.
Hunter has zero complaints either. Just grunts and groans as I lick and suck, and he stares with lust-drenched eyes the whole time. “Yes, take me deep like a very good boyfriend,” he urges, his dirty, delicious accent sending a surge of pleasure straight to my aching cock. “Show me how much you like it.”
If he wants a show, I’ll give him a show. As I draw him in deep, I shove my hand in my briefs, grasp my throbbing dick.
His groan is carnal. “Yes, get yourself off to me,” he instructs.
Yeah, that’s the motherfucking plan, hottie.
I blow his cock and his mind while I stroke myself off, finishing just seconds after I swallow his release.
When I stand, I put one hand on his cheek, drag him close, and kiss him ruthlessly, letting him taste himself on me.
Then, we get ready to go out.
A few minutes later, I dress up in my best jeans and a tight burgundy shirt—showing off my guns. Hello, that’s pretty much all shirts. And my Vans.
I consider the look in the mirror by the door.
Yup, perfect for my new approach. That’s what this weekend is all about. I’ve spent my whole damn life practicing football plays, and practice does make perfect or damn near close. This weekend will be my crash course in mastering relationship skills so I can finally emerge on the other side, skilled and ready to someday handle one a little better than I have so far.
Part of this new playbook? Hanging with buddies.
After grabbing my phone from the charger and tucking it into my pocket, I’m ready to hit the tables.
But Hunter is still making himself beautiful.
“Hey hottie, you do know you’re already the finest man here? Maybe move it along on the beauty routine,” I call out, then laugh. “Wait. Is that bottom-shelf or top-shelf boyfriend?”
“Bottom shelf,” he calls out.
I clear my throat, smiling. “How’s this? Honey, you always look good. You don’t need to get pretty.”
“Piss off, Nate,” he shouts from the bedroom.
“All right. Good thing I have boyfriend lessons this weekend.”
“I’ll say,” he shouts.
As I wait, I text TJ, who’s winning at the tables. I’m penning him a reply, letting him know we’ll be down soon when—
“Keeping busy?”
I look up, and whoa.
Just whoa.
If I thought Hunter was hot before, I was not prepared for Vegas Hunter. He can take all the time he wants in the world to get ready.
His charcoal pants are tailored and trim.
His black short-sleeve shirt hugs his toned muscles. And he’s unbuttoned the top three buttons, revealing that smattering of chest hair that makes my pulse spike.
That makes my dick stand tall.
“Fuck, babe,” I say, then cross over to him, grab his face, and haul him in for a fierce kiss that ends all too soon so we can head down to the tables and meet my friends.
As we go, I catch my smug smile in the elevator mirror. My forty-eight-hour boyfriend is a total babe.
11
HUNTER
Speak of the devil.
When we near the blackjack table, I do a double-take. That’s a very familiar face. The golden-haired, blue-eyed guy whose movie we watched earlier today.
Jude Fox.
The English actor whose career is on the rise.
I do a triple-take when Nate gives a quick tip of his forehead to the guy next to Jude. A broody, bearded man with dark eyes and the kind of handsome that’s understated, quiet. Harrison Ford hot rather than Brad Pitt.
He looks like . . .
And the image snaps fully into place.
TJ Hardman. He’s a novelist, and we acquired the rights to one of his books a year ago.
This could be complicated, to say the least. Which means it’s time for a boyfriend lesson.
“Are those your friends we’re meeting?” I didn’t think to ask for the Vegas friends list earlier because . . . who cares? I figured if they’re friends with Nate, that’s good enough for me. Plus, we had plenty of other things to do with our mouths.
But now, the matter takes on a new urgency. I grab Nate’s hand, stop him in his tracks. “That’s TJ Hardman,” I say quietly, though I doubt TJ can hear me over the cha-ching of slot machines and the clink of glasses in the casino. “And Jude Fox.”
Nate’s brow furrows. “Yes, and I’m Nate Chandler, and you’re Hunter Colburn. Well done. There will be a name quiz tomorrow. But you’re prepped.”