Top Priority (The Game 1)

Maybe we’d turn out to be great friends. I wanted to find out.

Our server chose that moment to return with coffee, and I scrambled for something to order. Colt was quicker on his feet and went with steak and hash browns with two eggs—sunny-side up—and I picked one of the specials of the day. There were eggs and bacon and a short stack of pancakes, so I didn’t see how it could go wrong.

“I guess we’ll see how things go,” Colt said.

It took me a beat to realize what we were talking about.

“I’m not very good at keeping up with anything at home when I’m in the sandbox,” he admitted. I understood him, and the last thing I wanted was to add stress or pressure on him. “The only one I make sure to call here and there is my mother. If I don’t…” He winced.

He was a mama’s boy, and it was endearing as fuck.

“Hey—we barely know each other,” I told him. “I have no expectations. Don’t worry about it.”

He grazed his teeth over his bottom lip and watched me with that look again. He was thinking, and I had no clue about what.

“I actually have the Facebook now,” he mentioned. “I’ll give you my email before I leave too.”

I nodded slightly and took a sip of my coffee. Facebook was safe, and it was sweet that he called it the Facebook.

“Anyway,” he said, “how’s that fine ass of yours? Sore?”

Instinct kicked in right away, and I decided it was practically vital I didn’t give him the reaction he wanted. Colt struck me as the type of person who tested those around him. To see if they had what it took or something.

“To tell you the truth,” I answered, dragging it out with another sip of coffee, “I hardly feel anything.”

Colt stared back at me, eyes calculating, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He most likely knew I was lying, but that was neither here nor there. I hadn’t taken the bait.FiveI didn’t want this day to be over. Colt infuriated me as much as he delighted me; he challenged my perspectives, offered a new narrative, and opened up my whole world. All with simple conversation.

While we ate, I asked him more about his childhood and learned that music was one of his biggest hobbies. It kept him sane when he was deployed, and it was, in his words, “a language everyone understands.” He played the fiddle and the guitar, and when his mother pleaded with him, he sang too.

“So, when did—”

“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “My turn to ask you questions. I feel like you know everythin’ there is to know about me at this point.”

He exaggerated. I was far from done.

Colt forked up the last piece of his steak and egg and chewed while his mind worked. At least I’d learned that part about him. I could see when he was trying to figure something out.

When he was finished, he wagged his fork at me. “Let me guess, you’re using some kind of online dating service.”

Okay, I didn’t see that “question” coming. I cleared my throat and placed my napkin on my plate. “I am. Why?”

“What does your profile say?”

I furrowed my brow. If he wanted to get to know me, my OkCupid profile left a lot to be desired. I’d grown resigned about the whole dating jungle. I’d tried Grindr for approximately two days when that was launched last year. I’d tried some dating groups on Facebook too, though I always gave up and returned to the kink site where I had my friends. Even there, it was difficult grasping on to something that interested me.

“It doesn’t say much,” I replied. “I mention that the real estate market is sucking the life out of me, that I enjoy spending time with friends, that I date exclusively in the BDSM community, and…well, you know the type of guy I’m into.” Because he was into the exact same kind of cheeky submissive, with the addition that he enjoyed masochists. “I make it clear what I’m looking for, in other words. That’s about it.”

“That’s fuckin’ boring, Lucas.”

I winced internally and smiled slightly. I was boring, and he was about to find that out. “There isn’t much to know about me.”

Colt shook his head. “I don’t buy it.” He finished his coffee. “How long have you been workin’ for your pop?”

I hummed, thinking back. “Full time…? Four years. Ish. But I started helping him at the office when I was in college.” I’d helped him with advertising campaigns and branding since he realized I had an eye for it. “He called me once.” I chuckled as the memory popped up. “I was somewhere in France—it was the middle of the night, and he called to ask what color to put on his business cards.”