Tempting (Inked Hearts 1)

He arches a brow as he brings his drink to his lips. He tries to hold a poker face, but he doesn't quite manage it. His eyelids press together. A soft groan falls off his lips.

The man loves his whiskey.

But that's not where my head is going.

"Whenever she says a guy is nice, that's it. She's never seeing him again," I say.

"I liked her."

"But you didn't..." I clear my throat. But that doesn't get a reaction. "You're home early. Considering."

"Only takes half an hour to fuck someone properly."

"Oh." I stare back into his eyes. There's something missing. A satisfaction. He didn't sleep with her. I think.

"You should go to bed. It's late."

"I work later than this all the time."

"Still. School starts soon. You need to get into a routine." He takes another sip then sets his glass down on the table. "Your parents left another message. They want to hear from you."

"I know." I sip my apple juice. It's better than whiskey, but this much sugar this late is a bad idea. "I'm still pissed at them."

"You consider telling them that?"

Sort of. Telling people how I feel isn't my strong suit. "Did you sleep with her."

"That's not your—"

"I thought we agreed friends talk about sex."

His eyes trace my body. It's quick. Almost imperceptible. "What have you been doing all night?"

"Reading."

He nods sounds like you.

"That book you mentioned."

"And it's helping with your research?" He draws out the last word, like we both know this isn't for research.

"Yeah. But it's not enough. Reading about the theoretical is one thing, but I want to know what it's really like. How it feels. So I can capture it properly."

"What exactly are you writing?"

"It's um..." I'm not writing anything. That's all bullshit. I go through my favorite character pairings, trying to find one that makes sense. There's no way Peeta is tying up Katniss. Or Katniss and Finnick. Or Finnick and Annie. Nobody in The Hunger Games is getting tied up. But Draco and Harry—I could see that. "It's a Harry Potter fan fiction."

He arches a brow. "Harry doesn't have it in him."

"Yeah. He's not. Draco is."

Brendon chuckles. He's disarmed. He's not thinking about how I'm pushing him to illustrate his sexual preferences. He's endeared by me writing dirty male/male fan fiction. "I didn't realize—"

"I wrote about guys going at it?"

He nods.

"It's a favorite pairing. They have a certain chemistry."