Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

Ross’ cell phone rings, startling me. I fumble with the glass, nearly spilling it.

“Damn. Sorry.”

This time, Mitch smiles. My eyes fixate on that mouth as his lips part to reveal two rows of perfect teeth.

“I have to take this,” Ross confesses. He glances over. “You okay to do this without me?”

No. I’m not okay. You’re going to leave me in a room with one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen while I’m a nervous, blundering wreck.

That’s what I’m thinking. What I say isn’t even close.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Ross stares at Mitch. “I’ll be back to discuss the specifics of your contract.”

“No problem,” Mitch agrees. Leaning back in his chair, he crosses one ankle over his knee.

Holy—

Now he’s given me a direct view of his crotch, hugged tight by those tailored grey slacks. There’s a lot to look at. Jesus. If what I’m seeing isn’t an illusion, he is hung. I don’t realize that I’m staring right at Mitch’s dick until his leg drops and he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

Blinking, I look up to see those deep gunmetal eyes waiting patiently for me to respond.

“Ummmm, I’m not nervous.”

I am, but not for the reasons you think.

Mitch puts his large hands back up on the table, his eye twitching again. “Do you mind if I get a drink?” He gestures towards the tray Donna set out.

“Not at all.”

“So,” he continues as he removes his jacket, hangs it over his chair, and circles the table. “Tell me about the letters.”

M

itch picks up a mug, turning his back to me to prepare his coffee. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his perfect, round ass showcased by the tight grey fabric that clings to every curve.

“Gavin?”

I can’t do this here with him. Alone. With that ass, those eyes, and the scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing. My brain won’t function properly while bombarded from all sides by filthy sexual fantasies starring Mitch.

“I-I forgot. I have somewhere to be.”

Jumping up, I catch a surprised expression on Mitch’s face right before I bolt out the door.

Mitch

The door slams shut and I stomp up the stairs from the garage to the first floor of my townhouse. I head straight for the kitchen, grab a beer, and down half of it in a few long gulps. Flipping the cap in my hand over and over, I contemplate Gavin’s odd behavior.

The last twenty-four hours are among the strangest I’ve ever experienced. Seeing as I used to sit in the same room as some of the worst human beings on earth, I’d say that’s pretty remarkable.

I finish off the beer and toss it into the bin where it rattles against the other recyclables.

Last night with Hailey was a fucking fiasco. Then today’s meeting with Gavin Walker somehow turned disastrous, ending abruptly when the musician tore out of the place like his ass was on fire.

The collar of my shirt feels choking and restrictive. I yank at it in vain and decide to change. Six years of wearing a suit every day as a Fed and it only took a week in regular clothes for it to feel stifling to put one back on.