I chuckled softly. “I don’t have any weed. Sorry. I have a case of Corona, some Jack, Stoli, and tequila.”
Charlie hummed thoughtfully. “What are your mixers?”
“Mixers?” I repeated.
“Yes. Do you have triple sec, Coke, margarita mix?”
“I’m not sure. I usually just drink the beer.”
“I don’t care for beer. I suppose I could do a tequila shot or two.”
“You’ve already had wine and a martini. Two shots of tequila will throw you over the edge.”
“Says who? I can hold my liquor. I bet I could drink you under the table.”
“Char, I can fit you in my pocket. There’s no way you can drink me under the table.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t fit in your pocket either. Your jeans are too tight. I suppose if your dick is small enough, I could squeeze into your front pocket, though.”
“As you know, my dick is fucking huge,” I boasted like a moron.
He batted his eyelashes lasciviously. “Really? I forgot.”
“Forgot?”
I banged my head on the steering wheel until he giggled, marveling at how easy he was to be with. Don’t get me wrong, Charlie was a lot. He was sharp edges with boundless energy, but there was something fluidly charming about him that stopped me every other time he opened his mouth.
“I’m kidding. I remember it well.” He leaned across the console and bit my jaw. “Just cut me off at three shots. Patrón makes me horny.”
“No tequila for you. I’m not holding your hair back while you pray to the porcelain gods.” I opened the car door and met him on the sidewalk.
When he stumbled against my side, I put my hand on his waist to steady him. Charlie smiled at me, then hooked his fingers in my belt loops and drew me close.
“I’m not a damsel in distress, Ky. I can hold my own hair.”
He kissed my cheek, then licked it before pulling back with a lascivious lopsided grin. I swiped at my face irritably and headed up the path with Charlie cackling behind me. I had a brief thought that this might be a mistake. But I quickly dismissed it. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I’d hung around him a little longer than necessary for a reason. He frustrated me, but he calmed me too. And I wasn’t ready to let him go.
5
Charlie
So this was how semi-straight boys lived. I pivoted in a slow circle in the middle of Ky’s living room and took in the “dude” decor. Skateboards and surfboards in various sizes and in every hue under the rainbow were hung or propped on one side of the room. A collection of guitars lined the opposite wall. Acoustic, electric, bass…he had a few of each. A couple of amps did double duty as side tables on either side of a comfy-looking denim sofa. And the enormous flat-screen TV was positioned on a narrow stand in front of a bank of sliding glass doors, which I assumed led to the balcony he’d mentioned earlier. It was too dark outside to tell.
I followed Ky into the adjacent galley-style kitchen and opened a long rectangular cabinet I assumed was the pantry. “You have Cheetos,” I commented, pulling out an unopened bag.
“Make yourself at home,” Ky snarked.
He set a bottle of wine on the white-tiled counter, then grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the top off.
I shook my head in mock exasperation when it hit the wall and landed on the floor beside the trashcan before pointing at the wine. “Is that for me?”
“Yeah. I don’t have wineglasses, but I have coffee cups and beer mugs.”
“Anything is fine. I’m not picky,” I said, chuckling when Ky grumbled, “Yeah, right” under his breath.
He slid a “Skateboard, skateboard, skateboard, tacos…” mug on the counter toward me. Then he dug around in the drawer for a wine opener and set it down before yanking his shirt from his jeans and unbuttoning it. “I gotta get out of these clothes. Feel free to snoop. I know you want to.”
I inspected the wine label, then poured some into the mug and opened the drawer to return the utensil, snickering when I found a package of condoms and a bottle of lube. I carried the wine and Cheetos into the living room and left them on the coffee table before heading back to the kitchen to close the cabinets and wipe the counter.
“Find anything interesting?” Ky asked as he sauntered barefoot into the room.
I nodded and held up the lube and condoms, but my smartass remark about taking kitchen safety to new levels got stuck in my throat. Dammit, why did he have to look like that? His toned abs, sun-kissed skin, and all that gorgeous ink did things to me. I licked my lips and treated myself to the view of the serpent and rose tattoo at his V-line as he pulled a T-shirt over his head. He’d changed into his signature low-riding board shorts, showcasing his trim waist and long legs.