Final Play (Fake Boyfriend 6) - Page 36
So this is weird.
But I put it down to maybe him trying to bond more, or maybe this is his big grand gesture seeing as proposals are off the table.
I will commit my life to you and prove it by enduring baseball.
It’s not exactly the type of gesture I’ve been thinking, but also, I have no fucking clue what I could do for him, so at least he’s making an effort.
I’m still at square one.
I could show him how much I love him with sex, but that’s not really the kind of declaration I’m looking for. Plus, by the look of it, he’s not that interested. Or he’s trying not to be.
He’s avoiding eye contact with my lower half and focusing way too hard on a game he doesn’t even like.
“Why are you acting weird?” I ask.
“Weird? I’m not acting weird, am I?” He doesn’t take his gaze off the screen. “Okay, I don’t understand this whole stealing bases thing. It’s like cheating.”
Normally, I’d laugh, but instead, I’m more interested in what he’ll do if I move my hand down and give my cock a hard pump.
Ollie glances at it for half a second before focusing back on the game. “Whatcha doing?”
“Baking a cake. What’re you doing?”
“Wondering why you’re doing … that instead of watching baseball.”
“Doing what?” I give my cock another stroke.
“Lennon,” he warns.
“Remember the first time we were kinda together but not because we weren’t allowed to touch?”
His Adam’s apple bounces. “Uh-huh.”
“Remember how hot that was?”
“Baseball,” Ollie blurts.
My hand stills, and I tilt my head toward him. “What?”
He clears his throat. “We should be watching baseball.”
“Jerking off sounds more fun.” I really want to ask what he’s playing at, but it’s clear he isn’t going to tell me without a little incentive.
I go back to stroking myself and use my free hand to reach down and squeeze my sac. I throw my head back and moan as I go from lazily playing with my cock to pulling on it until the tingle of an impending orgasm fills my balls.
“Fuck it,” Ollie hisses. He reaches for his phone and hits a button, then takes the laptop and places it next to the bed.
It takes me a second to register the phone thing.
“Wait, what did you just do on your phone?” I ask, my hands stalling.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
“Uh, no, you will tell me right now. Or the show stops.” To prove my point, I stop touching myself completely and hold my hands up.
“Ugh. Fine.” Ollie takes his phone and hits a button.
My voice comes out of the tiny speaker of the phone. “I get it. It’s your plan to blue-ball me all day.”
“You were recording?” Why in the hell would he do that?
“Only voices. No video. As tempting as it was with this view.” Ollie’s gaze drops to my crotch again. “But listen.” He moves the recording along until we’re talking about the game on the laptop.
Our banter—while mostly sexual—is easy and flowing, and I sound like I know what I’m talking about. I mean, I do know what I’m talking about, but anytime I’ve tried to put my thoughts together on purpose, say practicing in front of a mirror for an on-air position, I sound stiff and formal and I develop a stutter which makes me sound unsure.
“You were made to do this,” Ollie says. “When you’re relaxed and not thinking, you’re funny and have this charismatic charm to the way you speak. Your opinions sound like facts, and I know you can do this.”
“Th-that’s why you did this?”
“I wanted to show you that if we maybe start slow and practice while you’re knowingly being recorded, maybe you could get over some stage fright. We could take it in steps, like maybe start a podcast or something. During the off-season, I could help you commentate on baseball or we can review the last football season or … I don’t know, I’m throwing ideas out there.”
“You … you want to start a podcast with me. To talk about sports. That aren’t your own.”
“Well, it’d be a bit biased to critique other hockey teams while I’m still playing. Plus, if I say someone’s in a slump, I may as well paint a target on my back on the ice.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. You’re willing to do this for me just because you know I don’t have the balls to do something like this on my own.”
Ollie runs a hand through his hair. “Well, uh, yeah. Because I love you, and I want you to have the three most important things in life. Me, your dream job, and happiness. You already put your other dream job on hold once before for me, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t help you any way I can to get this one.”
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