The Queen & the Homo Jock King (At First Sight 2)

“Uh-huh. And just what am I going to get when I collect this tab of yours? Because you know when it comes due, I’m going to want payment.”

My mouth went instantly dry because I immediately made that dirty. Like, a dirty payment. “Uhh,” I said, brain misfiring.

“Sandy?”

“Uhhh,” I said like a champ.

“Did I break you?”

“No,” I said, coming back online. “I got distracted by something.”

“Really,” he said and I knew he was smirking. “And what were you distracted by?”

I latched on to the first thing I saw. “Uh, Mike. You know. Mike? My boss? Yeah, he’s getting his testicles and taint waxed.” I mouthed an apology at Mike, who was glaring at me quite severely. “So, that’s what I was distracted by. Testicular and taint waxing.”

“Testicular and taint waxing.”

“Why does everyone repeat what I say in that same tone of voice?” I wondered aloud.

“Seems as if there’s a common denominator.”

“I don’t have time for math! Are you going to help me or not?”

“What? It’s not—fine. Sandy. What is it that I can do for you?”

“Much better,” I said, because I learned that positive reinforcement is needed when placating an irate homo jock. “Though maybe work on your tone a bit. But since you’re being sort of helpful, when we’re done talking, you should go do some bench presses or squats or whatever it is you do when you feel you deserve a reward. Do a pull-up or drink a protein shake. You’ve earned it.”

“I don’t always work out,” he said with a sigh.

“Yeah, okay. Tell that to your thighs.”

“My thighs?” he asked innocently. “What is it exactly you want to tell my thighs, Sandy?”

I could not get an erection in front of an aging man with a copious amount of chest hair who was also my slimy boss who’d coerced me into this position to begin with. I just couldn’t. It was against the Jack It employer-employee handbook that I’m sure Mike had thought of making at least once or twice in the past. “Uhh,” I said eloquently. Because Darren’s thighs were nice, as far as thighs went, large and beefy and probably really fantastic to touch, if one was so inclined. And apparently I was one who felt inclined because I had this really gnarly image of said thighs wrapped around my neck.

“You know,” Darren said, as if he wasn’t fully aware I had no blood left in my brain. “You’re right. I seem to do a lot of squats, don’t I? My thighs are pretty hard. I think they deserve a break today. You do squats, Sandy? There’s that burn you get right when you’ve squatted as low as you can get, and if you hold it just right, then rise up slow, it spreads all over. I like it when it burns all over, Sandy. Don’t you?”

“Uhh.”

“Man, Mike’s balls must be hairy. You’re so distracted again.”

“I do yoga!” I blurted out because I really didn’t want to be talking about Mike’s hairy balls.

“Yoga?” he said. “Really.”

“Yes. Like. Bending. And stuff.”

“Bending,” he said. “And stuff. Wow. I squat. You bend. No wonder we’re fake dating. It’s like a match made in fake heaven.”

“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” I said to no one in particular.

“I bet you get that a lot,” Darren said.

“Focus! We were discussing important things!”

“You’re the one that called me to talk about my thighs, Sandy.”

“That’s… I didn’t… you’re impossible.”