The only thing in the room is Tripp. His long eyelashes, intense hazel eyes, a crooked nose that usually leads to an equally crooked smile, but there’s nothing amused about his expression right now.
My hands find their way into his hair, and I hold back a shiver as his dip lower. Along my ribs, over my waist, coming to a rest on my hips.
He squeezes.
Tight.
So fucking secure.
It grounds me.
And then his thumb ducks under the elastic waistband of my Calvin Kleins.
Oh, shit.
My hands tighten in his hair as I try to stop the rush of desire hitting my groin, try, desperately, to think of anything—anything—else other than the way my cock is thickening.
It’s no use.
And when it grazes his abs, I shoot back off his lap, cheeks blazing. I rush for the showers where I left my clothes, hands planting firmly in front of my dick.
“Wait, Dexter, that’s a perfectly normal—” Sid starts.
“We’re done here,” I call back over my shoulder. There’s no way I can keep going, because I’m not even sure which part is fake anymore.
And that scares me.
I’ve always loved Tripp. I’ve always loved being close to him.
But the only boners I’ve ever cracked around him are the morning wood we both wake up with.
This was more than that.
This boner was one hundred percent linked to Tripp.
But having another man’s hands on him shouldn’t make a straight dude hard, no matter how much he loves his friend.
So now I’m entering freak-out mode, because I’m too dumb to deal with this by myself. Tripp is the one I go to about sex things or advice on relationships, but how can I begin to explain this one to him?
I’m scared.
But when I think about why, it’s not the answer I’m expecting.
I’m not scared of the thought of being with a guy like that.
I’m scared of being dumb again.
Of confusing these feelings for something they’re not.
Of doing something to lose Tripp for good.
But most of all, I’m scared that these feelings for Tripp might go away, and I really, really don’t want them to.
Fourteen
TRIPP
I’m left in the locker room with all eyes on me and no idea how to excuse why Dex would run out of here like that. Way to throw me under the bus, dude.
“He’s, uh, still shy when it comes to all this … stuff.” Then I realize that might sound weird considering we’re supposed to be married for real, not just on paper. “I mean, he’s comfortable with me at home, obviously. But yeah, maybe the audience was too much for him.”
That sounds legit. I think. I glance at Damon to see if I pulled it off. His tentative and forced smile tells me no. Especially when we’re always so affectionate in public.
But that’s different. It’s never been sexual.
And from what I could feel against my stomach, that was definitely sexual. It’s not like I’ve never felt his hard-on before. We’ve shared a bed countless times because of Dex’s craving for affection. I’ve always dismissed it, because you can’t help what your dick does at times, and he has never freaked out like that before.
I tell myself not to read into it, because there has to be a simple explanation. Like the stress of the photoshoot had a weird reaction on his body. It wasn’t me he was turned on by; it was … biology.
Or maybe he really was self-conscious about it because there were cameras and people about.
Though, that thought doesn’t fill me with warmth if he’s so worried that people might actually believe he could be into me. Or guys in general.
Dex has never once given me any indication he has issues with me being gay, but maybe it’s different when it comes to other people thinking he is.
“I’m pretty sure we got the shot,” Sid says.
“Then I can get dressed and head out?”
“Yep. We have everything we need.”
I hurry to get changed so I can get to the car to meet Dex, but when I get there, he’s nowhere to be found. Dammit. He should have known I’d come straight after him, which means if he’s not embarrassed or feeling stupid, he’s back to guilty again.
I’m about to turn around and check out the rest of the building when my phone chimes in my pocket.
I caught an Uber home. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.
I hate that he’s laying the blame firmly on his own shoulders when he really doesn’t need to. This is my mistake as much as it is his, but with everything in overdrive—it breaking in the press, us suddenly having to pretend we’re a real couple—it’s like we’re constantly bombarded with the reminder that we made a mistake, and Dex is adamant about taking responsibility.
I didn’t have to say yes to fake marrying him.
We keep dancing around what it really means to be married in the public eye, what we’re going to have to endure, and this was only our first taste of it.