CHAPTER 8
6 Months later
JORDAN
Watching my ex-roommate Pete throw moon eyes at his boyfriend across the dining table and getting sweet smiles in return is giving me a serious case of heartburn. Now, don’t get me wrong, these two are literal relationship goals. So obviously and sickly in love. I can practically see the happiness radiating off them in waves of pink heart emojis. It’s disgusting. The very notion of some guy looking at me like that, like I’m his whole world, makes my fucking skin crawl. Ugh, no thank you. Talk about pressure, I can't even keep my own world spinning, let alone be expected to factor in somebody else's. That is why the fuckbuddy-boss arrangement I have with Dimples is so perfect. I get all the orgasms, none of the relationship bullshit, and complete job satisfaction.
Since Pete’s moon eyes are making me nauseous, I decide looking at Gavin is the lesser of two evils. I quickly realize I’m wrong. I watch in horror as he shovels the pasta carbonara I made into his facehole at an alarming rate. Does he think he’s on a timer? Or that somebody is going to take it away from him? My eyes are widening as I lean closer just to make sure the big guy doesn’t choke in my apartment. Pretty sure I don’t have the insurance for that. My eyes dart back to Pete to see if he is as concerned about the lack of chewing as I am, but he seems to be hypnotized. Maybe this is some kind of mating ritual. Gavin is a total bear, after all. Is Pete into food porn? Or mukbang porn?
“That was insanely good, Jordy,” Gavin tells me without taking his eyes off his plate. He proceeds to try and scrape the pattern off the bottom of the dish in an effort to get the very last remnants of sauce.
“I’m surprised you actually tasted it, considering you inhaled the majority of it.” I can't hide the incredulity in my voice. Pete swiftly kicks my shin under the table, making me jolt in my seat. “What the fuck was that for? I better not have a bruise, Sunshine.”
“Leave Grumpy Bear alone. He needs fuel in that big body because I plan to wear him out later.” He smirks and attempts a sexy wink that kind of just looks like a lopsided blink.
Gavin chuckles and leans in to kiss his boyfriend's forehead, not remotely embarrassed by his undignified eating habits. Their kiss lingers a little too long. I hope Pete doesn’t plan to wear him out at my kitchen table.
“Ewww… lovemaking? You guys are gross. Hey Gav, I have more on the stove if you wanna take it with you to refuel for round two. You know, at your house.”
“Any more and the only thing I’ll be fueling is a food coma.” He sits back, rubbing at his thick torso. Pete’s eyes follow the movement before he scrambles to gather the empty plates, carrying them all to the sink. Clearly, Gavin is not getting seconds.
Pete got together with Gavin last year after he started working at Savage Ink Tattoo Studio as a receptionist. It was love at first fur for dear Petey boy. Unfortunately, Gavin put an end to that shit pretty quickly. Never a quitter, my best friend wore his One True Love down, and now here they are ejaculating their happiness all over my apartment.
It’s not that I’m anti-love. I love love. I just don’t do relationships; I like my life the way it is. I can come and go as I please. I don’t have to worry about the need to constantly impress somebody else. Boyfriends are hard work. I know this because I have had them in the past, and no matter how incredible the sex is, or how amazingly we get on, sooner or later they want more. Move in together, sync calendars and eventually morph into one person. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with wanting that, just like there is nothing wrong with not wanting it—or at least not yet. Who knows? Maybe I’ve just not found the right man—someone who makes me want to revolve my world around him. I doubt it, but I’m told I need to be more positive. Besides, being a single pringle means I get to taste all the flavors of the rainbow. Why would I want to give that up?
I’ve told Pete a million times already, but I will always be beyond thankful to him for recognising how miserable I was working for Capshaw. I knew I wanted out, but I never would have tried to pull strings with my pseudo-brother at his firm. Pete did it for me, and the day I quit my job at Capshaw accompanied by a smile and a flipped finger as I walked out. “I don’t need luck to find one—I already have. Pushing me out was the biggest mistake of your life.” The look on his face was priceless.
“Jordy?” Pete’s questioning tone brings me back to the present.
“Yeah?” I ask, a smile still lingering on my lips from the memory of Capshaw's affronted red face.
“I asked if you’re going with us to Jacks on Friday?”
Just the mention of Jacks makes my dick perk up like some kind of Pavlovian response. I’ve lost count of the number of times I've blown Eric in the bathroom of Jacks, or he’s fucked me senseless in the store cupboard we stumbled upon a few months ago. It's a miracle we haven't gotten caught yet. I’m pretty sure the owner knows what we are up to and is just leaving us to it. What a guy.
“Jordy! Where is your mind drifting off to? If I didn’t know you so well, I would’ve thought you were in love or something.” Pete tilts his head to the side, curls bouncing cutely.
“You take that back, Sunshine. We don’t use the L-word in this house. Just like we do not talk about Bruno.” I can’t even form the word out loud. I’m incapable of saying it. On the plus side, my dick has deflated faster than a popped balloon at the mere suggestion I’m in love. Shudder.
“Yeah, yeah. One day the love bug will bite you in the ass and I can’t wait to see you get all infected with schmoopiness.” He smirks at me. He’s lucky his big bear boyfriend is standing next to him, or I might have flicked his nutsack.
“Never. Gonna. Happen.” I pause and clap after every word for his benefit, while herding them toward the door.
“So what about this Friday? You, me and the guys hogging the dance floor at Jacks?” He pumps his eyebrows at me like he needs to to convince me with anything other than dancing. “It’s going to be fun, come on. Pretty please?” He’s making puppy dog eyes at me now.
“It’s like you don’t even know me. I’ll come straight from work. As if I would miss the chance to dance with all that Savage Ink man meat.” I shoot him a smug smile. “We both know it wouldn’t be half as fun without me. Maybe I can even convince Carter and Ro to let me be the meat in their sandwich.”
“I definitely want to see that,” Gavin blurts, and I laugh at Pete’s shocked expression as Gavin scrambles to save himself. “Carter and Roman would break you like a twig. Have you seen the size of their arms?”
My grin grows wider. “Why, yes I have. I am more than happy for them to break me. What a way to go.” I sigh wistfully, making Gavin laugh.
I wave off my friends and close the door behind them before making a mad dash to the shower. I love my bestie and I love our dinner dates together. Ever since he moved in with Gavin, we have these once a week. Sometimes Gavin joins us, like tonight, but sometimes it's just me and Pete, and I love that he still values our friendship as much as he did when we were roommates. I wouldn’t normally rush them out, but tonight Eric will be here in a little over thirty minutes, and he’s annoyingly prompt for our fuck dates. Meaning I have to wash my ass, apply my makeup, and choose underwear that will make him do that growling thing I like so much.
Guilt briefly crosses my mind that I’m still hiding the fact I’m quite regularly sleeping with my boss. Really, I have no reason not to tell people—Pete especially—but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Things are simple right now. I love my job, and Eric and I are in a great routine, working together like a well-oiled machine. The oil is jizz in this case. We work hard, Eric fucks me harder, and neither of us have any interest in it being more than that.
If I know my family and friends, they will take the knowledge that I’m regularly sleeping with the same person and fucking run with it all the way to marriage and adoption. Just because we have been fucking for six months does not mean there is more to it. We don’t go on dates, we rarely have sleepovers, and our conversations are either about work or my ass. This is not a relationship. Maybe a situationship at best. Withholding this particular juicy gossip from my loved ones is a must.
Shoving away the small twinge of guilt I feel, I rush from the bathroom, pull on a red leather jock, add my signature lashes, then wait for the doorbell to ring. I sit there scrolling mindlessly through TikTok, my cock straining against the tight leather that holds it hostage.