Next of Kin (Legal Briefs Novella #2)

Chapter 1

one

Nick

Of course, the guy pauses at my door instead of leaving because what would make my humiliation more complete than the pity in his expression? Hint: nothing. Except…

“It’s no big deal,” the guy says, and I cringe knowing the next words out of his mouth are going to be…yep, “It happens to all of us.”

Yeah. While that might be true for other guys, it has NEVER happened to me before, and I can’t get this guy out of my apartment fast enough so I can forget about the utter mortification of watching my erection shrivel and die while a hot guy was begging me to destroy him.

“Ping me if you want to meet up again,” he says, and dear God, can’t he just go?

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say doing my best not to shove him into the hallway so I can close the door and forget this ever happened.

He leans in as if he’s going to kiss me but stops at the last minute and gives me a smile which at least makes my lifeless dick twitch. Too little, too late. I am not going to invite this guy back inside and risk a repeat performance of my failure to achieve liftoff.

“I’ll see you around,” he says before he turns toward the elevator and gets out of my life.

I do my best to close the door quietly behind him. It would be rude to slam it because the whole debacle is not his fault. I’m the one who couldn’t get it up. Fuck. My. Life. Seriously, this has never happened to me before, and I’m not handling it well. At. All.

My brain is helpfully stuck on an endless repeat of the whole embarrassing evening.

Everything plays through my mind from seeing the guy’s profile on Grindr while waiting for my coffee at Spike’s and discovering he was right around the corner at Philz doing the same thing, to the quick texts giving him directions to where I’d parked my car, the tension humming between us as I’d driven home.

We’d barely made it through the front door before our tongues were in each other's mouths.

He was gorgeous and willing and my dick had been totally on board with the whole thing up until I opened the condom.

I’d laughed about it, suggested a glass of wine might help. We’d made out a bit in between sips, slowly working ourselves back up to our previous frenzy, my cock gallantly rising to the occasion as I bent the guy over the back of my couch.

“Oh, yeah, fucking destroy my ass,” he’d moaned. “Tear me up and make me beg.”

And that was all it took for my hard-on to wither and die, leaving me mortified. In my embarrassment, I probably acted like a jerk trying to get the guy out of my place as quickly as I could, but I was having a difficult time dealing with what had happened.

Twice. It had happened twice.

I return to my living room and gather the two half-full wine glasses from the coffee table and take them into the kitchen. I don’t bother straightening the cushions on the couch or picking up my shirt or the limp condom and empty wrapper from the floor.

What. The. Fuck?

I snort as I open the fridge, take out a beer and return to the living room to wallow in my disgrace. With a frown at the detritus of my failed evening, I flop onto the couch and take a long pull of the beer.

Destroy me.

I don’t get it. I really don’t. All the pieces were there.

The guy—yeah, I can’t remember his name, I’ll add it to the list of reasons I’m an asshole—was hot, horny, and here.

Those are the three things that have mattered most to me since I was fourteen and discovered I liked boys as much as I liked girls.

My friends tease me that I haven’t gone a week without sex since my sixteenth birthday and take bets on how quickly I’ll find someone new after a breakup.

I’m our group’s resident slut, the one who always has a boyfriend or girlfriend or a steady fuck buddy or easily scores hookups whenever I find myself without any of those.

And, not once in the twenty-five years of my existence, has my dick failed to rise to the occasion.

It happens to all of us.

Well, not me, my man. Not. Fucking. Me.

I take another pull on the beer, pick up the TV remote and scroll through the apps in search of something to take my mind off the situation. Right after the opening credits of a stupid cop movie I’ve watched more times than I’d like to admit, my phone buzzes with a text from my friend Tyler.

Cam and I are heading to Breaux tonight. Want to join us?

Making a face at my phone because yes, what would be a more perfect end to my evening than hanging out with my insanely happy friend and the guy he met while on jury duty last year.

Sorry. Can’t. Busy, I type back.

Ty sends me back the rolling eye emoji, and I send him back an eggplant and a peach.

Be safe, my friend, Ty texts.

Always am, I respond, which gets me a heart sticker but no more texts.

I stare at my phone wondering if I shouldn’t get into my club clothes and go out with them.

And then I remember that my dick isn’t working tonight and focus my attention on the movie.

What’s the point of going out when I had a gorgeous guy beneath me less than half an hour ago and couldn’t close the deal?

I don’t need another reminder of my failure.

I’m in the kitchen getting another beer when I hear the sirens.

At first, I think the sounds are from the TV, but then I see the blue and red lights reflecting off the walls as a police car passes my building.

It’s not a common occurrence in this neighborhood—Hayes Valley is fairly upscale—but San Francisco is a city and things happen.

I hope it’s something minor like a fender bender and that no one’s hurt, then wonder if those police officers could help me find my missing libido.