Chapter 9 #2
Sebastian turns toward me fully and grimaces, dropping his hands to his hips and shrugging his impressive shoulders.
“Now I feel bad for complaining at all. I should have thought about the reasons we’re partnering with your organization and what it means to get the Combat Companions name out there.
I know you do meaningful work and help people who need it.
I shouldn't have been such an ass about this.”
He lifts a hand to the back of his head and pulls down as he grips his dark hair.
The motion has me fantasizing about him being back on his knees and what it would look like with my hand in his hair.
Is his hair as silky as it looks, or is it coarse?
It’s thick and looks like it would slide through my fingers as I fucked his face.
I jerk back from the thought and swallow hard.
Holy shit, nope, I cannot be thinking about this now, in front of him.
At home in the shower, alone, is one thing, but not here, in a dressing room full of his teammates, while he’s standing right in front of me.
How stupid can I be? Pretty damn stupid, since he’s also straight as can be and would never want to get on his knees for me, obviously.
When I look up, feeling guilty as fuck for where my thoughts have strayed, Sebastian is looking at me curiously, and I realize I probably should have responded to him.
“Uh, no, it’s okay. I understand not wanting to pose for photos. I hate doing dumb shit for social media. Cami always wants me to make videos on training tips or dog handling for our socials. I wouldn't have made you guys do this even if it guaranteed a lifetime of business.”
“So you’re saying you need me to up the theatrics to make sure you get lots of new business that will keep you around for a long time because you won't?” Sebastian teases, and now my cheeks must be red as the fire hydrant chew toy the puppies are playing with on the floor.
“Fuck, no. I’m seriously out of my element here and have no idea what to say, honestly,” I blurt, feeling way too flustered to keep talking.
I should get my shit together and be a professional because I’m technically working.
I should draw on my years as a police officer and utilize the training and quiet stoicism I once had perfected.
Instead, I’m a bumbling idiot with a crush that can't shut up or stop thinking about his muscles that have all the blood in my body rushing to my dick and leaving me brainless when it counts.
Sebastian laughs and slaps my shoulder. “I’m fucking with you, Tucker.
It’s fine. This is part of my job, and I know I have to do weird shit occasionally for it.
This isn’t the worst, believe me. My last team in New York had us do polar plunges for prostate cancer awareness during No Shave November.
We all grew ugly ass beards and were part of a donation campaign where the highest donors got to pick the stupid design we had to shave on our faces before we were dunked in an ice bath.
I don't remember how much money it raised other than a shit ton, but it was one of the more popular fundraisers for the team, and I have some dumb ass photos floating around of my handlebar mustache and mutton chops.”
My eyes widen with interest. “I’d love to see you with a mustache.” Or any facial hair, really, but I keep that part to myself. I’m partial to beards, but he looks great clean-shaven.
“It was not a good look. I’ve worked hard to rid the internet of them because they’re so bad. The full beard was better before I had to shave.”
My mouth waters thinking about it. “Hmm, I bet,” I say with as little interest as possible.
No need to advertise how hot I think that would be.
We’re friends. There’s no reason for me to be obsessing over his facial hair or fantasizing about his muscles and what he looks like on his knees. Because that’s creepy as fuck.
“You have a great beard. It’s the perfect length. Do you have to trim it regularly or do you let it grow out and just shave it down every once in a while?” he asks, and I’m shocked that he’s asking about my grooming habits.
“I trim it weekly so it stays this length.” I look down and chuckle as I continue a little sheepishly.
“There’s a line of beard care products I use that helps it stay soft, too.
Beard oil and butter, and even a beard wash.
I know it sounds stupid, but it’s made all the difference to keep it looking nice instead of a scraggly bush. ”
His head tilts, and he smiles as he leans closer with interest. “Maybe it’s not just us city boys who enjoy the finer things every now and then.” He laughs.
“Hey, I don't want to look like a total backwoods Sasquatch,” I joke, smiling along with him. “Even us country boys know about good products and proper hygiene. Besides, this stuff smells so good, I use everything they offer, and I don't care if that makes me high maintenance.”
Sebastian has a contemplative look. “I haven’t tried any of those products for myself. Do you mind?” he asks, raising his hand toward my face.
He wants to touch my beard.
My cheeks heat again, but I stick my chin out toward his hand. “Go ahead,” I say, the words coming out in a deep rumble as they nearly lodge in my throat with anticipation of him touching me.
He gently strokes my cheek and jaw before he leans in and sniffs me. I nearly combust right there. Fuck fuck fuck. He’s smelling me. I hope like hell I smell good and not like ass right now.
“Oh, wow. Your beard is way softer than mine when it grows in. I’ll have to grab some of those products. Send me a link to where you found them. What scent is that?”
“Sandalwood,” I answer, barely hearing my reply, my brain is so high in the clouds right now.
“I like it.”
“Thanks?” I say with a note of question in my tone.
Was that a compliment for me, or the product?
How am I supposed to respond? My irrationally ecstatic brain is shouting that he likes me and doing fucking cartwheels right now in excitement, but the pragmatic part of me knows he just means the products, stupid, so don't get your hopes up and stop being such a little girl about this crush. I need to grow up and get out of here.
“Looks like the shoot is wrapping up. I should go wrangle the dogs for a potty break before yoga,” I say, gesturing with my chin toward the dressing room behind Sebastian that we’ve pretty much blocked out for the last few minutes.
“Oh, yeah, of course. Don't let me keep you. Good to see you again, Tucker.” He lifts his hand and walks back to his stall, where he grabs a gym bag of stuff while I turn toward the eight puppies rolling and playing on the floor.
Time to scoop them up, along with my crushed idealistic hopes and dreams about the straight man I have a thing for.
Why do I always fall for the ones I can't have?