Chapter 5
Rhett
It had been three days since Troy’s kiss introduced me to a new facet of my sexuality, and I was desperate to find out more. I mean, was I attracted to all guys? Or was it something about Troy?
If all guys, how had I not noticed? I mean, sure, I noticed if guys were hot, but I’d assumed everyone did, because we all have eyes.
But Troy didn’t have answers to my questions. In fact, Troy had completely avoided talking about it. He was acting like nothing had happened. Hell, he hadn’t even offered to suck my dick, when apparently that was something he participated in with some regularity.
I knew for a fact that I was a good kisser, so it couldn’t be that. Maybe I’d had bad breath or something? Or maybe he was crazy about me and holding back because it might destroy our friendship. I glanced at Troy, who was chatting with the photographer instead of staring at my ass. Bummer.
If I’d remembered the photoshoot for the calendar was today, I could have gone online and researched how to stop staring at your best friend’s body like a thirsty slut.
I did my best to avoid eye contact with his abs, but his glistening brown skin kept invading my peripheral vision.
His abs gleamed under the studio lights, slick with body oil that someone had applied with way too much enthusiasm.
Each muscle was defined, cut so deep that it was giving me all kinds of filthy daydreams about licking a creamy load off him. He adjusted his stance, firefighter pants riding low on his hips.
I’d never noticed Troy’s body with more than a passing acknowledgment of his hotness.
And yeah, I’d always known he was handsome, but in an “I’m glad he’s my best friend because he makes a sexy wingman” way, not in a “I’m three seconds from licking his abs” way.
Now my tongue was itching to trace every contour.
Was ab licking on the table between guys? Women did it to me, sometimes, so it seemed like a reasonable assumption. The small tabby kitten in his arms mewed and batted at his chest with tiny paws. I wanted to be that kitten.
Whoever had decided to pair shelter animals with firefighters as a double fundraiser for the shelter and the fallen firefighters’ fund was a fucking evil genius.
We would sell so many calendars. I was considering buying some myself, in case Troy never followed up on that kiss and this was all I ever got.
This was bad. This was very, very bad. Four days ago, I’d been crushing on a friend’s little sister like a normal straight guy.
Out of respect for Ryker, I’d even kept my crush on Aimee strictly PG-13.
I’d put her on an impossible pedestal, where I admired her brilliant mind and gorgeous smile from afar.
After all, she was way out of my league.
But ever since she’d suggested that kiss, my lust-addled brain kept pulling up images of Aimee doing filthy things.
Like whether she’d be into helping me with the ab licking.
Shit, and now I was thinking about making out with Aimee around Troy’s cock. What was happening to me?
“Donovan, you’re up next,” the Captain called, startling me badly enough that I jumped and knocked over a chair. “Start getting oiled up. This fundraiser had better be worth it, because I never want to say that sentence again.”
I blinked, tearing my gaze away from Troy and the photographer fawning over him. “Right. Yep. Oil. Got it.”
The makeup lady approached with a bottle and a determined expression. I yanked my shirt over my head, telling myself to flirt with her instead of leering at Troy’s perfect body fifteen feet away.
“Dude, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Doug, our lieutenant, said as he passed by. “Performance anxiety?”
“Ha! As if,” I quipped automatically, flexing my biceps in an exaggerated bodybuilder pose.
“I’m calculating how much these guns are gonna increase calendar sales.
I’m angling for the cover shot, because you know folks will be tripping over themselves to see this.
” I pointed at my stomach and did a little ab roll.
Somewhere just outside my peripheral vision (thank fuck), Troy made a strange, strangled sound. Maybe the kitten had gotten him good with her prickly little claws.
Doug rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Good. No one needed to know I was having an existential crisis. It shouldn’t be obvious that I couldn’t stop thinking about Troy’s mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the way he’d grabbed my ass and hauled my body against his so I felt every inch of his—
“Arms up,” the oil lady instructed, and I obeyed mechanically, lifting my arms so she could coat my torso in slippery goop. Her movements were efficient and impersonal, and even her touch made me think of him.
Christ on a cracker, what was happening to me?
I glanced over at Troy again. The photographer was directing him to turn slightly, angling him to catch the light just right.
The kitten had crawled up to perch on his shoulder, tiny paws kneading his skin.
Troy’s smile was easy, natural—that same charming grin he flashed at every pretty woman he met.
The one that made something in my chest ache now.
“You good?” the oil lady asked, and I realized I’d been standing frozen while she waited for me to turn around.
“Yeah, sorry. Just, uh, mentally preparing my poses,” I said, spinning to give her access to my back. I kept my eyes fixed on the far wall, refusing to look at Troy again.
This was temporary insanity. That had to be it. The kiss had scrambled my brain, made me confuse different kinds of attraction. Troy was my friend, my roommate, my work partner. I couldn’t actually want to—
“All set,” the oil lady announced, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You’re up as soon as Troy’s finished.”
I nodded, trying to look normal, whatever the fuck normal even was anymore.
Troy’s shoot seemed to be wrapping up, the photographer gushing about how perfect the shots were, how the kitten had taken to him so naturally.
Troy was nodding along, the cat still perched on his broad shoulder like an adorable accessory.
“Alright, handoff time,” the shelter volunteer said, approaching Troy with a cat carrier. “We need Olive for Rhett’s shoot.”
Troy reached up to detach the kitten from his shoulder, his muscles flexing with the movement.
A bead of sweat—or maybe oil—slid down his chest, tracing the line of his abs until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.
Those fucking cum gutters. I’d never even thought about that part of a man’s waist, and now it was all I could think about.
What would it be like to trace that path with my tongue, to follow that drop all the way down to—
“Earth to Rhett!” Troy was suddenly in front of me, grinning as he held out the tabby. “You gonna take this cat or what?”
I blinked, heat flooding my face. Could he tell what I’d been thinking? “Yeah, sorry, just, uh… pre-shoot jitters.”
Troy laughed, handing me Olive, who dug her tiny claws into my chest for stability. “Since when do you get jitters about anything? You’re the most shameless attention whore I know.”
“Takes one to know one,” I shot back, grateful for the familiar banter. This was safe. Normal.
“True that,” Troy agreed, his hand lingering on mine during the kitten transfer. His skin was warm, slick from the oil.
I couldn’t breathe. He was sucking up all the air in the room. I took a step closer, wanting more of that feeling, and he paused there for a moment before stepping back.
“Remember to flex extra hard. The people who buy these calendars love that shit.”
“Rhett, we’re ready for you,” the photographer called, saving me from having to respond.
Troy clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze that felt both teasing and intimate, then sauntered off toward where some of the guys were watching the proceedings. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the backdrop they’d set up, cradling the little tabby against my chest.
“The photographer wants to try two kittens, since Olive likes you so much,” the shelter volunteer explained, approaching with an orange ball of fur. “This is Cheeto. He’s a bit of a troublemaker, but he and Olive are bonded, so they’ll be cute together.”
I nodded, accepting the second kitten, who immediately started climbing up my arm like it was a tree. “Hey, little dude, easy on the merchandise,” I joked, wincing as tiny claws dug into my skin.
“Perfect!” the photographer exclaimed, snapping away. “The contrast between tough firefighter and gentle kitten handler is exactly what we’re going for. Can you flex a bit more?”
I shifted into what I hoped was a photogenic pose, trying to balance looking tough with not terrifying the kittens. Cheeto scaled my shoulder and perched triumphantly on top of my head.
I stood as still as possible, feeling Cheeto’s tiny paws kneading my scalp.
Olive was curled up in my palm, head settled against my chest, apparently content to use me as a heated bed, purring loudly.
It was actually kind of nice, in a weird way.
Calming. Maybe this was why people got pets—to distract them from inappropriate thoughts about their best friends.
“Hey, let me get in on this,” Troy’s voice came from my left, and suddenly he was beside me, reaching up to scratch Cheeto under the chin. The kitten purred loudly enough for me to feel the vibrations through my skull.
“That’s it!” the photographer exclaimed, camera clicking rapidly. “The friendship, the shared moment with the animals—it’s perfect! Can you both look at each other? I think we might have our cover shot!”