to his wine—then turned around. “Wait, you said the screenplay was almost done…”
“Oh, right.” Griffin pinkened. “I totally bullshitted you on that.”
“Anything else I should know you bullshitted me on?” Jim gave him the one-eyebrow quirk.
“I'm not usually that phenomenal in bed?”
“I don't believe that for a second,” Jim said breezily, taking the glass and heading for the bathroom. “How good are you in the shower?” Love & Loyalty
85
“Blurry, because I can't wear my glasses or my contacts—but I'm pretty sure I can find your dick without much problem.”
“That's all I need to know.”
* * * * *
Dinner waited. They ate warmed-up pasta and sausage and garlic bread on the couch, wrapped in towels in an entangled sprawl. Miles kept singing all his greatest hits—and there were, luckily, hours of them, since neither man was inclined to move anytime soon to change the CDs.
“This is nice,” Griffin said, so quietly that Jim nearly missed it. They were shoulder to shoulder, and the food coma had hit Griffin first. He sounded sleepy and content, dropping his damp curls back onto the couch.
“Very nice,” Jim agreed, his voice hushed from disuse.
“I can't see anything.”
“Your eyes are closed.”
“I mean—I don't have my glasses.”
“Still in the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
Jim wrestled himself out of the cushions and Griffin's warm comfort. He cleaned up the dishes, left everything in the sink for later, and put the leftovers away. In the bathroom, he tidied up and realized he was cold—that meant a quick jog up the loft stairs to get some sweats, then another trip back up when he wondered if Griffin might be cold, so he grabbed another pair and a blanket from the closet.
When he got back to the couch, Griffin was sideways, curled into an S
with his head on one of the throw pillows. The towel had loosened, showing off one muscular thigh and a ghost of his hip. Sound asleep.
Jim drank it in. For however long this little fantasy of perfect domestication lasted, he was going to savor it. When it evaporated later or 86
Tere Michaels
tomorrow or whenever, he'd have memories to last him through the next drought.
Which, by his calculations, was twenty-five-or-so years long if he was judging by the last one.
Jim laid the sweats over the back of the couch, the glasses within easy reach on the table, and tucked the blanket around Griffin's shoulders and down over his body. One smoothing touch to his hair and Jim felt his chest tighten.
This guy was entirely too easy to like and too easy to get used to. He already hated the part where it was going to have to end.
Love & Loyalty
87
Chapter Thirteen
When he started getting the “ wtf r u ?” texts from Daisy forty-eight hours after their last phone call, Griffin knew he was in trouble. And he knew he had to pick up the phone and call her—and ask if she could get her housekeeper to go over and water his fern, collect his mail, and take out the garbage.
He needed to go home at some point. And for the past three days, he'd thought of bringing it up to Jim again—just to get a sense if that first night's coolness had extended a few more days. But then Griffin realized that Jim hadn't brought it up again either. And if Jim wasn't bringing it up and it was his place, then Griffin didn't see the need to bring it up.
He knew they were using the script as an excuse and even talked about it here and there to justify his continued presence, but ultimately, this was one long-ass date, with dinners and sex and walks and sex and basketball games on the television followed by sex.
If they truly discussed it, the bubble would burst and reality—that dreaded sonofabitch—would park itself in the living room and that would be it.
Griffin wasn't ready for “it” yet.
He put the load of laundry in the dryer (and yeah, he did Jim's—so what, it was his apartment and it was just nice manners ) and ran the sponge over the
“Oh, right.” Griffin pinkened. “I totally bullshitted you on that.”
“Anything else I should know you bullshitted me on?” Jim gave him the one-eyebrow quirk.
“I'm not usually that phenomenal in bed?”
“I don't believe that for a second,” Jim said breezily, taking the glass and heading for the bathroom. “How good are you in the shower?” Love & Loyalty
85
“Blurry, because I can't wear my glasses or my contacts—but I'm pretty sure I can find your dick without much problem.”
“That's all I need to know.”
* * * * *
Dinner waited. They ate warmed-up pasta and sausage and garlic bread on the couch, wrapped in towels in an entangled sprawl. Miles kept singing all his greatest hits—and there were, luckily, hours of them, since neither man was inclined to move anytime soon to change the CDs.
“This is nice,” Griffin said, so quietly that Jim nearly missed it. They were shoulder to shoulder, and the food coma had hit Griffin first. He sounded sleepy and content, dropping his damp curls back onto the couch.
“Very nice,” Jim agreed, his voice hushed from disuse.
“I can't see anything.”
“Your eyes are closed.”
“I mean—I don't have my glasses.”
“Still in the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
Jim wrestled himself out of the cushions and Griffin's warm comfort. He cleaned up the dishes, left everything in the sink for later, and put the leftovers away. In the bathroom, he tidied up and realized he was cold—that meant a quick jog up the loft stairs to get some sweats, then another trip back up when he wondered if Griffin might be cold, so he grabbed another pair and a blanket from the closet.
When he got back to the couch, Griffin was sideways, curled into an S
with his head on one of the throw pillows. The towel had loosened, showing off one muscular thigh and a ghost of his hip. Sound asleep.
Jim drank it in. For however long this little fantasy of perfect domestication lasted, he was going to savor it. When it evaporated later or 86
Tere Michaels
tomorrow or whenever, he'd have memories to last him through the next drought.
Which, by his calculations, was twenty-five-or-so years long if he was judging by the last one.
Jim laid the sweats over the back of the couch, the glasses within easy reach on the table, and tucked the blanket around Griffin's shoulders and down over his body. One smoothing touch to his hair and Jim felt his chest tighten.
This guy was entirely too easy to like and too easy to get used to. He already hated the part where it was going to have to end.
Love & Loyalty
87
Chapter Thirteen
When he started getting the “ wtf r u ?” texts from Daisy forty-eight hours after their last phone call, Griffin knew he was in trouble. And he knew he had to pick up the phone and call her—and ask if she could get her housekeeper to go over and water his fern, collect his mail, and take out the garbage.
He needed to go home at some point. And for the past three days, he'd thought of bringing it up to Jim again—just to get a sense if that first night's coolness had extended a few more days. But then Griffin realized that Jim hadn't brought it up again either. And if Jim wasn't bringing it up and it was his place, then Griffin didn't see the need to bring it up.
He knew they were using the script as an excuse and even talked about it here and there to justify his continued presence, but ultimately, this was one long-ass date, with dinners and sex and walks and sex and basketball games on the television followed by sex.
If they truly discussed it, the bubble would burst and reality—that dreaded sonofabitch—would park itself in the living room and that would be it.
Griffin wasn't ready for “it” yet.
He put the load of laundry in the dryer (and yeah, he did Jim's—so what, it was his apartment and it was just nice manners ) and ran the sponge over the
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