by J. P. James
But when I think about it too much, that’s when my fantasy starts to break down. Seeing Blake King and me together is like mixing oil and water. I still can’t believe he has the hots for me. I’m just a lowly cub reporter, while he’s a billionaire publishing magnate. It just doesn’t make sense.
He could have any gay boy in the Metro area…hell, any boy in the entire world. So why mess around with me? I have much to learn still, and he knows that. I’d never done half of the things we did in that room together. He had to assure me that my ass would love his finger, and he was right. But it goes to show how much I’m lacking.
Plus, it’s not just my naivete when it comes to sex. I also have much to learn about my job, about the city, and about people. Not to mention, I still need to pay back my student loans, which are incredibly huge and burdensome. And right now, with my measly salary, I can’t even do that!
My nerves start to bubble up. I get up and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water.
I should probably call things off before I get hurt. It’s for my own good, right? Mr. King must think I’m this wonderful reporter, and I’m not. I’m actually an imposter.
I sit back in the chair and twiddle my thumbs, thinking back to this morning. I think about his massive cock inside of me, pushing me over the edge. I feel myself get hard again. Good thing Vance isn’t home yet.
I haven’t had this much fun ever. Not even in college, and that’s when it’s perfectly acceptable to be a manwhore. No one cares if you mess around in college, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to mess around. It didn’t help that all of the guys at my college were immature pricks, but maybe if I had been more promiscuous back then, I’ll be able to bring more to the table when Blake and I meet again. I don’t know what a handsome, wealthy businessman wants with a twenty-two-year-old nobody.
My professors used to say that everything has a story and I just have to figure out the angle. Honest to god, I have no clue what Blake’s angle is. Still, there’s a story here. There’s something thrilling between us, and instinct is telling me is to enjoy the ride.
I look to the empty couch across from the coffee table and sigh. This whole time, I’ve been thinking about Blake. BJ hasn’t crossed my mind at all until just now. I remember how a couple of hours after I saw Blake, I’d felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Here it is again to rear its ugly head.
After all, I know I don’t owe BJ anything, but I can’t shake this feeling. I feel like I did wrong by him. We just broke up, and then I go and have this steamy affair. The sex was so good and so mind-blowing, but that almost makes it worse. Yesterday, BJ and I were still a couple and now I’m getting it on with a man who’s basically a stranger.
Get a grip, Chase. The day is over. I can’t take it back, and I don’t want to anyway. In fact, I want to do it as many times as possible before Blake catches on that I’m a dime-a-dozen college grad and moves on to a partner with more experience and sex appeal.
But I can’t disassociate this from thoughts of my ex. I think back to BJ last night. That fight was terrible. I know I should feel guilty, but the reality of the situation is that BJ and I are both adults, and break ups happen all of the time. Flings happen all the time. That’s life, Chase, I tell myself. It’s not like I’ve cheated on him.
Maybe I jumped onto the conference room table too quickly, so to speak. But the fact remains that we’re no longer a couple, and I don’t owe BJ anything. It’s plain and simple.
Now that I think of it, my ex may have even taken someone home last night himself. He stormed out of here, and maybe he needed to release some of that anger. He could have gone right back to Westie’s and found at least a dozen men who would have hooked up in a heartbeat if he wanted to. He’s good-looking and bright; plus, he’s running for office. There are guys who are into that.
Strangely though, I would be thrilled if he’d taken someone home. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty about my sexcapade with Blake.
Well, whatever BJ’s doing right now, I hope he’s happy. It doesn’t matter the terrible things he said last night. He said them because I hurt him, and that tells me he really cares about me. I hate to admit it, but I care for him too, no matter how he acted last night. Is this too convoluted? Maybe I’m just mixing myself up.
The front door opens a split second before Vance drops his stuff on the floor. I hear a couple of really heavy bags hit the ground with force.
“Chase, do you remember my divorced friend Cameron? He gave me all his old designer jeans,” Vance yells from the doorway. Then, he walks through the room and blows me a kiss.
“If I knew all of the free stuff you’d get, I would have become a stylist, too,” I say, laughing. He waves his hand, shooing away my crazy thought.
“Trust me, being my roommate has much better perks. You get free stuff without having to deal with the divas and drama queens,” he says with a wink. I nod; Vance has a point.
My roomie heads to the kitchen, returns with two beers, and hands me one. He eyes my chest and laughs.
“Nice shirt. Did you get in a fight with someone?” Vance asks, giggling like a little girl.
I look down and nearly have a heart attack. I’d forgotten about my shirt. Blake tore off one of the buttons during our shenanigans. Luckily, my suit jacket buttons high enough to wear at work without anyone noticing, so I was able to go about my day, and no one had had a clue. But once I got home, I left my jacket by the stairs and have been lounging around the living room looking like a ravaged animal. Why didn’t I change into pajamas, or at least a t-shirt? I might be able to play this off if I’m lucky, but Vance isn’t an idiot either. Put your poker face on, Chase.
“Dammit. I must have tripped on my way home,” I explain. Wow, smooth. Vance just shoots me a skeptical glance and lets my horrible lie slide. He takes a long swig of his beer and sits in the chair. We face the window in silence.
“How are Pete’s friends? And what’s his girlfriend like?” I pester Vance with questions to detract from my obvious transgression. He shoots me a knowing grin.
“Pretty good. Actually, maybe last night went too well. Peter and his girlfriend broke up,” Vance says. He can’t help but smile, and I roll my eyes. He just laughs and takes a swig of beer.
“You’re kidding! So is he gay again?” I know I shouldn’t be so excited about someone’s break-up, but Vance deserves a break. He’s dated a slew of losers recently, and at least Pete felt something genuine for him. I bet Pete would treat Vance well.
“I think so,” shrugs my friend. “I mean, you saw him and that girl. She was a textbook wet blanket, and I think seeing me there was his a-ha moment. We have a date on Friday, so I guess he does want to explore that side of himself again.”
I shake my head in wonder. As someone who’s always known he was gay, it’s weird how some folks can swing between men and women. In some ways, it seems handy because you have double the number of potentials to date. But on the other hand, it also seems utterly confusing.
I shrug. “Good on him. But take care of yourself, hear? People who are bi are usually confused. You know that.”
Vance nods.
“No worries, I can handle it,” he assures me. But then he turns my way. “So how are you? What’s going on in your corner of the world?”
I smile for a moment, but it fades quickly. “BJ and I didn’t fare too well last night either. We broke up,” I confess. Although I feel more adult about the situation, a lump gathers in my throat. It hurts to admit it out loud.
“Oh my god, are you serious? Homeboy, you need to get some Thai food and tell me everything.” Vance gets up and grabs a handful of menus from the kitchen. He browses through them, forehead scrunching up.
“Are you surprised?” I ask with a wry smile.
He thumbs through his favorites and hands me some menus to peruse before shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m not surprised at all. I know you liked him, but you deserve so much better, Chase,” he says before
sitting back down. Then Vance goes still as memory strikes. He faces me and frowns. “Can I tell you something, and you promise you won’t get upset?” he asks a bit sheepishly.
I nod. I have no idea what this could be about, but it couldn’t possibly make my day any stranger and more complicated than it already is.
“You remember DC Fashion Week, right?” my friend asks. I nod slowly, remembering how panicked Vance was to style that night. He’d been so nervous and excited, it was adorable.
“When I was styling the girls, one of them busted her blouse. The show was about to start, and I had super glue in the dressing room. I ran back to grab it and–” Vance stops himself. I wait impatiently as he takes another sip of beer.
“Vance, just spit it out. What are you getting at?” I ask. My eyebrows go up quizzically. He smiles, but also looks a little sad.
“When I went back to the dressing rooms, guess who was there? BJ!” he says. My heart skips a beat.
“BJ? My BJ? Are you sure?” I ask.
“I’m completely sure. And he was talking with two of the male models who got ‘lost’ on their way to the bathroom,” he explains using air quotes. Yeah, I’m sure they got lost and just needed BJ to help them find their way back … not! My head starts spinning. I set my beer down and hold my head in my hand.
“Why was he there? BJ hates fashion,” I state. It sounds like an accusation rather than a statement of fact.
Vance shuffles in his chair uncomfortably. He doesn’t look me in the eyes.
“He said that one of his campaign donors invited him. He told me he was looking for the bathroom when he stumbled into the dressing rooms, but the bathrooms there are very clearly marked. It seemed like he’d been drinking, and they all looked flirty. I was disgusted, and I was going to tell you immediately after I got the super glue when….” He chokes up a little, unable to continue.
“It’s okay, Vance. Tell me everything,” I say. Watching Vance makes my voice feel dry and cracked.
“I offered to show them where the bathrooms were. But BJ … he …. he grabbed me and tried to kiss me,” Vance finishes in a rush. I gasp as my buddy buries his head in his hands. He stops talking. After a few moments, he looks up.
My face crumples as I flip between anger and confusion.
“Are you serious?” I manage in a strained tone.
Vance’s eyes are apologetic, and he hangs his head without replying. That’s answer enough.
“What happened next?” I ask.
Vance sighs. “I smacked him, and I said that if he ever tried any moves on me again, I’d drop-kick him without a second thought.” He grits his teeth and finishes his beer.
I smile as tears well up. “I knew those kickboxing classes would come in handy,” I say, choking on my words. My buddy shoots me an apologetic look.
“Sometimes, I’d see BJ check out other men, but I figured it was my imagination. Unfortunately, after that night, I counted down the days until he’d mess things up. I knew he was a bad seed,” Vance admits. My friend looks guilty, but I don’t blame him. The truth is just the truth, and my buddy happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
We just sit there for a while, processing our pain. I can’t believe BJ had the nerve to hit on my roommate and best friend. I can’t believe he flirted with other men when I wasn’t around. Why did I never see his wandering eye? Was I blind to it, or did he just hide it well?
“Vance, I don’t blame you. I hope you know that,” I say. Vance lets out a long breath.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t blame me, but I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did. I know you loved him, and I felt like crap either way. Honestly, I think BJ is worse than gum that’s stuck to a bathroom floor,” he spits out, like his name leaves a bad taste in his mouth. We laugh and try to sound optimistic for the future, even after this awful revelation.
I want to kick myself for believing BJ for months, but what can I say? C’est la vie, right? I should take this as a lesson learned. I don’t think I’ll be seeing any more politicians for a while. Billionaires, however…now, they don’t seem too bad.
I put a bright smile on my face.
“A toast!” I say wryly before striding to the kitchen for two new beers. I hand one to Vance, and we raise our cans. “Good riddance to bad behavior!”
“So long to dickheads!” Vance yells, collapsing on the floor and spilling his ale. We drink heartily and watch the people on the street make their way home. After an hour or so, Vance pokes me.
“So, tell me what really happened to your shirt,” he smirks. “I know there’s a reason you look like you’ve been ravaged by dogs. Have you moved on already? Come on, Chase, spill it. If there’s some randy secret you’ve been hiding, this is the time to fess up.”
I color but manage to look innocent.
“Who me?”
“Hell yeah, you,” laughs Vance. “I know you. You’d never let that fucker BJ get the best of you.” Laughing, I decide to spill the beans. After all, Vance revealed something shocking tonight, but I can do him one better. I slept with my boss, who’s also a billionaire, and now, I can’t get the handsome Blake King out of my mind.
7
Chase
I sip on the last of my coffee while waiting for the double doors to open. The Senate Intelligence Committee has been in session for the past three hours. Meetings generally last a long time, but I still get impatient. Plus, I don’t have a bladder of steel.
I’m following up on a story about the National Security Agency’s deletion of several hundred million call records, and I need someone from this meeting to interview. I don’t imagine the conversation will take longer than twenty minutes, yet I’ve been standing here for over three hours – such are the joys of journalism.
This meeting is closed-door, so me and two dozen other journalists and photographers are waiting for them to hurry up. I shouldn’t complain; these photographers have been waiting just as long as I have, and they only need a few seconds’ worth of footage. I guess that’s the beauty of our jobs.
“Mr. Adams! It’s good to see you again!” a peppy voice says from behind me. I whip around immediately. Who would recognize me here? I’m a nobody in the Senate Chambers.
Bless his heart, it’s Jimmy, Mr. King’s assistant, and he’s trying to outdo himself. He balances a tray of four coffee cups along with a briefcase and two cellphones, all while walking and talking. Impressive. He could compete with Lyla for the most overachieving PA award.
“Hi, Jimmy! Don’t tell me those are all for you,” I tease.
He laughs, which causes him to drop one of the phones by accident. I pick it up before he can even think of bending over with all of that hot liquid.
“Thank you,” he says. “Bless your heart.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, delighted but confused by his presence.
“I’m doing exactly what you’re doing. I’m waiting.” He smiles and hands me one of the coffees. “Take one. I always grab extra just in case. Plus, I’ve already had enough to bring an elephant to its knees.”
Suddenly, the doors creak open, and the photographers and journalists swarm as the committee members file out.
I’ve only been here for a few months, and already, every politician looks the same to me. They all wear an ill-fitting black or blue suit, and have graying hair and wrinkles for days. Some, you can tell, still have their souls, but others look like shells of their former selves. Everyone comes off as a frumpy old man, including the women.
“Sorry, Jimmy, I have to get an interview,” I start to say, but it’s too late. I’m all alone because Jimmy’s already jockeying with photographers to get close to the committee. Good luck making it through that scrum, kid!
I start to wonder how he has time to steal away from Blake King when suddenly, I catch sight of the billionaire. Yes, striding out of the meeting room is the handsome Blake King himself. Jimmy flashes a badge at the other members and makes a bee-line to Blake. Jimmy
hands him one of the coffees, and his boss thanks him. What in the world is my lover doing at a committee hearing?
I should be running to catch an interview, but I’m too gob-smacked to move. Jimmy leans toward Blake and whispers something in his ear. It must have been about me because not a second later, Blake turns to face me. There he goes again, gazing at me with those piercing blue eyes.
Damnit, he’s so attractive. I’ve seen him for all of a minute, yet my cock is already half-hard. I try to look normal, even though my balls already ache. After all, it’s important to be professional right now, even with all this hubbub around us.
Photographers and journalists try to corner Blake as he and Jimmy start to leave. That’s when my brain kicks in. I look down at my feet and will them to move. Before I know it, I’m running after them.
“Please, no questions. No questions!” Jimmy yells at the reporters.
Blake leans in to Jimmy. He tries to whisper, but I can hear him clearly say, “You don’t have to do that; I’m not Bon Jovi. Ignore them.” Jimmy blushes and shuts up. I chuckle, and Blake turns around. He looks cool, but then shoots me a quick wink before facing forward. Did Blake mean for me to hear his comment?
Many of the reporters give up and ask for quotes from the other Committee members, but not me.
“Mr. King, may I please have a word?” I ask. Jimmy turns and smiles, but Blake keeps marching forward. Jimmy frowns and marches forward as well, ever the loyal soldier.
“Please, just one minute,” I repeat. He says nothing.
I run ahead of them and cut them off, my body suddenly blocking the way. They wait as I catch my breath. “Did the committee discuss the NSA’s data deletion? Sir, I need your take on the story,” I say with as much authority as I can muster.
Blake shoots me a grin. “No comment,” the billionaire says before swerving around me and moving on. Damnit.
I follow them in silence as we make our way out of the building and onto the street. A limo is parked out front.