by Briton Frost
“Bring the movie out here. We’ll watch it together.” I start laughing. “What?” he asks. He looks so serious. And seriously confused.
“I don’t think it’s your kind of flick.”
“Bring it out.”
“You’ll hate it.”
“If you like it, I’ll like it.”
“No, you won’t. But okay. I’m feeling just mean enough to make you sit through it.”
CHAPTER THREE
MATTHEW
I fucking hate it.
Everything about this movie is awful. It’s boring. I can’t understand what they’re saying. Nobody bangs anybody, and there are no car chases.
But Beckett is asleep with his head resting on my shoulder, and I’m not moving.
Maybe ever.
Everything about him is pleasing to me. I want to explore every inch of him with my hands and my mouth. See if he tastes as sugary as he smells.
I got it bad man.
And he's cherry.
Shit.
I don't know what to do with that information. I know what I want to do with it. He thinks it's an anchor, but to me it's a beacon. A homing signal. I want to be his first...and his last. That's the scary part.
He deserves a guy who'll marry the shit out of him and keep his belly full of babies. Take care of him. Be his partner. Me? I don't know how to do that. There's a reason I work on a fucking oil rig in the middle of the goddamned ocean, man. I never wanted hearth and home and whatever goes along with it. I like knowing my life can fit in a rucksack if I need it to. I don't want a husband or kids or a house.
But I wish I did. I wish I could step up into that life and take my place next to Beckett. Haul his ass to the altar. Keep him in bed until I plant enough of my seed in him to finally think about something else for more than two minutes at a time.
My cock sure as hell likes the idea. But that monster needs to take a fucking time out.
He stirs a little in his sleep. He's got on plaid drawstring pajamas and a T-shirt. I can see the band of his boxers peeking above the waistband. Beckett snuggles deeper into me, and I feel the tree trunk in my pants grow even harder. This isn't right. I shouldn't want him so much. He's not trying to be sexy—he's just being himself. Just trusting me. I'm the biggest asshole.
"Why are you scowling?" His voice startles me as he sits up, stretching his neck. "Your foot hurting?"
"No, sorry. Just deep in thought."
He yawns and stretches, his shirt riding up a little more so I can see the soft hair on his stomach. I'm doomed. "Sorry I fell asleep."
"Nothing to be sorry for."
He cocks his head at me, his gaze inquisitive. "Are you mad at me? I’m sorry about leaning on you when I conked out. I hope you didn’t think I was—”
"No."
"Really? Because your jaw is rigid, and there's a little tic thing happening in your mandible and you practically growled at me when you said no."
I take a deep breath. "I'm pissed at the asshole who made you feel bad. That's all."
He pulls his legs crisscrossed (he does yoga three times a week), getting comfortable, and I feel this weird feeling of pride that he's settling in to talk to me. Like we're friends. Like this could be what we did every night if we always lived together. Him sitting cross-legged on the couch looking at me like I had all the answers.
A guy could get used to it.
Don't.
"You should help me," he says.
"Help you what?"
"Figure out what I'm doing wrong. With men. Like a class...Real Man Seduction 101. You could teach me how to entice a guy like you."
Holy fuckballs.
"What are you talking about?"
"I mean like how women do for you. I know I couldn’t entice a guy like you since I don’t have boobs.” He shakes his head. “I'm not doing something right. I need a guy's perspective. Someone who will be honest with me and steer me the right direction. I want to know how to get and keep the interest of a guy like you."
"A guy like me?"
He nods. "Yeah, a guy like you. What do the women do that get your attention?" He looks at me and pales. "You have total resting bitch face or you're pissed. Why is this making you mad?"
I try to relax my face, but he's mistaken about the anger. I'm not mad. I'm feeling about ninety-percent caveman right now. I don't want to scare him or make him uncomfortable, but I want to pull him under me and take him. Hard. It's bad enough he just asked me to help him, but help him get with another guy? Every cell in my body is rebelling like it's wrong. Like he belongs to me and me alone. And like I should show him with my cock who he belongs to.
I take a deep breath and will my muscles to loosen the fuck up. "What is a guy like me?"
"Are you fishing for compliments, roomie?" He tosses a pillow at me. "Well, aside from being a sexy alpha, you're confident. In charge. You know how to take care of things. You're a real man. You're honest, straightforward. You don't ask people out and then text them when you change your mind. You’re like a superhero or something. When I'm with you, I feel secure, like nothing could hurt me. Like you'll take care of me. That's how I want to feel. That’s how I want to make my future boyfriend feel when he’s with me."
That's how he wants to feel with another guy.
But shit, he thinks I'm sexy.
"I think you deserve a guy better than me, Becks. I wasn't raised right. No role models. A series of strange men who would pretend to be my buddy for three weeks or as long as they could handle being with my mom and then they were gone. She was...unstable. And some of those guys...let's just say the sooner they left the better. She wasn't good at picking winners. It wasn't until your brother came along that I even had a real friend."
His face goes all soft. "I didn't know that. I guess we never talked about family before."
"Not much to say." I don't want his pity, that's for sure. But I do like all his attention focused on me like this. He has a way of making me feel like a better person than I am.
"My folks are great. A little...old-fashioned and always more broke than not. But Cam and I had good examples. I want a relationship like theirs." He sighs. "But I can't seem to find the right guy."
"You're setting your bar too low. That's your problem with men. It's not you; it's them. You're dating the wrong ones, is all."
He shakes his head. I want, God do I want, to show him how amazing I think he is. I don't have the kind of words he needs. The ones he deserves. Someone who has a better education than I do is who he should be looking at. Someone who has better manners and can be a real partner. A guy who'll give him all the babies he wants. Someone who knows how to love.
And whoever that asshole is, I hate him for being what Beckett needs. What he's really looking for. I hate him for not being me.
"I'm dating the guys who ask me out. If they are the wrong ones, then I need help finding the right ones to ask. And maybe I need to be more like you...more...I don’t know...alpha."
I need off this couch. Out of this room.
"You just need to be yourself. That's all. You don't need to do a damned thing to be desirable. You already are."
He's turtling up because he doesn't believe me. I can see him withdrawing. His body curls into itself as he pulls his knees up and hugs them. "I get it. I shouldn't have asked for your help. It’s weird."
"Becks, look at me."
He does and, fuck, I'm lost. Those sweet baby-blues are so sad. I can’t walk away from him like this. Not when all he needs is for me to help him find his confidence.
“You’re amazing the way you are. You’re already a catch.”
“You don’t want to help me. I get it. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to help you.”
“So, you will then?”
This is not good. I can already tell. He looks like Christmas morning.
“What exactly do you want me to do, Beckett?”
He gets this mischievous grin I haven't s
een before. “A makeover. I mean, yeah, also you’ll need to take me to a gym and show me...” He makes a hand wave over me. “...how to get all that going on. But first...we’re going to the mall.”
I groan.
"The mall?" I fucking hate the mall.
"You said anything. Besides, you're supposed to get a little exercise for that foot every day. We'll get some walking in, and then you can prop it up the rest of the day."
"What do you want at the mall?"
"An outfit or two that doesn't make me look like a kindergarten teacher would be nice."
"You are a kindergarten teacher." Why doesn't he want to look like one? I like the clothes he wears. The way he always looks ready for a hug.
"I want to entice a man into bed, Matthew. I need him to look at me like I'm a sex-toy made for pleasure, not a prissy teacher."
Fuck. Me.
CHAPTER FOUR
BECKETT
As we walk through the mall, I'm sort of pretending that Matthew is my boyfriend. Just imagining what it would be like to have him as mine. I know it's a fantasy, but I indulge anyway, noting how women, and one really hot dude, eye-fuck him as we go by. They aren’t even hindered by the cane.
He doesn't seem to notice them. Which makes me wonder what it takes to get him to pay attention. What does he find attractive?
“Okay, so, what do you think I might be doing wrong?”
“Well, judging by the way you were talking to the that barista, who was not gay by the way, you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just not putting it out there that you’re worth any effort.”
I stop and sip my cold brew. “How do you know he wasn’t gay?”
“He just wasn’t.”
We resume. “So, how do I do what you’re saying?”
“You need to exude more confidence. Own your intentions. If you want to ask a guy out, you need to show it from your approach. You need to be direct, confident.”
“Show me.”
His eyebrows might go past his hairline at this.
“Pretend I’m a girl.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Go sit over there. I’ll come to you.”
Down, boy. I have to remind myself he is doing this to help me, not give me spank bank material.
I sit on the bench, and he makes eye contact with me. Direct eye contact. I swallow. That is potent stuff, his eye contact. His eyes never leaving mine, he walks, in no particular hurry, over to me. His cane actually makes him a little hotter. Like a gentleman’s cane. Though there’s something in his eyes that is so not gentlemanly.
He gets to me and drops to his haunches and picks up a pen. “You didn’t drop this, but I came all the way over here to give it to you.”
My hand fumbles on my iced drink as I take the pen. “Thank you.”
“You’re a very attractive man. I’d like to take you to dinner.”
My mouth opens and closes. I need to pull it together and make him work for it. Pretend you are worth it. “I don’t even know you.”
“Notice how I’m keeping the pitch of my voice low and controlled?” I nod. How could I not? His voice is one of the hottest things about him. “That shows people that I’m someone in control of myself in my surroundings. That I can handle myself. That’s a turn on to someone who likes alphas. I’m steady, relaxed. Confident.”
“Yeah, yeah you really are.” I can’t breathe.
“I’m going to keep eye contact with you, except for when I occasionally dip my gaze to your lips and back.” He shows me. “What does that make you think of?”
“Kissing.” Oh God, what would that be like?
“That’s right, kissing. See, Beckett? I’ve done nothing self-conscious in front of you. No stammering, no raising my voice, no cheesy pickup lines. Just straightforward, confident conversation. And you’re thinking about kissing me.” The corner of his mouth quirks up when I nod.
I shake my head and smack him. I need to not get caught up in his pretend flirting. “Then what happens?”
“The person I’m talking to usually gives me little physical cues that they are receptive. Innocent touches.” He brushes lint of my shirt. “They tilt their head a little, baring their throat to me. They lick their lips.” The moment he says it, I lick mine. I can’t even help it.
He stands up, and I try to blink away the fuzzy feelings. I see a woman in the shop across from the bench watching us.
"Underwear," I say, getting up and walking towards the store.
"What?" he asks.
“Let’s go in here.”
He looks at me like I’m sprouting another head. “Why do you want to go into the lingerie shop? You don’t...I mean it’s fine if you do...”
“No!” Oh my God. I wish a sinkhole would open up right now and take me out of my misery. “I’m gay but I’m not into wearing women’s underwear.”
He looks relieved. “Okay, then why are we talking about this?”
I nod to the pretty woman near the window adjusting bras on a rack. “She was totally eye-sexing you. I need you to show me how you flirt with a woman.”
“But—”
I drag him into the store.
He’s obviously very uncomfortable.
“Okay, when the salesgirl asks, we’re here so I can buy my girlfriend a birthday present. While I’m looking, you make a move on her.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
I know. But I need a reminder that this isn’t real life.
“Why? She’s pretty. She was looking at you like you were her favorite candy. Just show me how you make the first moves. I need to see how it’s done again.”
He palms my shoulder and leans down so we’re at face level. “Beckett—”
A too-beautiful-to-be-a-shopgirl woman greets us, and I immediately want to slink out. Her name tag says Leslie, and when she asks how she can help me, my tongue ties.
It seemed like such a good idea at the time.
She’s eyeing Matthew like a snack but pauses at his hand still on my shoulder. She gives me a secret wink.
"My buddy wants to buy something that will knock his girlfriend’s socks off," he tells her when I still haven't answered. "But all I know about lingerie is what I think will look good on my floor."
And now I ache with this strange jealousy that makes no sense. I imagine Leslie greeting Matthew in a corset when he comes home after a long, hard day. Matthew ripping lace off her body. His body covering her while scraps of expensive lingerie litter the floor around their bed.
I want to punch something. Or pull Leslie’s hair, even though she seems kind of nice, actually.
I catch Matthew’s gaze and worry that he can see my thoughts. But other than his normal, intense stare, all seems okay.
Leslie aka Supermodel Shopgirl smiles at him. "You two just made my day. This is my favorite part of the job. We have some things you’ll love." She shoos Matthew over to the little couch set up for waiting and pulls me into a beautiful dressing room in the back, snagging a clipboard and tape measure on our way.
“Um...why are you measuring me?” I ask her.
She gets this puzzled look on her face. “I thought...you guys looked...I’m sorry. Are you really here shopping for a girlfriend? The way he was looking at you, I thought it was code for...you.”
I blink. “No! We’re both straight. And not into crossdressing.”
She gives me the “Sure, Jan” look.
"We're not...we're not a thing. He's not my boyfriend, really."
Her perfectly arched eyebrows raise. "Maybe not yet, but my gosh, the way he looks at you made me feel butterflies."
She’s nice. Doesn't look crazy. Doesn't seem stupid. And probably has way more experience with men than I have, but there's no way she's right about that. "How did he look at me?"
"Like he wanted to drag you into his cave. Seriously, I think he's got it bad for you."
I shake my head. "He thinks of me like a brother."
She purses her lips and shakes her he
ad like I'm the one with a screw loose. "No, honey. No, he doesn't."
“Look, your gaydar is running about 50/50 today. Yes, I’m gay. Matthew is not. He’s helping me by showing me how to be more like him. He’s straight. He’s here to get your phone number.”
“And that’s okay with you?”
I shrug. “Well, yeah. We’re just roommates.”
Leslie purses her lips and does this little hair flip thing that is wasted on me. “Okay. Then I’m going to bring a few things back and pretend I’m modeling them for you. If you’re sure about me giving your man my number...”
“He’s not mine.”
He would be so embarrassed if he knew how often I pretended he was. How when I made him dinner, I'd fantasize about what it would be like to be married to him. How I think about what it would be like if he didn't go to the guest room at night but instead into the master suite with me like it was our room. Our bed.
But that’s not real life either.
Real life is me being his wingman while he picks up Supermodel Shopgirl. God. What if this is the cute story I have to tell during their wedding toast? How I pretended to be shopping for lingerie for a non-existent girlfriend the day they hooked up.
I need to focus because there is no way in hell I’m going to their wedding as a single man.
I should have asked Supermodel Shopgirl to be my mentor instead.
CHAPTER FIVE
MATTHEW
We've been in this shop for a long ass time. I don’t know what they’re doing back there.
When the salesclerk, Leslie, joins me on the couch, I'm prepared for her to hit on me. It happens sometimes. I’m pretty good at letting the girls down easy, but Beckett might be watching so he can take notes on my technique.
This is one fucked up situation.
But instead, Leslie pats my knee in a very nonsexual way. "I think Beckett needs your advice."
"My advice? I don't know anything about lingerie. That's sort of your department."
"Maybe advice is the wrong word. I think he needs encouragement. He's feeling a little...well, confused. You should go talk to him. Set him straight. Or...better yet, tell him the truth about being gay.”