Page 176 of Right Man, Right Time
Ollie:Oh my God, I need to see pictures.
Silas:Maybe one day if you’re lucky. But you must earn the opportunity.
Ollie:Sucking your dick every night hasn’t earned me that opportunity?
Silas:It’s brought you closer. These are sacred pictures. But back to us knowing each other in college. I would never have gone for it because I was with Sarah. I never would have even talked to you.
Ollie:What if you came to college single? Then what? Would you have talked to me?
Silas:Still no. You would have been placed in the too pretty catalog.
Ollie:Now you’re just being ridiculous.
Silas:I’m not. It’s the truth. You’re gorgeous, Ollie. I would have been intimidated.
Ollie:Nope, not falling for it. I’m not reaching over and holding your hand because you’re being all cute and telling the truth. Nice try, fella.
Silas:Wasn’t looking for a handhold . . . but it would have been nice. I like holding your hand, makes me feel at home.
“Oh my God,” I mutter right before I rest my hand on his thigh. From the corner of my eye, I see his grin stretch from ear to ear. His hand encapsulates mine, and he gives it a good squeeze.
For the rest of class, he sits there, holding my hand while I take one-handed notes on my computer.
And honestly, I’m not even mad about it.
* * *
“Did you search this place out?”I ask Silas as we sit at a small, hole-in-the-wall deli where we ordered pastrami sandwiches.
“I might have looked up delis near your campus. Being the sandwich lover you are, I assumed you already knew about this place.”
“I don’t, and I feel embarrassed about it.”
“You should,” he says as he unfolds his sandwich. It smells amazing.
I lift the pickle that comes with the sandwich and take a bite. As I chew, I lightly moan. “Oh my God, so good.” Silas stares at me, a pinch in his brow. “What?” I ask him.
“Can you please not moan? I don’t want to have a boner while eating a pastrami sandwich.”
I chuckle. “You need to control yourself.”
“Won’t happen when you’re around. Sorry. Control your moaning.”
“Can’t when a pickle hits me in all the right spots.”
“You hear yourself, right? You hear how that can be taken out of context?”
I smirk. “Maybe I wanted it to.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’re so fucking dirty.”
“Pot calling the kettle black. Not sure I’ve ever met a dirtier man than you.”
“You haven’t lived long enough,” he says as he lifts his sandwich to his mouth. “Talk to me when you’re thirty.”
“First of all, I don’t plan on having experience with anyone else, and also . . . when I’m thirty, that means you’re forty. Will you even be able to walk around with me, or will Granddad need a cane?”
“Make fun of me all you want,” he says, taking a bite of his sandwich. He chews and swallows. “But when I’m forty, I’ll still make you come harder than any other man.”
