Page 56 of Saving Pookie

"Say less." I grit my teeth. "He's an abusive prick."

He draws a finger to his mouth and chews on the nail. "I never wanted to see that man again, but now I have to face a past I'm not sure I'm strong enough to face."

"You are..." I force a smile. "Strong enough."

He tries to smile back, but it's weighed down by shadows. "But you're right. I can't run from it. I tried that already. It's here, and I have to face it, but I'm telling you I can't do that right now. Not yet."

I lean forward and meet him where he stands, my head hovering just above his. "When that moment comes, I need you to know I'll be by your side. I hope you know that."

He cocks his head to the side, laughing quietly. "I think I got a good idea of that today."

"Good." I straighten myself out. "You're my best friend, Pookster."

He turns his gaze back to me. Those damn puppy-dog eyes. Looks straight up at me and places a hand on my chest. "You're my best friend, too."

But best friends don't do what we've done. And when one best friend places his hand on the other best friend's chest, said best friend doesn't usually get a boner in his pants. I attempt to be as coy as possible as I reach down to adjust myself, pushing my cock to the side.

Caught.

Pookie glances down, and then his eyes peel upward to find a grimace on my face.

I swallow a dry lump in my throat. "I'm really going to regret saying this."

"Saying what?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"I'm horny," I croak out.

His eyes widen. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

I raise my hands in protest and sing the same familiar song, "I'm not gay."

"You keep saying that, but I'm not sure you know what any of those three words mean."

I raise one brow. Immediately back on my bullshit, I spit out the first thing that crosses my mind. "Can I fuck you?"

He scoffs sideways. "Is there a gas leak in this bathroom?"

"Just one last time." I place a hand on his cheek and gently guide him back to me. "Like Ariana sings, 'One Last Time,' and then I promise I won't do it again."

"When you say it like that, it kind of sounds like a threat."

"Please..." I beg, pouting my lips. "You know it's going to be round two with Gunnar tonight. I can't walk back out there with blue balls and a rock-hard cock. What happens if he punches me down there?"

"We are at work!" he scoffs again, clearly looking for any excuse not to do this. Maybe it's because it's bad timing. Maybe it's because deep down, I repulse him. No, that's not it. Maybe he's afraid we'll ruin a good thing. Finding a good roommate is like hitting a multi-state lottery. So, I would totally understand that reasoning, which is why this is the final last time.

For real, for real.

Then he says something somewhat unexpected, "Why don't we revisit this when we get home tonight?"

I break out my best Lloyd Christmas impression. "So you're saying there's a chance?"

"I'm saying I don't want to get caught with my pants down at my place of work."

"Do you know how many times the guys have gotten some ass right here where you're sitting?"

"I'm standing⁠—"

I solve that problem by grabbing him by the waist, picking him up off the ground, spinning him around, and sitting his ass on the pink sink. He doesn't even try to pretend to put up a fight. As expected, he's as horny as I am.