Page 32 of Yard Sale

It was better than I got. I swiped my hand over my mouth to clear up a few chunks of the rock salt I could feel clinging to my lips. “That sounds nice.”

“Really?”

I could all but hear the smirk on his face. “I grew up different.”

It was easy to sense the tension after I admitted that truth. He wanted to ask how. And why. Everyone always did. And most people gave in to their impulse, but Aravind just let it lie.

A small part of me wanted to tell him now, but considering I was about to spend two weeks with those people, I didn’t really want to relive all of the past bullshit when history was probably about to repeat itself.

With a breath, I reached out to dunk the pretzel again, but misjudged and flipped the cheese cup. A second later, I could feel hot goop soaking into my shirt.

“Ah! Fuck!”

“Oh my god.” Aravind hopped up and shoved the table back with a loud squeal across the floor.

Dropping the pretzel, I grabbed my shirt with a pinch and pulled it off my chest. It wasn’t scalding, but it was uncomfortable and the last goddamn thing I needed right now.

“Hold on, let me—” Without finishing his sentence, suddenly, Aravind was in my space. His shadowy form took up every inch of my field of vision, and I could feel him swiping something down my front.

“Uh.”

He froze. Then I froze. Then the moment got awkward. He was literally straddling my thighs, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to give in to my instinct and wrap my hands around his waist.

“Sorry,” he whispered. His knees, which were bracketing my legs, tensed.

“No, um. It’s fine. It happens to me a lot these days.” My voice was rough, and I took in a breath, which was a mistake because, fuck, he smelled amazing.

Aravind cleared his throat. “You know what, I think I have a shirt you can borrow.” He hopped off, and I heard a thud as he dropped his suitcase to the floor.

When I heard the zipper moving, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s very nice of you, but I’ve seen what you wear, and I don’t think that’s going to work for me.”

All motion stopped. “Oh.” His voice was flat and icy. “Is that so?”

“Crisse,” I swore. “I don’t mean it like that. It looks fucking gorgeous on you, okay? But I don’t think I can pull off mesh.”

There was a heavy beat of silence, and then Aravind burst into laughter. I turned my head almost frantically and eventually caught sight of him doubled over, one hand over his face.

“I’m not going to give you mesh, you bag of precooked rice. I have a T-shirt in here that I sleep in, and it’ll fit you just fine.”

“Oh. Uh…” I stammered as Aravind’s laughter started to die off. “Thank you, then.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a second.”

When he began to rummage around, I let my shirt slap back against my skin. Ignoring the feeling of cold, congealed cheese, I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

The voiceover was muted at the moment, so I tapped the camera on the front, then watched as the screen flared to life. It took only a second for me to find Aravind, who was on his hands and knees, back slightly arched, ass round and perfect in his tight jeans.

God, my imagination was getting the better of me, and I could feel my dick starting to thicken in my boxers. I shifted on the seat as I got even harder because Aravind didn’t do anything quietly.

He was muttering to himself and shifting his body back and forth, gently shaking his hips, and all I wanted to do was lean forward and fucking bite him.

And then he turned and saw exactly what I was doing.

CHAPTER 9

TIAGO

Oh god. His dark eyes locked on the camera lens, and very slowly, one eyebrow rose.