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It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. Because as the shock of seeing Oscar again receded slightly, I realized that I’d known Oscar was going to be Roman’s best man—hadn’t he told me so that night at the bar when we’d drunk champagne and I’d let myself believe a single night with Oscar could possibly be enough?—and I’d known, as of this morning, that this was Roman and Scotty’s wedding. But somehow, through cognitive dissonance or distraction or willful ignorance, I’d failed to put these fragments of information together and arrive at the truth…
That after months of being oh-so careful, Oscar and I were in the same place at the same time again. For an entire weekend.
Roman planted a hand on Oscar’s shoulder and smiled at me. “He sure is. You wouldn’t believe the number of times this man has saved my ass over the years.” He looked back and forth between us. “I take it you two know each other?”
Oscar and I exchanged a glance, and I thought about the way I’d jerked him off in his hotel room as I ground my cock against his ass. I coughed, clearing my throat. “You could say that.”
“Ahhhh.” Roman laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Oscar knows everyone. Just be careful, he’s a heartbreaker.”
Oscar’s smile tightened. “I wouldn’t say that. After all, your heart recovered just fine. Now, where’s that groom of yours? I need to congratulate him.”
They started toward the beach and were quickly swallowed by the crowd of wedding guests waiting to say hello. I watched them for a moment, unable to look away from the way Oscar’s wet shirt clung to his shoulders. I barely even noticed that my own clothes were sopping wet.
“You okay?”
Brant stood next to me, holding out my camera. I’d forgotten I’d shoved it at him. “Oh, yeah. Fine.” Even I could hear how unconvincing my voice was.
“Why don’t you call it a night?” Brant offered. “You had a long drive today, and now that Karlie and the baby have gone in for the night, I’ve got it covered.”
I was torn, wanting both to escape the beach and put distance between me and Oscar but conversely wanting to stay as close to him as possible.
I glanced once more at Oscar. As I watched, he threw his head back and laughed, and I stared, transfixed. I could practically feel my own features softening as I vicariously soaked in his happiness… which was a pretty fucking ineffective way to show Oscar how cool I was with being just friends.
Hell, I was having a really hard time convincing myself.
The smart, rational choice would be to escape while I could.
“Are you sure?” I asked Brant.
He waved a hand. “Of course. You’re drenched. Go dry off and get some sleep. Knowing these guys, tomorrow is going to be a very long day and an even longer night.”
“Okay, thanks,” I told Brant. “See you in the morning.”
I retreated to my room, forcing myself at every step to keep my eyes forward and not look back. Once inside, I leaned against the door, letting out a strangled breath.
Tomorrow, things would be better, I told myself. I’d be well rested. I’d be prepared.
The shock of seeing Oscar so soon after talking to him was making me weak, obviously, and that was why my mind couldn’t stop replaying our one night together, conjuring the phantom feeling of his muscles beneath my fingers, the smell of his expensive cologne mingling with clean sweat, the sound of his smooth, deep voice in my ears. Tomorrow, I would?—
I groaned. I was a terrible liar.
Tomorrow would not be better. I couldn’t make it through the entire weekend without wanting him when I could barely make it through an hour today. If I was in proximity to Oscar for any length of time, I’d probably throw myself at him like he was a punch bowl and I was a thirsty, thirsty man. I’d end up begging him for sex, and?—
Wait. Wait. Hadn’t Oscar said he’d planned to hook up with someone this weekend? He’d manifested me an actual horse instead of a dating horse, but he’d been pretty clear about his own secondary goal at this wedding. So why not me? Why not make our one-night thing become a… a two-night thing?
I paced around the room, trying to think this through. The room air was stiff and still, unlike the fresh night air I’d left behind.
Ninety-seven percent of my brain knew my idea was one of the worst ideas in human history, right up there with the Titanic architect saying, “Pah! Who needs lifeboats?” But god, it was amazing what a person could talk themselves into when they wanted a thing as badly as I wanted Oscar Overton?—
Sexually, of course.
Not… not romantically.
Because I still would not, could not, do that.
But I was capable of a no-strings hookup with him, wasn’t I? After all, I’d done it before.
When I completed a third full circuit of the small room, I collapsed against the door again and banged my head against it lightly. This mental back-and-forth was exhausting. I either needed to talk to him or go to bed.
