Page 29 of Give Me What You Will

“What do you think?” Frankie shot back fiercely. “You showin’ up here unannounced, saying crazy shit to me, and then eye-fucking me all night. Really?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Frankie snorted, laughing in his face. “Aw, poor Sammy. What, you mad about me blowing up your plans, or me not wanting to fuck you?”

A cold shiver slid down his spine. Tilting his head back against the wall, Sam glared at him, hands fisting at his side. “That didn’t feel like you didn’t wanna fuck me.”

Frankie’s jaw flashed into a steely clench, his laughing smile fading.

“I’m not stupid, Frank.” He pushed off the wall, heart thudding against the bones of his chest. “I felt how hard you got—both times.” He purposely lowered his gaze to his thin shorts. “You still hard for me?"

Frankie growled and lunged. Sam anticipated this and ducked, barely avoiding the furious punch. He maneuvered quickly into a sidestep, shoving Frankie hard against a booth, dust billowing between them. Frankie regained his footing a second later and rounded on him, throwing another punch, which Sam also managed to evade. He’d spent years practicing with Frankie at the gym, so he knew how to fight. Not as well as Frankie, but enough to stand his ground.

Sam threw a jab and missed, but his uppercut didn’t, landing hard into Frankie’s stomach. Frankie lurched beneath his clenched fist. He went in for the kill, grabbing him hard by the back of the neck, fingers fisting over the muscles, pushing him down in that bent position, wanting to dominate him.

“You ever fuck with me like that again, I will ruin you,” Sam hissed out, yanking Frankie’s neck backward, forcing him to look at him.

Frankie’s nostrils flared, “I can’t do nothin’ right, can I?”

He stilled. Frankie moved, ripping away from him, foot shooting out and kicking his shin. Sam stumbled off balance and slammed into the poker table.

“We only know how to be one way with each other, Sammy,” Frankie said. “I’ve worked damn hard on puttin’ space between us. Lettin’ you be. Lettin’ you go.” His breath caught on the last word, throat bobbing as though he was once more choking back emotion.

Sam stared, rooted to the spot, hands gripping the dusted sheet and table beneath him.

“It’s not fair what you’re doin’,” Frankie whispered. “And yeah, it’s not fair what I just did. We both want something from the other, but we ain’t willin’ to give.”

Sam pushed off the table, stepping up to him, seeing the spark of a challenge reflected in his best friend’s face and wanting to unleash everything he wanted to say into his fists.

Frankie seemed to understand and held out his hands, arms outstretched. “C’mon, Dr. Samuels, show me your treatment method for us.”

Sam couldn’t help but smirk, pulse ticking in his neck. “Bruises, lots and lots of bruises.”

Frankie searched his gaze, smiled, and simply nodded.

Sam swung, and Frankie dodged effortlessly. He swung again, another miss, another duck. Seeing Frankie come to life like this, so full of charm and energy, and that delicious smile of his, that was both eager and goading, filtered through his system like a drug, and Sam wanted more than a fight. He wanted him. He gritted his teeth, angry at himself. Angry that his fucking heart couldn’t let this man go. Angry that he spent so long pining for something that would never fucking happen.

So how come Frankie kept getting turned on?

How come he stopped him from leaving with Mikey?

His words and his body weren’t matching up.

Frustrated, Sam let out a stream of curses and raced forward, slamming his shoulder into Frankie’s torso, tossing him against a stack of dusty boxes. A few boxes fell on Frankie, who angrily shoved them aside before getting back to his feet and making a show of dusting off his pink shorts, lips twisting into a smile. “That it?”

“Fuck you.”

“You can do better, Sammy.” He lifted his chin, letting his hands dangle at his sides, provoking him.

Sam seethed, deciding to play dirty. “I can do better. I bet Mikey is a better lay than you, anyway. The night’s still young. He’ll definitely answer when I call.”

Frankie’s smile dropped, and in his stunned silence, he gave Sam the opportunity he needed to slam his fist into his solar plexus.

He didn’t wait for him to regain his composure. Teeth grinding into ash, Sam gritted out, “You never could stand competition. Is that what Mikey is to you? Competition? For me?”

Frankie lunged, but Sam, continuing to play dirty, spun, kicking the back of Frankie’s bum knee. Unsteady, Frankie tilted forward, and Sam grabbed him from behind, his steel forearm wrapped around his neck, locking him into a chokehold.

“I felt how hard you got, Frank,” he hissed against the shell of his ear. “You can lie to my face all you want. But your body can’t.”