Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

brODY

Something changed in Miller when we woke up from our nap. Thank god I'd set my alarm, otherwise we'd have slept right through the stupid dinner thing. And it certainly didn't help matters when we woke up very pressed together.

I had no problem with intimacy with him. We'd always been close—the touchy-feely kind of best friends. It's just who we were. I hugged him all the time. I'd shared a bed with him before, dozens of times.

Never woke up with my leg over him and a raging hard-on though.

That was new.

Maybe my dick sent the wrong messages to my brain, looking for any kind of action. It'd been a while for me, and Miller was a warm body...

A warm body with a six-pack and hard muscles and sharp angles.

No softness, no breasts, no floral body sprays, no siree.

He was . . . definitely a man.

And I could appreciate a man's body. I knew when a guy was hot, when he was looking fine.

But I'd never been attracted to a man before. Except Miller, these last few months when it felt like he'd been avoiding me and I'd missed him like crazy. Wanted to touch him, imagined touching him, pulling him against me and hugging him like we used to do. Feeling him against me.

I'd never wanted to explore that with just any guy. Miller, sure. But that was normal, right? I'd never once wanted to take a dude home. But the idea of pressing up against Miller in bed right now, gripping his hip, and sinking my cock into his warm, tight heat....

I shot out of that bed so fast, I almost gave myself an erection injury.

Because what the fuck?

It took a second for me to catch my breath.

My dick was just sending mixed signals, nothing else.

Warm body, too long since I'd had sex, nothing more.

I avoided all eye contact in the bathroom mirror and had the coldest shower I could stand.

It took care of my not-so-small problem anyway.

Until Miller walked in, still half asleep, scratching his head. "I need to piss," he mumbled. He didn't look at me being very naked in the shower. He just stood at the toilet, relieved himself, then washed his hands.

And never once did he look at me.

Now, we'd shared bathrooms before, no big deal, and I was pretty sure he'd never looked at me any of those times either.

So why did it bother me so much that he didn't look at me this time?

"Hurry up or we'll be late. I need to get in after you," he said as he walked out.

And for some deluded, fucked-up reason, I almost told him to join me.

And my dick was totally on board with that.

What—and not for the first time today—the ever-loving fuck?

I shut off the hot water and stood under the cold water until my dick behaved.

Christ.

When my teeth chattered, I got out and dried off as quick as I could. I wrapped the towel around me, extra tight, and held my dirty clothes in front of my traitorous dick as I walked out.

"Shower's all yours," I said, not making eye contact.

He disappeared, thankfully, and I busied myself getting dressed and ready, all while trying really hard not to think about Miller being naked and wet in the freaking shower.

The hell is wrong with my brain right now?

This was absurd.

I'd definitely have to jerk off tonight when he was asleep.

Yep, that'll fix it.

I just hadn't taken part in any self-care for too long apparently.

If one could consider yesterday morning in the shower before I picked him up for our trip as too long .

It was most definitely too long.

Think bad thoughts. Think terrible thoughts. Think disgustingly gross thoughts.

A knock at the door scared the shit out of me and I rushed to open it. It was a hotel staff member, dressed in their fancy uniforms. She was cute. Very much my type: long hair, big boobs, bright smile...

But not at all what I wanted.

What I wanted was in the shower right now.

God fucking dammit.

She was also holding another bottle of Mo?t and she offered to me. "As requested," she said. "Courtesy of?—"

Miller chose that exact freaking moment to walk out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was wet and combed back, water beads across his chest.

"Oh," he said, balking. "I didn't know we had company, sorry."

I was still looking at his happy trail and the outline of his dick in that wrapped-tight towel.

I was losing my damn mind.

I turned back to the staff, who was also staring at Miller, eyes wide and clearly liking what she saw.

I took the bottle from her. "I'm gonna need this, thank you," I managed to say.

At this rate, I was going to need an entire cellar of it.

I tipped her, closed the door and leaned against it, trying to get a grip. But Miller was still standing there, still wet and almost naked... the towel didn't hide much.

"You good?" he asked, eyeing the bottle in my hands.

Then he turned around to grab his bag, and his ass in that too-tight towel was pure fucking art.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine," I squeaked.

I was absolutely not fine.

I was having impure thoughts about my best friend.

Who was a man, I needed to remind myself.

Yep.

My dick didn't seem to care.

And before I could do something completely inappropriate and mind-boggling, like walk over and push him onto the bed, I began undoing the champagne, quickly popping the cork and taking a long drink straight from the bottle.

"You ready to be husbands again?" he asked. "Ready to kiss me if you have to?"

I almost swallowed my tongue but was drunk enough that I smiled instead. "If I have to."

"Not weirded out?" he murmured.

"Not at all," I replied.

Absolutely not at all weirded out that I keep thinking about his body, his dick in that towel, the way he'd felt asleep next to me, what it felt like to kiss him before...

"I need food," I managed to say.

"Then let's get through this awful dinner and then we can hit the town."

"Hit the town? Who the fuck says that anymore?"

"I do. I just did. Stop being a dick and let's go eat."

Dinner was a great idea because food would help soak up the bottle of champagne we'd just demolished.

I'd drunk most of the second bottle and had a decent buzz on when we left to meet Carina again in the lobby.

Why we were meeting her in the lobby instead of the restaurant was something I probably should have clued into before, but the Mo?t-fueled buzz took the edge off all reasoning.

I was still too hung up on my newfound attraction to Miller to be thinking straight anyway.

Straight . . .

I snorted, and Miller shot me a look just before he hit the button on the elevator. "You okay?"

"Super," I lied, just as he slid his hand into mine.

I'd held his hand a thousand times before. This was no different. Except it was.

Somehow.

Because he held my hand first.

Had he ever been the one to take my hand first?

I wasn't sure . . .

I also wasn't sure why I knew that he'd never initiated contact.

It was always me.

Except before we came down, he'd fixed my shirt collar and then my hair. And then he'd gently tapped my chin with his finger and it did some weird buckling thing to my knees.

And my heart.

But I was ignoring that.

Like I was trying to ignore how he was different after our nap. He was the one who touched me first; he was the one being flirty. Not me.

Had he felt my hard-on when we were cuddling? Did he misread that for something it wasn't?

What exactly wasn't this, Brody?

Your dick was hard because of him, stop denying it.

Okay, so my brain was a traitor.

Treason of the highest order, right along with my dick.

Fuck them both.

"You sure you're okay?" Miller asked, just as the elevator doors opened. Then he laughed. "Maybe the second bottle of champagne was a bad idea."

"Yeah, I mean, what could possibly go wrong?" I joked.

And then Carina spotted us, smiling at us holding hands. There was no cameraman this time, thank god.

"Are we ready for this?" she asked, far too excited.

"Always ready for food," I said.

"Did you get the champagne?" she asked.

"Uh, yes, he did," Miller replied.

I laughed. "You had some. It wasn't just me."

He leaned into my side, cute as hell, and gave Carina one of his charming smiles. "But yes, we are ready for food."

"Excellent! Come this way. Just a few formalities first," she said, leading us to what looked like conference room doors.

Again, my too-buzzed brain should have clicked a whole lot sooner... because she opened the doors and led us into a huge room full of people at tables. They stopped chatting, stared at us, and waited.

"Your attention, please," Carina said proudly. "Please welcome, Misters Miller Norton and Brody Molina."

Everyone applauded.

Oh, sweet mother of god.

Miller shot me a what-the-fuck look masked with a smile, and god knew what my face said. It must not have been good because Carina put her hand on my arm.

"Surprised?" she asked.

"Ah, yes," I squeaked. "Just a bit."

"Come in and mingle. There'll be a few photos before food is served."

She dragged us over to a group, who turned out to be execs from the contest organizer, plus the radio station sponsors, and other people I had no hope of remembering.

It was all such a blur.

We smiled, shook hands with everyone, posed for promo photos, and before too long, I was feeling far too sober.

Like he could read my mind, Miller plucked two flutes of champagne from a waiter. Smiling brightly, he handed me one. "What the actual fuck is happening?"

I downed half my glass and tried to smile back at him. "I have no idea."

"You didn't know this was happening?" His lips barely moved when he spoke.

"No clue."

"Did you read any of the terms and conditions before you entered us in this?"

My god. He could be a ventriloquist.

"It said it might include some promotional events."

"Jesus Christ."

"How can you speak without moving your lips?"

"Years of practice of asking what the fuck."

"You're good at it."

"Thanks." Then he laughed and shook his head. "One day we'll laugh about this."

"But today is not that day."

"No, it is not."

"Having a great time?" Carina asked, appearing from nowhere.

"Wonderful," Miller said, then he slid his arm around my waist and leaned into me. He felt like something warm and familiar, comfortable and safe. Like something I wanted to surround myself with...

It was so natural to put my arm around him and hold him to me. Sure, I'd touched him a million times, but this was far more intimate.

And I liked it.

And then his hand slid down to my ass and he pressed himself harder against me, his face almost in my neck.

His hand stilled on my ass, burning hot.

The only sane thing I could do in that moment was finish the rest of my drink.

"Aww, look at you two newlyweds," Carina said. "Hate to separate you, but I think dinner is being served."

I'd forgotten about food.

"Ah, perfect," Miller said, removing himself from me. "I'm starving."

I was starving for something else.

Him.

More of him curling into me like that. More of his hand wandering. More of his body heat.

This was insane.

Carina led us to our table, to our seats with our names on little placeholders, but before we could sit down, she called for everyone's attention again.

The room fell quiet, all attention on us.

Jesus Christ.

My mind was spinning.

While Carina spieled on about the promotion and the sponsors, my brain was stuck on Miller. On this new fixation I had with him. This new attraction to him. To a man.

Not just any man.

To Miller.

The one solid thing in my life.

"Brody," Miller mumbled, his eyes telling me to pay attention.

I realized then that Carina had stopped talking, the room was waiting expectantly, the photographer was in front of our table, camera aimed and ready.

What the hell had I missed?

"They want us to kiss for a photo," Miller said.

"Kiss like newlyweds," someone hollered from the back.

"Kiss him like you mean it," someone else added.

People whooped and cheered, and lord almighty, this was embarrassing.

But Miller took my face in his hands and kissed me. Hard and open lips, our mouths melding for one long and perfect moment. My heart knocked so hard against my ribs that it hurt, and my everything felt electric.

But his mouth . . .

Warm, soft lips. No tongue.

I wanted his tongue.

I moved to deepen the kiss, just about to taste him, when someone cleared their throat.

Miller pulled back first, ducking his head, resting his forehead on my shoulder. "Sorry," he said.

What? He was sorry? I wasn't. I was only sorry I didn't get to put my tongue in his mouth. But then he raised his head and looked right at Carina, not me. "Sorry," he said again. "Forgot where we were."

Oh. He wasn't talking to me.

People cheered, and as if that wasn't terrible and weird enough, we sat in our seats and food was put in front of us. Like I could stomach food right now.

I was dazed and confused, somewhat turned on, and embarrassed, and Miller was digging into his meal.

He stabbed some chicken and gave me a quick glance. "Chicken's good. You'll like it."

I looked at my plate. Right. Food. Yes, I should probably eat.

"You know," he added quietly as he ate, as if it were an errant thought, "I think we should practice kissing more. So you don't freeze up again."

My gaze shot to his. Well, to the side of his head. He wasn't looking at me. "I didn't freeze up. I zoned out. There's a difference."

He shrugged as he chewed another mouthful and swallowed. "Doesn't matter." He looked at me then, with a smirk, and he leaned in slowly so he could hide his mouth and whisper. "If you want to look bad, fine. This was your idea, so if it goes sideways, you're taking the rap for it."

Well, shit.

Could I practice kissing him?

Maybe it'd be good to get this new fascination out of my head. But mostly it'd be good training so I didn't try to give him tongue.

He stabbed a piece of chicken from my plate and put it to my lips. "Open wide," he murmured, voice low, eyes dark.

Was that . . . ?

Was he . . . ?

Was that sexual? Was he flirting with me?

Why was it so hot?

I opened my mouth like the desperate idiot I was and he slid the fork between my lips.

A few people laughed and I glanced over to see the closest tables watching us. Watching our every move, apparently. Like fucking weirdos.

Jesus H. Christ on a cracker.

"Fine," I mumbled to Miller. "We can practice."

He smiled as he chewed, pretending his meal was the most interesting part of this whole conversation. "How's your dinner?" he asked, blasé as hell.

"You mean my anticipation and regret salad? It pairs so nicely with my glass of what the actual fuck," I said, taking my said glass and downing it.

Miller laughed so loud that people looked at us. I mean, the people who weren't already watching us. But then he did that laugh and lean-into-me thing he hadn't done in months...

God, I'd missed him.

I'd missed our closeness and the touchy-feely way we used to be that, for some reason, in the last few months, he'd shied away from...

I put my drink down and put my arm around his shoulders instead, keeping him close.

"Anticipation and regret salad, huh?" he repeated as he stabbed some lettuce.

"Sorry," I tried.

"Oh, don't be. The regret's a given, but the anticipation is... unexpected." His eyes met mine then, and my heart damned near stopped.

"Unexpected," I squeaked stupidly, because he had no clue how unexpected this whole mess was.

Just then, a waiter appeared with a tray. "More champagne?"

"Yes, please," we both said at the same time.

"Keep them coming," Miller added. "We're gonna need them."

What was that supposed to mean?

"What was that supposed to mean?"

Miller put a glass of champagne in my hand. "To regret and anticipation," he said, raising one eyebrow at me. "And to a whole lotta what the actual fuck." Then he clinked our glasses and drank.

We lasted as long as was polite, then got the hell out of there and made our way through the anonymity of the slots and the crowds to the bar.

It'd been a busy day. Early start, the flight in, the stress of it all, two public appearances, a nap, and more alcohol than was probably wise.

"Two vodkas and soda," I said to the barman, throwing some cash on the bar.

"Was the champagne we drank today not enough?" Miller asked.

"No, it was not," I replied.

"So, is this drink to regret, anticipation, or what the fuck?"

The barman put two tumblers on the counter and I collected one, holding it up for Miller to cheers me. "I'm still going with all three."

He laughed and sipped his drink. I took a healthy swallow, clearly needing more courage than he did.

He put his free hand on my waist and leaned his hip against mine, his body fitting perfectly against me. It always had. We'd always slotted together so well... but now it was doing things to me.

I was suddenly hyperaware of his angles, his body heat, and how my hand felt on the swell of his ass.

How he leaned in to speak over the noise, how his stubble brushed mine, and for the first time in my entire fucking life, a jolt of pure electricity zinged through my whole body.

Stubble, for fuck's sake.

What the hell?

"Did you want to play?" Miller asked.

Yes.

Yes, I did.

. . .

Wait.

"Play what?"

He pulled back with a wicked smile and a spark in his eyes. "The slots. Why? What did you think I was talking about?"

"Blackjack," I lied.

He laughed, his body still pressed against me. I liked it in ways he was about to be able to feel.

"We can gamble tomorrow," he said. "I'm ready to head upstairs."

Oh boy.

"Yeah, same," I said, totally casual and cool. "I'm tired."

His eyes glittered when he chuckled, as if he knew I was full of shit but wouldn't call me out on it. He downed the rest of his drink, not moving away an inch, and I got a real close-up view of his lips on the glass and his throat when he swallowed.

Sweet mother of god.

My body was a tightwire, my head was a mess, and my heterosexuality was officially in fucking tatters.

I was going to go upstairs and make out with Miller.

I was going to kiss my best friend, and so help me, I was going to love it. It was going to change my life and everything I thought I knew about myself.

I was going to kiss him for real this time. As practice. And I could tell myself it wasn't real, but it was very fucking real for me.

"You ready?" he asked, looking at my not-empty glass.

I downed it quickly, swallowing the last trace of trepidation with it.

"As I'll ever be."

My stomach was a ball of knots as we got into the elevator. I was grateful other people rode it with us, and I avoided all eye contact in the mirrors. Mine, but mostly Miller's. He seemed to find something funny, and when we finally pushed through the door to our suite, he burst out laughing.

"Your face," he said. "Oh my god. Are you okay? You look like you're about to take a live landmine test. It's just kissing practice. We can do stage kissing if you want, so our lips don't even touch. Get the angles right, that kind of thing."

Before I lost my nerve, before he could back out, and before my heart stopped altogether, I strode over to him, took his face in my hands, and kissed him.