Page 23 of Heat Transfer
Or the gay porn tabs on my home laptop either.
“Okay, let’s have waters at least.” I needed to get my hands busy with something other than pawing Cor. “Gotta hydrate—what with being so thirsty.”
“My god,” Cor muttered, sliding a palm down his cheek. “I don’t know if I’m going to survive tonight.” Those words were so low I almost missed them, but my heart accelerated, flat slammed on the gas, and blew past the stoplights.
I made a beeline for my kitchen, which wasn’t far given that I lived in Philly and didn’t make a fortune. I grabbed two glassesand filled them with water from my tap. Cor still stood by my couch, his gaze flitting from one corner of the room to the other and making me wish I’d cleaned up a little more.
“Is that a Falchion hanging up?” Cor asked. I handed him a glass of water, maybe making sure our knuckles brushed.
“Who doesn’t have swords as decoration?” I took a sip of my water and attempting to not spill it all over myself.
“Boring people, clearly.”
“Ready to go look at actual historical specimens?” I asked. My palms broke out in a sweat, which warred with the condensation on my glass.
“Any last-minute facts to get straight about this boyfriend gig?” Cor asked before lifting up his water and chugging. If I watched his Adam’s apple bob, that was my business.
“Considering we nailed the trial by fire with your family, I think we can handle my coworkers.” I grabbed his empty glass and brought both back to the kitchen. No avoiding this any longer. “We’ve got the easiest meet-cute on the planet. Sword fighting class is a cool-as-shit one too.”
“If only it were that easy to meet queer boys at sword fighting classes,” Cor said with a fake wistful sigh. Except I didn’t miss him chewing on his lower lip, a tell of his that he wasn’t quite faking the way he pretended. My heart thumped a little harder.
“Feels like a missed opportunity, what with all the swordplay.” I waggled my brows. “Come on, I’ll drive us through the grueling city traffic.”
He arched a brow. “You mean the whopping ten minutes? I already mapped it out. Though with your driving, it might take a half hour.”
A bark of a laugh escaped me, and I flipped him off. After checking for my keys, phone, and wallet, I walked to the door, and Cor followed. The Philly breeze in autumn was bracing, mingling with car exhausts and burnt rubber. My Toyota wasparked a block down from the apartment because parking in this stretch of the city was a bitch.
“What are you most excited to see?” I pulled my keys from my pocket.
“The Viking collection. Those are some old-as-hell specimens.”
“Right, so, you’re a fan of Viking swords,” I teased. “If it’s the size you’re after, then you’re in luck.”
Cor’s blush returned something fierce. He opened his mouth and closed it again. In the past, I would never have flirted with him this hard, but my newfound realization burned within me. A little recklessness had seized me, the sort of abandon I hadn’t experienced in years, and tonight, I wanted to chase it to see where it led.
After all, we were pretending to be boyfriends. And a wicked curiosity burned in my blood, too insatiable to deny.
“Myself, I’m looking for the hand-and-half sword—also fitting.” We stopped in front of my car, and I couldn’t help but meet his gaze.
Cor’s blush was delicious, and I lingered on those plump lips. I’d never kissed anyone with a beard before. Would the feel of it turn me on even more? Honestly, with the way my curiosity overflowed, I’d try just about anything.
“Are you trying to torture me?” Cor murmured but this time loud enough to be heard.
I licked my lips, intensely aware of how his gaze locked on mine. “Maybe.” Except if the chance came up, I wouldn’t just tease. I’d grab it for all it was worth. “Depends on if you’re a size queen. Some of my exes were thrilled, while others were not a fan.”
“No one warned me that fake boyfriending included extensive conversations about the size of your cock.” Cor opened the passenger door.
“Clearly, we should’ve been oversharing ages ago.” I slipped into the driver’s seat. When I met Cor six months ago, I’d been with Aria and had mistaken all our comfortable PDA as innocent friendship, not the lust sizzling through my veins. If I were honest, something had tickled in the back of my mind that this was different, but I hadn’t listened.
I turned on the ignition, and off we went. The old buildings loomed on either side of us, the skyscrapers in the direction we traveled. Philly was all narrow streets and ramshackle houses, a mixture of old and new. I liked living here but didn’t take advantage of the bars and nightlife like I should. It’d mostly been an act of rebellion to put some space between me and my family, who was convinced I’d drop into a dead faint if someone looked at me the wrong way.
“Why don’t I come out here more often?” Cor peered out the window. “The sheer number of clubs in the city would make it easier to hook up.”
My stomach flip-flopped. Cor wasn’t mine. He was free to hook up with whoever he pleased—which made that little hint of wildness swilling inside me surge to the fore—because tonight he belonged to me. And even though I still worried that this fascination was a passing thing, that my brain had latched onto it postbreakup, my curiosity drowned that concern out with ease.
“Probably because the city and suburbs are separate entities. Once you’ve been absorbed into the city bubble, you rarely leave.” I merged onto Art Museum Drive. Already, the Philadelphia Museum of Art was visible, the building lit up like a beacon amid plenty of green.
“Fuck, that’s the truth,” Cor said.