Shit, I'm getting hard.
Despite my little fantasy about waking up to Jackson under very different circumstances, I respect him for not doing that. I'm used to guys who think with their dicks. Not my friends. They're not like that at all, but most of the guys I meet at the bars, they're total jerks.
The door opens and Jackson steps out, wearing a shirt that's unbuttoned, revealing his hairy chest.
That's not going to help my hard-on at all.
He carries his shoes over to the couch and sits, putting them on and tying the laces.
"Where do you live?" he asks.
"Oh, wow. You want to know where I live? Look how serious we're getting already."
I'm trying to make him smile, but he just looks annoyed.
"Do you need a ride?"
"Not the kind you're offering," I tease. "I live down the street."
He pushes to his feet and starts buttoning his shirt as he approaches me.
"You have to be somewhere in a hurry?" I ask.
"I have to work."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a paramedic with United Medical Response."
"I guess that explains this nurturer in you. Well, that and your kid."
He stares at me blankly.
I scan his face, the one that caught my interest last night. He has a small scar that runs diagonally beside his right eye. Scars are so sexy.
He's annoyed now, but I can make up for what a dick I was when he was trying to help.
I can make this better.
I set my hands on the table behind me. "I know you have to go, but I mean, I do owe you for helping me."
"Owe me?"
I look to his cock and then back into those beautiful gray eyes. "I can give you whatever you need."
He frowns. "I don't need anything."
"Well, then what about my needs? You asked me if I needed a ride. And I need one all right."
"Look, kid-"
"If that's what you want to call me, that's fine with me."
I can tell he's being serious, but I'm trying to get him to let his guard down. To go with this moment.
"I could just blow you if you don't want to do anything else. I've been tested. I have all my shots. Take all my meds. Come on. Don't leave me all PrEPed up with nowhere to go."
He rolls his eyes the way I'm used to Travis rolling them. Like he's so over me right now. "Is this your thing?"
"Thing?"
"You just fuck around with whoever, whenever?"
"Pretty much. Everyone needs to get off."
He starts for the door. "And everyone has hands. Now come on. Let's go."
"Are you kidding me right now?" I ask.
He spins around, his eyes wide with confusion.
"I will fuck you, blow you … do anything you want with the minimum amount of protection necessary and maybe a few safe phrases, and you're just sending me on my way?"
"That was the plan."
"Oh, I see … " I say.
"See what?"
"No, no. It's fine. I just didn't think you were a big ole bottom, too."
"A bottom? It doesn't even interest me."
"Ah ha! So you admit that you're a top and you just don't want to fuck me?"
His brows pull together. "Yes. I'm not interested in fucking you."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it off over my head.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes wide with surprise.
"I've been eating my meats and veggies. I've been pumping iron for the past few months to the point where I actually have biceps now. I have the best body I have ever had in my life, and you're saying you aren't attracted to this?"
"Whether or not I'm attracted to it doesn't matter."
I wince. "Now I'm convinced you're deliberately trying to confuse me. Did I do something terrible last night? Did I throw up on you? Why won't you have sex with me?"
"I don't know you."
"What does that have to do with anything? Weren't you at Cockfight to hook up with someone you didn't know?"
"Yeah, but not someone who climbed drunk into my Jeep and then told me they owe me."
He scans my body, and I can tell by his expression there's a moment where he's considering the fact that he has a twenty-six-year-old twink practically begging him to fuck him.
He shakes his head. "Put on your shirt and let's go."
"Fine. I didn't want to have sex with you anyway," I say, even though I'm seriously hurt by the fact that he won't, and all I can do is try to think of what I did or said that made me so unappealing to him.
Am I just not his type? That can't be it because he clearly liked looking at my body. And what the fuck was that bullshit about not knowing me? No one knows their tricks. No one I've fucked around with wants to know anything about me first … or after for that matter.