Chapter 8

"You can either sleep on the couch or in the second bed," Blake says to me when we step inside the penthouse suite.

My eyes sweep over the layout of this spectacular room, and I'm temporarily dazed by its splendor. Two beds sit at the very far right, both of them neatly made and equipped with fluffy comforters and an over-abundance of pillows. The carpet is white, red and black – a modern contrast to the white walls and black decorations.

Without addressing Blake's question, my feet continue to pad across the spacious suite. I glance inside the large bathroom and whistle under my breath. Everything in here is marble – everything from the countertops, to the floors, and even to the spacious Jacuzzi-style bathtub.

"How much does a room like this set you back a night?" I ask more to myself than to Blake.

"It's a company write-off," Blake explains. "But even so, it's reasonably priced. $600 a night."

That's reasonable? Shit, I'd hate to see the cost of something he finds unreasonably priced. For some reason, the fact that this joker makes so much money irritates me. There's no reason for it to, but it does.

I move away from the bathroom and glance at the mini-kitchen as I make my way to the living room. Despite it being small, it seems to come equipped with more accoutrements than my kitchen does at home. I plunk myself down on the black leather sofa and stare up at the huge plasma TV.

"Huh," I mumble under my breath. "Is this room booked yet for opening day of football?"

Blake follows me into the living room and leans against the doorframe. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "And I'll take the couch."

"Oh. Right."

Blake's voice tapers off, and the smallest bit of disappointment shows in his expression. The second I blink, however, all traces of emotion vanish, and I'm left wondering if it was really there in the first place. It's probably just my over-tired brain working on only half a cylinder.

"We'll need to leave here tomorrow before nine," Blake says clearing his throat. "Our site visit is at ten. What do you want for breakfast?"

I yawn and start stretching out across the plush sofa. My eyelids are becoming heavier by the second, the mistress of sleep pulling me into her warm embrace.

"Tuna on wheat with a diet coke," I murmur sarcastically with half-closed eyes.

I think I see a smirk on Blake's face, but I can't be sure. He says something to me about food again, but my brain is checked out for the night. I feebly wave him off, silently indicating that whatever he wants to order is fine by me.

Blake lets out a soft chuckle, whispering one final thing to me before sleep takes over the reins completely.

"Goodnight, Callum. Sweet dreams."

~~~~

Blinding light wakes me up in a coat of sweat and a state of unbearable thirst. I thrash out of the comfort of my sleeping position, prying my eyes wide enough to find my way to the kitchen. I'm temporarily shaken at the fact that I'm no longer in my home but instead in some highfalutin hotel suite.

The soft carpet changes to cool tile beneath my feet. I welcome the change and begin digging through the cupboards in search of a cup. It takes only a minute before my impatience gets the best of me, and I move to the sink to turn on the faucet. I lower my head and begin to lap up the water like a dog on a hot summer's day. The coolness feels like ecstasy as it washes over my dry taste buds and down my raw throat.

"Oh, Callum. I thought you were housekeeping with breakfast."

Blake's voice jerks me out of my moment of hydrated bliss. I pull back to look at him and my cheeks immediately redden. The man has a towel around his waist, but every inch of him from the hips upward is nothing but flesh and beads of water.

For being an older dude, he's got a pretty decent body.....I guess. But does he have no shame walking around like that?

I mean, it's disgusting. My eyes slowly rise to his face. A second, smaller towel is draped around his neck which he's holding onto at both ends.

"I was thirsty," I finally say.

Blake grins and nods towards the still-running water. "I see that."

I slam off the faucet. "Yea well. I couldn't find a fucking cup."

Blake ever-so-slowly walks towards me, not stopping until he's just mere inches away from my chest. With precision he reaches above me to open the cabinet directly above my head. A glass cup is dangled in front of my face, and I grind my teeth together in frustration.

"I'm not thirsty anymore," I try to spit out, but for some reason my voice seems to catch in my throat.

"Hmm. Well, I'll set it right by the sink in case you change your mind."

There's laughter and amusement in his voice.

"Fine," I say through clenched teeth. "Are you going to move out of my way now? I'm not a fan of man nakedness."

Blake chuckles and easily steps aside, not at all offended by my words. I stomp out of the kitchen and head back into the living room to grab a new set of clothes from my backpack. Without my permission, my brain pulls me back to the image of Blake standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his nearly-naked torso glistening with beads of water.

To my horror, I feel my dick twitch.

I freeze and stare down at my pants. When it starts to soften, I once again pull up the mental image of Blake in the kitchen. This time I think about him sauntering towards me. My brain decides to take it a step further, imagining what it would be like if he closed the distance between us and demanded a kiss from my lips.

"What the hell..." I whisper under my breath, staring down at my raging boner in utter shock.

It must be because I haven't gotten laid in almost a week. Or maybe it's because I'm just waking up – a common cause for many of my early morning woodies. Either way, there's no way in hell it's because of Blake or his surprisingly fit body.

I cover my embarrassing erection with my spare set of clothes and dash into the luxurious bathroom. I refuse to allow my mind to drift back to him another time throughout the duration of this trip. Nope. Not happening.

A deep exhale pushes past my lips in the new relief that I'm away from Blake. The second I inhale though, my moment of reprieve comes to a screeching halt.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Blake's cologne, along with his natural scent are everywhere. The air is intoxicated by him. It's sultry and rich, seductive and heady. My eyes close of their own accord. I close the bathroom door and lock it behind me, allowing my body to slump against the door to indulge in his smell for a few seconds longer.

What the hell is my problem?

I'm not the type of dude to bask in another man's scent, let alone enjoy it in the first place. It must be this Floridian weather that has my brain all askew. Whatever it is, my body can't help itself by reacting...and for the second time this morning I'm left with a hardness beneath my shorts, all thanks to my very own boss.

My fingers itch to slide down my boxers and relieve myself of the problem, but then I remember my brother's words in the back of my mind. As he said to me less than a day ago, men who deny it the most are the ones who end up being the gayest. Or something to that effect.

There's no way I'll touch myself knowing it was a man who caused me to be in this state. I will never be like my brother. I will never be a fagtoid. These thoughts go on repeat through my brain, their message slapping my mind back to reality.

A piece of me wonders if he has some special gay man powers that he's pulling on me. Whatever the case may be, I don't know how much more of it I can take. What'll happen if my thoughts stay as they are? What if they get worse? Would I actually let Blake touch me?

I shudder just at the thought, though if it's a shudder of excitement or disgust, I'll never know. I wipe away the steam that has collected on the mirror from Blake's earlier shower, studying my hazy reflection with an anxious expression. Light eyes stare back at me. They look confused, worried even.

"C'mon Callum," I mutter under my breath. "Get your shit together."

Without wasting another thought on Blake or his special powers, I take a quick shower and throw on my clothes for the day. I spare a quick glance in the mirror, smoothing out my dress shirt before tucking the ends into my khaki shorts. Blake never specified the dress code for this little weekend getaway, and since I've never attended a 'site visit,' I just packed as best I could. I run a hand through my slightly disheveled hair and shrug. Good enough.

As I step out of the bathroom, a cacophony of smells greets my nose. It's enough to send a shooting pang of hunger through my stomach. I rush into the living room and see two, silver trays sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. Without waiting for Blake, I plunk myself down and start digging in.

By the time I finish off my fifth slice of bacon and third cinnamon roll, Blake walks into the living room looking as sophisticated as ever. The dude probably doesn't own a single piece of clothing under $100. Pretentious asshole. He barely spares a glance to me or the food. Instead he walks over to the hallway mirror and straightens out his tie.

His normally relaxed face is pinched with an emotion I haven't witnessed before.

"Nervous?" I ask him through bites of food.

"No. I don't get nervous," he assures me.

"Then what's with the look?"

"I'm not particularly fond of having my schedule upturned to fit someone else's agenda."

I frown and begin the ever-so-tedious process of licking off the leftover bacon grease and cinnamon from my fingertips.

"Hey," I respond defensively. "I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"I wasn't referring to you, Callum."

Oh.

"Phil will be joining us tomorrow morning," he explains. "Which means things need to be moved around, I need to get an additional room, and the list goes on and on."

"And Phil would be...?" I ask, letting my voice trail off to silence.

Blake turns to look at me. He raises a curious eyebrow and allows his gaze to sweep over my face with careful inspection. Shit. Did my voice give something away? It couldn't have. Plus, there's no rhyme or reason as to why I'm feeling so curious. Why the hell should I care who this Phil dude is? It's none of my business.

Blake once again turns to the mirror, straightening his tie for the second time. When he finally gives his response, however, his eyes flicker to me, as if studying how his words will affect my demeanor.

"Phil," he answers with a hesitant voice, "is my boyfriend."