...I finally push through the heavy glass door at the front of our building and step out into the hot summer sun. Squinting around the parking lot, I see Scott by his car—he leans against the open trunk as he watches me hurry down the steps. When I approach, his smile widens, flashing impossibly white teeth that seem to dazzle against the darkness of his skin. Fashionable sunglasses hide his eyes but I feel his gaze trained on me.

A ball of excitement bounces around inside my stomach, making me anxious and nervous and not a little bit silly. I’m leaving work early and going on a road trip. With him. “Hey,” I call out when I’m close enough. I point to my own car a few spots from his. “Let me get my stuff.”

He nods. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “I was thinking maybe we could grab a bite to eat before we hit the road, so we don’t have to stop on the way.”

Now food is involved, and in my mind it’s escalated into a date. I resist the urge to whoop into the air and hide my stupid grin by ducking into the back of my car for my overnight bag. My pants bite into a sudden erection that pounds at my crotch, and I resist the urge to fling myself across the back seat, unzip my pants, jerk off hard and fast in my hand just to alleviate the sweet ache that’s set in. I love him, I decide. If we don’t hook up this week, I’m going to come home and join a freaking monastery. This guy is meant to be with me.

“Jimmy?” Scott asks. “You want to get some food before we head out on the road?”

He sounds like he’s coming closer, and suddenly I’m all too aware of the fact that my ass is in the air, aiming his way. I hope he enjoys the view—I have a nice round butt that looks great in tight pants, if I do say so myself. What the rappers call junk in the trunk. Lots of padding for the pounding, I liked to say when I was in college and looking to score. I wonder if Scott’s staring at my ass right now, thinking something along those lines.

I hear his shoe scrape over the pavement—he’s stepped up beside my car, and for the briefest second, I feel a slight brush across my backside. Barely there, might have been fingers or might’ve been the hem of his shirt, it was that indistinct. But in the confines of my slacks, my dick jerks to attention, coming a little in its excitement. Did he just cop a feel?

God, I hope so.

In my haste to stand, I don’t step back far enough to clear the car and crack the top of my head on the edge of the jamb. Bright pain flares across the back of my head and blooms behind my eyes as I lean down over the back of the driver’s seat. “Fuck!”

Strong hands grasp my head as Scott massages my scalp, his fingers rubbing gently through my dirty-blond hair. I melt beneath his touch. “You all right?” he asks, pulling me toward him. “Jeez, that had to hurt.”

“No shit,” I mutter. What a way to damper a good mood.

I stay bent at the waist and let him examine my head. He’s mere inches from me now, my face impossibly close to his groin. Anyone passing by would think I was blowing him.