11 Chapter 11

He let out a long, slow breath and dressed, putting on a pair of Dockers and a clean polo shirt, normal weekend stuff unless he was going to the beach or up to the Sierras on a ski trip. Not that he was a super jock or anything. It was just what everyone did.

He didn’t want to look at Jest again. As blowjobs went, it had been spectacular, so great that a frisson of excitement mixed with anxiety tap-danced down his back, just remembering. If he was honest, he’d admit he’d like to do it again and probably more—soon. But with a wild-haired madman of a musician? A guy his folks would probably absolutely adore?