As Carey finished his rounds of the convention hall, he kept glancing over at the booth for Kryptonite Comics. He couldn’t get Pat off his mind—those sandy blond curls cut so short they seemed to whorl into kinks like steel wool on top of his head, those dark brown eyes Carey swore had shimmered from the overhead lights. Those thick arms, an ass that begged to be touched, the way Pat’s fingers had fumbled nervously. The school-boyish way he hadn’t quite been able to meet Carey’s gaze.
So cute. Just thinking of him made Carey sigh, and it’d been a long time since anyone he’d seen had elicited that response. He could still feel Pat’s butt in his palm where he had pressed the nametag onto his jeans. Adding his phone number might have been a bit bold, but that was how Carey rolled. Why play
