By the time Vaughn sat back on the bench seat, Randy had imagined Vaughn naked in pretty well every s*x position that he knew. He’d spent an enormous amount of time trailing his eyes over the seam of Vaughn’s pants, the one that not only snuggled between both ass cheeks but got to rub against all the rest of it. And he knew no logical reason how, in mere hours, he could go from scorn to imagining Vaughn in bed. He eyed the glass in his hand and nodded—no more whiskey. Whiskey bad. Whiskey teased Randy with ideas that he shouldn’t be thinking.
Randy sought out Vaughn’s eyes when Vaughn sat, and whether it was imagination or hopeful thinking, Vaughn seemed to be sitting much closer than he’d been before. The rhythm inside Randy’s chest skipped up several beats. He swallowed. “I should go…”
