Nate takes a beat. Then his eyes shine with intensity. A new sort of determination. “Fuck all our exes,” he says, with a clenched fist and a punch to the air.

  I laugh once more. Nate seems to have that effect on me. “They missed out,” I say.

  “Yup. Relationships suck. Wanker-tosser-jackwad exes suck. But you know what? I bet I’d be a kickass boyfriend to any guy who gave a shit,” he says, stabbing his chest. “And I bet you were a great boyfriend to Brandon.”

  “I thought I was,” I say. “I wanted to be.”

  “I bet that with the right person, we’d both be fan-fucking-tastic boyfriends. Like, two of the greatest.”

  I’m quiet for a few moments, processing this unexpected turn in the conversation, the way ideas and possibilities flash before my eyes. Then it all comes together like a brilliant business deal. “Maybe we could practice this weekend?”

  One eyebrow rises. “Practice? You and me? Being boyfriends?”

  It sounds crazy, but why the hell not? “We’re already going to be shacking up in a suite. How about we give it our all? Two days of being top-notch boyfriends?”

  “To show we can do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you offering me a deal, Hunter?”

  “I believe I am. Want to be my top-notch boyfriend for the weekend?”

  Nate scratches his chin, stares at the ceiling of the plane, then lets out a long sigh. “Do I, do I, do I?”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

  He grabs my hand, shakes, squeezes it. “Yes, Hunter. I’ll be your top-notch boyfriend for the weekend.”

  “Then, at the end of the weekend, we’re done. Because we already said . . . no relationships and shit?” I ask, repeating his words back to him.

  “We did say that. But I have an idea about this boyfriend thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “I tend to do well with classes and practice and rewards,” Nate says, a naughty gleam in his blue eyes.

  This man. He is too much. “I get your meaning, boyfriend,” I say, taking another step in this game since even though I don’t trust men, I only have to trust Nate for about forty-eight hours. “Let me start with the first lesson. Something important to me. Patent honesty.”

  His expression goes serious. “Same here.”

  I slide my hand down his deliciously muscular arm. “You do know I was messing with you? About the bed.”

  “You better have been joking,” he says.

  “Of course we’re sharing a bed. I’m not sure if we’ll be getting any sleep, though.”

  Nate shifts his face closer to me. “What will we do instead?” he asks, and his blue eyes flash with wicked deeds. Sex is written in them, and I can’t wait to explore this desire between us.

  “We’ll think of something,” I reply, my focus entirely on his lips. “We’re in Vegas. Maybe we’ll hit the tables. Get lucky.”

  “I’ll be getting lucky all right,” he mutters, and heat frissons through me. Luck will not be a lady tonight.

  An hour later, we’re cruising down the Strip, neon billboards flashing, the night unfurling as I start this getaway weekend with my temporary top-notch boyfriend.

  10

  NATE

  I’m pretty sure I’ll pass the first lesson on being a most excellent boyfriend. In all fairness, I’m already a fucking A student in this class and have been for some time. It’s hardly a test to get down on my knees on the plush sapphire blue carpet of The Extravagant suite when Hunter sits on the bed, legs spread, cock out, offered to me.

  It’s not a tough task at all to tease him.

  Nope. It’s a sinful pleasure to show off my top-notch skills at giving head.

  Hunter has zero complaints either. Just grunts and groans as I lick and suck, and he stares with lust-drenched eyes the whole time. “Yes, take me deep like a very good boyfriend,” he urges, his dirty, delicious accent sending a surge of pleasure straight to my aching cock. “Show me how much you like it.”

  If he wants a show, I’ll give him a show. As I draw him in deep, I shove my hand in my briefs, grasp my throbbing dick.

  His groan is carnal. “Yes, get yourself off to me,” he instructs.

  Yeah, that’s the motherfucking plan, hottie.

  I blow his cock and his mind while I stroke myself off, finishing just seconds after I swallow his release.

  When I stand, I put one hand on his cheek, drag him close, and kiss him ruthlessly, letting him taste himself on me.

  Then, we get ready to go out.

  A few minutes later, I dress up in my best jeans and a tight burgundy shirt—showing off my guns. Hello, that’s pretty much all shirts. And my Vans.

  I consider the look in the mirror by the door.

  Yup, perfect for my new approach. That’s what this weekend is all about. I’ve spent my whole damn life practicing football plays, and practice does make perfect or damn near close. This weekend will be my crash course in mastering relationship skills so I can finally emerge on the other side, skilled and ready to someday handle one a little better than I have so far.

  Part of this new playbook? Hanging with buddies.

  After grabbing my phone from the charger and tucking it into my pocket, I’m ready to hit the tables.

  But Hunter is still making himself beautiful.

  “Hey hottie, you do know you’re already the finest man here? Maybe move it along on the beauty routine,” I call out, then laugh. “Wait. Is that bottom-shelf or top-shelf boyfriend?”

  “Bottom shelf,” he calls out.

  I clear my throat, smiling. “How’s this? Honey, you always look good. You don’t need to get pretty.”

  “Piss off, Nate,” he shouts from the bedroom.

  “All right. Good thing I have boyfriend lessons this weekend.”

  “I’ll say,” he shouts.

  As I wait, I text TJ, who’s winning at the tables. I’m penning him a reply, letting him know we’ll be down soon when—

  “Keeping busy?”

  I look up, and whoa.

  Just whoa.

  If I thought Hunter was hot before, I was not prepared for Vegas Hunter. He can take all the time he wants in the world to get ready.

  His charcoal pants are tailored and trim.

  His black short-sleeve shirt hugs his toned muscles. And he’s unbuttoned the top three buttons, revealing that smattering of chest hair that makes my pulse spike.

  That makes my dick stand tall.

  “Fuck, babe,” I say, then cross over to him, grab his face, and haul him in for a fierce kiss that ends all too soon so we can head down to the tables and meet my friends.

  As we go, I catch my smug smile in the elevator mirror. My forty-eight-hour boyfriend is a total babe.

  11

  HUNTER

  Speak of the devil.

  When we near the blackjack table, I do a double-take. That’s a very familiar face. The golden-haired, blue-eyed guy whose movie we watched earlier today.

  Jude Fox.

  The English actor whose career is on the rise.

  I do a triple-take when Nate gives a quick tip of his forehead to the guy next to Jude. A broody, bearded man with dark eyes and the kind of handsome that’s understated, quiet. Harrison Ford hot rather than Brad Pitt.

  He looks like . . .

  And the image snaps fully into place.

  TJ Hardman. He’s a novelist, and we acquired the rights to one of his books a year ago.

  This could be complicated, to say the least. Which means it’s time for a boyfriend lesson.

  “Are those your friends we’re meeting?” I didn’t think to ask for the Vegas friends list earlier because . . . who cares? I figured if they’re friends with Nate, that’s good enough for me. Plus, we had plenty of other things to do with our mouths.

  But now, the matter takes on a new urgency. I grab Nate’s hand, stop him in his tracks. “That’s TJ Hardman,” I say quietly, though I doubt TJ can hear me over the cha-ching of slot machines and the clink of glasses in the casino. “And Jude Fox.”

  Nate’s brow furrows. “Yes, and I’m Nate Chandler, and you’re Hunter Colburn. Well done. There will be a name quiz tomorrow. But you’re prepped.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “What do you mean? You say it like it’s an issue. I presumed since you’re hanging with football royalty,” he says with a cocky wink, “you were good with a little bit of fame too.”

  “That’s not it,” I insist, then tug him aside toward a Wizard of Oz slot machine trilling “Over the Rainbow.” “Time for a boyfriend lesson. I need you to get my back on something.”

  “Sure,” Nate says immediately, not even needing to know what the issue is before he agrees. Another point in his favor. He has so damn many. I swear the scales will tip over soon. “What is it, hottie?”

  I set a hand between his shoulder blades, nudging him closer to me as the wicked witch cackles behind us. “We acquired his book a year ago,” I say in a low voice.

  “Sweet,” Nate begins, then forms an O with his lips. “Or maybe not sweet?”

  “It’s great. Sort of. Or it will be at some point. But it’s not my project. One of my colleagues heads it up, and it’s been stalled. The lead actor took another project, the director took a holiday, the writer quit. The trade press calls it a rom-comedy of errors. So I don’t really want to talk about the status of it.”

  “I get that,” he says.

  “So,” I say with a heavy sigh, “it’d really be best if we not talk shop.”

  Nate grins, then drops a kiss to my lips. “Watch me, hottie. I can be so very good at shooting the shit about a hundred things other than back-burnered Webflix projects.”

  And my heart shimmies a little more in my chest.

  Nate drags his thumb along my jaw possessively. “But the more we stand here whispering, the more it’s gonna look like we’re talking about secret strategies to not talk about what’s cooking, so how about I just adjust your collar?” he asks, smoothing a hand on my shirt. “And maybe this button.” His fingers travel to the top of my shirt. “So it looks like I’m just making sure my smoke show of a boyfriend looks presentable?”

  I upgrade the shimmy to a full-on tango. “I like to aim higher than presentable.”

  Nate runs a hand down the buttons on my shirt. “I’d say you’re hitting the mark.” Then he presses a quick kiss to my lips.

  A boyfriend kiss. One you’d give your partner. It’s chaste by kissing standards, but it does something to me all the same. Something dangerously good.

  Then, he drapes his arm around my shoulder and guides me to his friends, striding over to the writer first.

  Nate glances at TJ’s stack of chips. “Time to double down,” he says to the bearded guy as the man drags a handful of purple chips to the edge of the table.

  “Thanks for the tip.” TJ stands, gives Nate a one-armed hug, then gestures to the obscenely large pile of chips. “I didn’t know how to play without you.”

  Nate flashes a winning grin, squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll be your good-luck charms. This is my . . .” Nate begins, then takes a beat, maybe mulling over whether to call me his boyfriend in public or not. I tense in that fraction of a second, hoping he won’t. If he does, it’ll suck worse when this fake boyfriend project ends in another day. I’ll feel like a wanker-tosser-jackwad. “My very good friend . . . Hunter.”

  And. Wow. That works.

  It’s all in the delivery.

  Nate says it smooth and dripping with innuendo, making it white-hot and clear that we’re more than friends without revealing what we are exactly.

  Those scales tip even more.

  “Pleasure to meet you, TJ,” I say, extending a hand to Nate’s friend, then TJ turns to the guy by his side.

  “And you as well, Hunter. And this is Jude,” TJ says to both of us. “Jude, this is my bud Nate and his very good friend Hunter.”

  Jude laughs lightly. “What a pleasure to meet such friendly men,” the actor says, shaking hands with both of us before he runs a hand through TJ’s hair. “Who knew there were so many very good friends hanging out this weekend in the city of sin?”

  TJ rolls his eyes, then Jude laughs.

  “C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t be like that.” The actor drops a loud, smoochy kiss on TJ’s bearded jaw. It’s almost as if he’s putting on a show for us, but at the same time, he seems legit. I can’t quite tell.

  I dart a glance at Nate, trying to ask what’s going on with my eyes. My weekend date covertly shrugs as if to say I’ve got no idea.

  But Nate wisely moves on to other matters. He pulls out a chair at the table, patting it for me, a gentlemanly move I like. He grabs the one next to it. “Let’s play some blackjack,” he says, and he fishes in his pocket for some chips that he changed out when we first checked into the hotel. He sets some down for himself, then me.

  Then we order drinks and play blackjack with his friends. Over beers, Nate steers the conversation away from anything related to books or Webflix, lubricating the conversational path to chat with Jude about London and the food we miss most, like a proper bag of chips with plenty of salt and vinegar, a full English breakfast, and, of course, crumpets. Meanwhile, TJ and Nate debate the merits of The Extravagant hotel versus The Invitation across the street before moving on to the chances of the New York Comets versus the San Francisco Cougars in the World Series.

  Under Nate’s watchful hand, we avoid the topic altogether of what the hell is happening with the writer’s book and my company, and we win at least five rounds at the blackjack table.

  A couple of hours and a few drinks later, after TJ wins yet another round, he pushes away from the table to cash out, saying he needs to turn in for the night.

  “Does that mean I need to go back to The Invitation too?” Jude asks his companion, a little coyly.

  That earns him another eye roll from TJ. “Depends on what you want for the night.”

  “Such a good question,” Jude says, but when TJ says goodbye to us, Jude follows him, so I guess my fellow countryman knows the answer to what he wants—his companion.

  “Want to get out of here too?” I ask my temporary guy.

  “I do.”

  As Nate and I walk away from the table, I gesture behind me in the direction of Jude and TJ, asking an unspoken question.

  “I have no idea what’s going on with them,” he says with a shrug.

  “That makes two of us.” I set a hand on his shoulder. “But I know what’s going on with you.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes, Nate. You’re getting a gold star for that lesson.”

  Nate wiggles his brow. “I want it now. In bed.”

  I had a feeling he would. I have other feelings too. Feelings I didn’t expect to happen so soon.

  Lots of them, including this: trust.

  True, I only have to trust him for the weekend, but already I like this faith I have in him.

  I want to experience what it’s like to trust someone, and I want to trust my instincts.

  For now, though, I want to get naked and have him begging for me. First things first.

  12

  NATE

  Sometimes bad things happen to good people.

  Like beer.

  Somewhere around the twelfth and fourteenth floor in the elevator, an unfortunate series of yawns takes over my mouth.

  “Did you . . .” I yawn. “Bring some . . .” Another one. “Top-shelf . . .” And one more. “Lube?”

  Hunter stares at me with amused brown eyes. “Yes.” The doors open. “I did.” We step out, his arm around my shoulders. “But I have another lesson for you.”

  I sigh deeply. Wait. Maybe that’s a yawn too. Oops. “What’s the lesson, babe?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get in the suite.”

  A minute later, I unlock the door, kick off my Vans, and ask him, “Soooo?”

  Hunter wraps a hand around my waist, steady, presses his forehead to mine. “The lesson is—I’m not fucking you when you’re this tired.”

  I groan. “Fuck you.”

  “That too.” He laughs.

  I grip his hips even as my brain feels slow. Tired. “What if I fuck you? Can I fuck you when I’m this tired?”

  “Tempting though that may be, I think you need to go to bed.”

  “Mmm.” I pull him against me. “With you.”

  “Yes, with me. Next to me. By my side. But that’s it.”

  “Ugh. You’re so not fair,” I say, even as my eyes flutter. “I hate your lesson.”

  He laughs, then spins me slowly around. “Let’s go, Mister Chandler. Brush your teeth. Get in your jammies.”

  “Then can we—”

  “No.” He gently but firmly pushes me toward the bedroom, then the big bathroom, smiling. “You’re relentless. But there’ll be no shagging when you’re yawning.”

  “You’re sexy when you say shag.”

  “And you’re sexy when you’re petulant about bedtime.”

  “Maybe the lesson is we’re sexy together,” I say, then I want to slap my hand over my big mouth.

  That’s the shit I shouldn’t say. That’s the stuff that scares away a dude. And I don’t want to scare Hunter off.

  Holy shit.

  I don’t want to scare him off at all. I like the guy. So much more than I’m supposed to.

  Dammit.

  But as I brush my teeth in one of the twin sinks, Hunter doing the same in the other, it hits me—I can’t really scare him away. We already agreed to an ending.

  We’re done after Vegas.

  So maybe . . . I can just let go of being Mister Casual for the next day or so.

  Maybe I can be . . . me.