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My Rugby Playing Twink excerpt

This is a small taste of Jamie Samms story ; My Rugby Playing Twink

My Rugby Playing Twink excerpt:

Standing in my sparse apartment with a towel around his waist, green or not, he was distracting enough, I nearly dropped the beers I was setting out. He was looking around as if he’d forgotten the social niceties of how to behave when you’ve just been dumped by—or had just dumped—an asshole lover, and done so in a humiliatingly public way.

“Better?” I asked, holding out a beer to him.

He took it and downed a long swallow.

I watched his throat work as he guzzled, and admired the way the hair on his chest stood out at all angles from having been hastily towel dried. When he lowered the beer, it was half gone, and he was looking ever-so-slightly more human.

“Better,” he agreed. “But I think I stained yer tub. It’s more green that it was.”

I grinned and shrugged. “It’ll wear off.”

A crooked grin crossed his face as he ran a hand through his now green-blond hair. “Sure an’ I hope so.” But the grin faded and he glanced around. “I left my things in the tub. Maybe a bag? I can try and wash them at the laundry later.”

“You’ll need something to put on,” I realized aloud, and he smirked.

“If you say so.”

“I—”

He moved closer, and suddenly the towel around his waist seemed very tight and short, hugging his thighs, and I wondered how I’d missed those details.

“I cooked,” I said as he set his beer down and used that cool hand to cup my cheek.

“Ye saved me from a fate worse than—”

I touched his lips. “You saved yourself, I think, David. I was just there to give you a ride into the sunset.”

“Ye got fired.”

My turn to grin. “Tell me I’m going to get laid for my trouble and I’ll call it even.”

His eyes flickered. His mouth twitched, and his breath hitched. A shadow passed and then the room was bright around his smile. “That what ye want?” he asked.

It was a fake, forced smile, and I stepped away. “Wait.” I took his hand as it fell and pressed my lips to his fingers. “Yes. But no.” I let him go and hurried to my room. “I’ll find you clothes and we’ll eat. I cooked.”

“So ye said.” His voice trailed me, and in a moment, so did he, once more carrying his beer. “Ye know I’m good for it, Ian, don’t you?”

I drew in a deep breath before risking another look at him. At the way his waist tapered down to that snowy towel, and the hair curled over the edge of it; and his legs, sturdy and slightly bowed, made me think of strength and stamina

and energy. “And I hope you know I’m better than that,”

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