SENSUAL SURRENDER
When I glanced at
him, eyebrows raised, he expressionlessly said, “They’re mine, aren’t they?”
Tilting my head, I could only stare at him; he was back to being Complex Josh again. But he ignored me as he raked his eyes over the song titles on the back of the cases and leaned forward, handing the mixed reggae disc to the driver. “Number eight, Ruddy.”
Seconds later, Glen Washington’s Kindness for Weakness brought some life to the car, making Josh’s reticence easier to bear. Jesus, this chasing after the man thing was exhausting, especially when the man’s as spiteful as Josh.
Bab Populer