Why was I freaking out over this? Shit, I didn’t need to worry; it was a good thing for me, right? Probably fucking not because I’d get attached to the guy. This was just a quick play with me. He would never be interested in a damn relationship.

Not that I wanted one.

I didn’t.

At least, I didn’t think I did.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Right, this was easy. I would have to stay away from him, so I didn’t get attached. I’d keep away. I’d have to because he was just messing around for a while before he found the one woman he wanted to settle down with.

Not that I was thinking of a relationship with him. I wasn’t. Hell, I could settle down with an old lady and not a guy in the end. Depended on who I fell in love with. I wasn’t holding onto something with Saint that would pass for him like it was nothing.

I nodded to myself. I grabbed a clean pair of boxers out of the laundry basket on the couch and went into the bathroom. I cleaned myself up with a washcloth, dried, and put on the clean pair before grabbing a cloth for Saint.

Shaking out my arms, I went back into the bedroom and tossed the cloth to Saint. He caught it, having been watching the door with a smile. He wiped down his hands while watching me as I walked around the other side of the bed and picked up his clothes. I put them at the end of the bed near his feet and then walked back around. Climbing on the bed, I leaned back against the wall and grabbed the remote. I switched on the TV and waited. I could feel his eyes on me and just knew he was smirking. He always smirked. I took a quick glance his way and found he was, before changing the channel.

Saint stood, stretched, and looked over, catching me watching him. I refocused on the TV. He chuckled. “Want another drink?” he asked.

What the fuck? He should have been running for the damn door. Wasn’t that his style after a hookup?

“Sure,” I drew out.

He leaned forward, picked up his boxers, and put them on before he grabbed our glasses and left the room. He was staying. He was going to get us a drink. Did he even know where the bar was?

He wasn’t making sense.

Maybe if I pretended to be asleep before he got back, he’d leave.

That was a stupid idea; it’d also look weird.

Before I could do anything, Saint was back in the room with a drink in each hand. Of course he was still smirking. Jesus, I wanted to yell at him to quit it. He handed one to me and then sat back on the bed. I watched him take a sip of his drink before eyeing the TV.

This was stranger than the sucking-off situation.

“Kylo,” he said, his tone neutral.