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“Yeah. Fine. Gonna tell my brothers this Friday about…you know.”

He hums and shifts me on his lap. “Would you like me to be there?”

I turn to look at him and I see the way his eyes show how fucking proud he is of me. Makes me preen and I fucking hate it.

“And how will I explain you?”

He shrugs and then leans forward and kisses the corner of my lips. I melt, just a puddle of honey and butterscotch.

“You could say that I’m the man you’re fucking.”

“Fuck off.”

“Your friend then? Boyfriend?”

That words sits between us, and I shuffle off his lap once more.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Gideon. I’m not fucking…gay.”

That words falls off my lips, and I watch as he sighs.

“Of course not.”

I pull my pants up and fasten them, feeling my wet hole contract around nothing.

“I’m gonna go,” I murmur, feeling suddenly ashamed. Everything is wrong, nothing makes sense. Not anymore.

When I arrive home, I see a few packages sitting outside my door and I wonder what I ordered.

Can’t fucking remember.

I push the door open and drag everything inside as Little Pants meows angrily at me. I pick her up and press a kiss to her soft fur before she hops from my hands and starts to eat.

Asshole.

I scrub a hand down my face as I stare at the boxes lining my entryway. I don’t remember ordering anything this large.

With tired hands, I pry them open and feel my heart start to thunder in my chest.

An easel.

Paints.

Several canvases.

Gideon.

My fingers clench and I blink away unshed tears.

That asshole. Breaking me down, showing me things that I never let myself want and then telling me it’s okay.

It’s not fucking okay.

I pull out my phone with a shaking hand and stab at his name.

“Mitchell,” he says lowly, and I growl at him.

“Fuck you!”