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Kathryn laughed, and he could imagine the smirk on her face.
Thorne’s mind whirled. Maybe he could get home early and—what? Unpack Riley’s things for him? No, but he could move boxes into the guest room. That would help. Kathryn might still see them, but they wouldn’t be scattered everywhere, calling attention to themselves. So it was taking a while for Riley to unpack. He was busy with school. That was normal, right? Still, Thorne knew Kathryn would think it odd that he hadn’t settled in yet. But that was ridiculous. He and Riley were fine.
“Okay, I’ll order us something for dinner if Riley’s not up to cooking.”
“That sounds good. He’s busy. I don’t want him to go to any trouble.”
“Sometimes cooking dinner actually relaxes him, which makes no sense to me since he’s in cooking classes all day. But he says schoolwork doesn’t feel like real cooking to him.”
“I wish he was enjoying school more.”
“Me too.” Or that he would just take Thorne’s money, quit school, and go ahead and open a bakery. “See you tonight.”
Thorne ended the call. Shit. Now he’d have to race home and get the apartment ready for Kathryn. When was Riley going to unpack? Thorne had offered to help, but whenever he mentioned it, Riley just dismissed him like there was no reason to rush or said he was busy with homework. He was always busy these days. It was like they’d switched roles from the days when Riley was an easy-going escort and Thorne a workaholic who’d forgotten how to have fun when it wasn’t carefully scheduled.
Since the blistering sex they’d had on move-in day, they hadn’t taken the time for more than a quick fuck or blowjob, which was—for them—a serious slowdown. They were fine, weren’t they?
Thorne forced himself to focus on his upcoming meeting as he pulled into the garage by his office. If Kathryn thought it was odd that Riley hadn’t unpacked, that was her problem.
***
Riley stretched as he stood when his last class ended. The professor was an ass who thrived on humiliating students, and he felt lucky to have avoided being called on during the fifty-minute lecture. Tomorrow they’d be in the kitchen, and he doubted his luck would hold. He was one of the few students who didn’t have experience in a commercial kitchen, and just finding the right equipment challenged him, not to mention the added stress of having to bake to the professor’s exacting standards.
He was in his sixth week of classes at the Culinary Academy, and they weren’t what he’d expected at all. Maybe he still needed to give it time, but all the professors were so focused on molecular gastronomy and flavor combinations that were just plain odd that Riley never felt like he was making real food.
He missed baking with his friend Susan. Since starting school he hadn’t had nearly as much time to help with her fledgling catering business. Were these classes going to teach him what he needed to know to help Susan run a great bakery? He wasn’t sure. He knew baking was a science, but it was also an art. It seemed like his professors had forgotten that. Food with lots of precision and no passion fell flat, or at least it did for him.
He slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the train station. On the way, his phone rang. It was Marc.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Marc said. “How’s it going? Classes any better?”
“Not really.”
“That sucks. What about home life?”
“It’s fine. Why?” Marc and Susan both kept asking him how things were going with Thorne, and he kept insisting they were fine. Why did it seem like they didn’t believe him? Why do you not believe yourself?
“So you’ve finally relaxed about living with old Money Bags?”
“Marc, don’t.” The last thing Riley needed was a reminder that he and Thorne were far from social equals.
“Oooh, so sensitive. You didn’t use to be like that.”
“I…” He hadn’t minded the disparity until Thorne had tried to give him money for school after Riley had ended their professional arrangement. Even then, Thorne’s wealth was something he tried not to think about too much, but now that they were living together, every single thing they did seemed to remind him that Thorne was rich as fuck and he was just a regular guy.
“I didn’t mean anything by that, you know?” Marc said.
“Yeah, I know. It’s been a long day.”
“Have you unpacked yet?”
“Not really.” Riley didn’t know why he was stalling. While the decision to move in had been made hastily, Riley really did want to be with Thorne every day. Yet somehow the act of mingling their things kept freaking him out. This damn love thing was even more intense than he would have imagined.
“So half your shit is still in boxes?”
There was really no point in lying to Marc. “Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about your week.”
