CHAPTER 32
Artemis
Xavier wanders into the kitchen looking like sex and sin, his hair is damp and somehow still crushed on one side. His shirt is rumpled, lips a little swollen from this morning’s disastrous restraint before he hopped in the shower while I dialled into a meeting. He blinks at me like he’s not sure I’m real.
Which is fair. I barely believe it myself. Is it possible to change overnight? Because I feel kind of changed.
“Morning again.” His murmured voice is scratchy-soft.
I grunt something that could be a greeting and nudge the plate I’ve massacred into existence toward him. He wanted bacon and toast. And, well. I tried. Apollo is the chef among us.
Me? Well… The eggs are overcooked. The bacon is a goddamn crime scene. I should have let him come downstairs to make breakfast. I couldn’t help dragging him back to bed for a blowjob that left him so sticky and covered in our cum that he needed a shower.
But the toast? It’s perfect. And the coffee? Exactly how hetakes it—because I pay attention, even when I shouldn’t. Or, more accurately, because my younger brother has taken it upon himself to text me every detail he knows about this man at periodic intervals. It’s equal parts annoying and helpful.
Xavier sits, wraps his hands around the mug, and peers up at me with a smile that could end wars between nations. He has no fucking idea how gorgeous he is. “You cooked?”
“I narrowly missed having to call 9-1-1.” I correct him with a smile. “Mostly supervised the fire hazards.”
He laughs, and something hard inside my ribs goes stupid. He takes a bite of the bacon, winces, and eats it anyway.
“You didn’t have to do all this.” He sweeps a hand at the food. “Based on the acrid smell in the air you probably shouldn’t have.” He grins at me. “I could have done it after my shower.”
“Just admit that you’d have starved without me.” Who knew I had it in me to be funny? It’s not something I’m known for. The cold, detached, stoic ice prince who lives in the shadows while his siblings play in the sunlight.
He huffs. “I can not burn bacon.” He winks at me. “You could have made cereal.”
I soak in his smile like a man who knows he shouldn’t touch the flame but reaches for it anyway.
“You good if I do some schoolwork?”
I nod. I have plenty I could be doing. This is one of the most important weeks of the merger. Lining everything up behind the scenes feels more and more like an impossible task to accomplish. What the fuck was I thinking? Trying to spin all these plates is an exercise of arrogance and futility. And yet, it’s just another challenge I’ll rise to, because it’s who and what I am.
Xavier clears the dishes, then spreads textbooks across the table. I pretend to work at the kitchen island, but my eyes keepdrifting. The way he mutters to himself while reading. The way he taps a pencil against his knee. The way he pushes his glasses up with the back of his hand when they slide.
He’s not even wearing his reading glasses today, but the movement is pre-programmed it seems. I’m losing my mind. And not getting anything done that I’m supposed to.
He groans at something on the page. “I swear this professor hates me.”
“He does.” I don’t look up.
Xavier startles. “You weren’t even listening.”
“I was.” I flip over a page I didn’t read. “You’re very loud when you study quietly.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Come and explain this then.”
I expect him to hold the book up. Instead, he pats the seat cushion beside him. It’s an invitation. But it’s close, too dangerous. And still, I go because I can’t help myself. I stand behind him, leaning over to point at a paragraph.
He smells like my pillow and whatever detergent he uses. His shoulder brushes my stomach, but he doesn’t move away. Then, seemingly without thinking, he leans back into me, like he’s been doing it for years. My body goes taut. His goes soft.
I feel every slow breath he takes like he’s syncing to me, like my heartbeat is something he can hear. We work through what he’s asking, because apparently reading it out loud to him three times over makes it stick in his brain and is way more important than the pages of merger bullshit I’m supposed to be working on.
“Thanks.”
I clear my throat and step back. “You’re welcome.” Is this possible? Could something real work between us? Between school, and work, and my charity commitments, and hockey, and the inevitable drama that follows our family names… could I have maybe my cake and eat it too?
His cheeks pinken. Mine probably do too, because apparently, I’m a man who blushes now. Funnyandblushing, my family won’t know me.
