Like I’ve gotten exactly what I wanted.
“Some. I’m trying to work.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been staring at me the whole time.” He looks over at me, his eyes half-lidded, those tear-tracks on his cheeks dry now but I remember them. I fucking remember them.
“Yes.” No use denying it.
“Enjoying yourself?” His dark eyes shouldn’t be able to burn the way they do. His eyebrow raises. He’s challenging me.
You have no idea. “Just keeping an eye on things.”
He rolls his eyes. The TV screen goes black once the credits are over, and he glances at it, startled by the sudden darkness. Biting his lip, he checks on Kira and finds her passed out, snoring with her hands clutched together against her chest. I watch him as he scowls to himself. Pouts, more like.
He does that pretty often, I’ve noticed, but only when it comes to me. Which means he’s thinking about me right now. That feeling I have–that chasing, catching feeling–intensifies.
He wants something, but Kira’s asleep, so he’ll have to ask me, and that upsets him for some reason. When I’m around, he acts prickly and defensive and angry. Which is strange, becauseonce I look closer and get him to sit still, he seems to open up and calm down.
Ask me.I mentally compel him.Ask me.
“Can we–” Tommy stops and clears his throat, trying to buff out some vulnerable tightness and his pouty, high-pitch tone. “Can we watch it again?”
I shut my laptop with a quiet snap and stand to get the remote from the table in front of him. Thumbing through the main menu, I’m aware of his gaze on my back. The jet rumbles through some gentle turbulence while I get the movie restarted, and I check my watch.
“We have just enough time for you to watch it all again.” I turn, expecting him to be staring at the screen already, but stop when I realize he’s looking at me.
And I wonder how he feels when he looks at me.
I mentally go over the times I’ve caught him studying me and try to reframe those looks with what I know about him, now. He isn’t a rich boy who knows my name and fears me, or who is trying to impress me to get with Kira, or who is hiding something from me so I don’t run him off and deny him access to her. He’s not Tommy Claremont, he’s just Tommy, and he’s just looking at me because he wants to.
And maybe it’s as simple as that. He just wants to.
He’s gay,I remind myself. I know I’m handsome, and I’ve never really cared, just content to understand that it makes my life easier. Easier to find a quick fuck when I really need one. But the way Tommy’s looking at me now–the way he’s always looked at me, I realize as I flip through my memories–gives me a new appreciation for my lucky genetics. I don’t know why I like the idea of him finding me attractive, it shouldn’t matter to me at all, but I want him to.
His eyes slide from my shoes, up my legs, to my waist and stomach, to my shoulders, then finally my face. He jolts when he realizes I’ve been watching him ogle me.
“Enjoying yourself?” I ask him, using the same question he asked me earlier.
“Just keeping an eye on things,” he returns. The callback is unexpectedly funny, and I grin. He jolts again, his eyes going wide, and then he’s beaming at me, like my smile makes him happy.
We smile at each other for no apparent reason, all kinds of strange feelings running around inside me, none of them meaning anything to me or able to name themselves, all of them trying to pull on memories to give me a frame of reference. And then I go back to my chair, content to rewatch the movie through him.
And he settles in, but this time, every few minutes, he turns his head toward me ever so slightly, like he’s trying to subtly, sneakily glimpse me through his peripherals. He’s not very good at being sneaky.
Although, there’s a lot about himself he kept hidden. Surprising things. So maybe he’s sneakier than I give him credit for. Seeing him on top of Brian was like seeing an entirely new person. And it begs the question–
“How many men have you killed, Tommy?”
He flinches, and the change that overcomes him is aggressive and angry. His posture stiffens, his expression wavers between cold distance and a grimace.
He stands abruptly and storms over to me, so I stand, too, and we stare at each other from inches away. His eyeline is level with my chin, and I like the way he looks up at me; the way I loom over him a little.
“Why are you asking me that?” he demands, his voice low. He checks over his shoulder, looking at Kira, making sure she’s still asleep. She is.
“I want to know.”
“Why do you think I’ve killed anyone at all?”
I just raise an eyebrow at him. He huffs, scowls, crosses his arms at me. I can’t tell if he’s trying to make himself look bigger, or if he’s trying to make himselffeelbigger. “Three.”
