“Did I–?” I almost laugh. “Um, no. Just practice, I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve just sat down and drawn something, though. I like doing it. Why? I don’t look like the type to like drawing?”
I’ve heard that before. I look like a fighter, not an artist. Not that I’m much of one, anyway. He’s being weirdly nice, because it’s just a doodle. Yeah, a doodle I spent hours on and slaved over, obsessed with getting his likeness perfect… okay, it isn’t just a doodle. I get it, I’m a creep.
“That’s not what I said,” he reprimands. I take the opportunity to subtly check him out while I stretch, since I’m accepting my creepiness. Despite the fact that he was sitting at his desk this whole time, he looks unruffled and put together, all buttoned up and air-brushed like he just stepped off a runway.I’m sure my clothes are wrinkled and I’d bet my hair isn’t neat anymore, but he looks perfect, as always.
Young-gi steals the picture I drew and hides it in a drawer of his desk. I scowl, wanting it back, but stuffing the portrait under my pillow at night and pining over him probably isn’t healthy, so he can keep it. I should probably stop myself before I leave creep territory and head straight into stalker stuff. He catches me looking him over, but I can’t tell how he feels about it. “My meetings went over their scheduled time, but you seemed content to wait. You were very patient, Tommy.”
Something in my stomach goes all squiggly at the praise, and I shrug it off. “I was just focused. It helps when I give my brain something to work on. No big deal.”
He hums thoughtfully. We stare at each other, and I can tell he’s thinking hard about what he’s about to say. He’s watching me even more closely than usual, like he’s going to observe every micro-expression of my reaction, like he’s going to try and read my mind as he says–
“It was a big deal. You did what you said you would. You sat still, just like I asked.” I brace myself because somehow, I know it’s coming and I’m about to tell him not to, I’m about to just say ‘stop’ because he can’t be telling me these things, he can’t be telling me I’m–
“Good job, Tommy.”
My stomach lurches and I close my eyes against the visceral, gut-punch emotional and sexual reaction storming inside me. I don’t know why, but I thought he was about to tell me ‘good boy’. And even though I should be relieved that he didn’t, I’m kinda disappointed.
Yeah, it’s fucked up, but I don’t hate being called a good boy, despite my issues and my past. It probably helps thathealways called me things like ‘doll’ and ‘child’ and ‘precious’ and ‘baby’.Sure, sometimes he did call me a good boy, but not when he was touching me, so maybe that didn’t bother me as much.
Bruce–the Daddy I used to fuck sometimes–would call me a good boy, too, and I kinda liked it… but notthismuch. When Bruce said it, I always felt like he was lying to me. Because he was so nice, he never asked me for anything, barely set any expectations about our relationship, and all I did was mouth off to him and get angry. I was never ‘good’ unless it was just a sex game and it didn’t mean anything serious.
But I don’t think it would sound like a lie if Young-gi said it. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. If he said good boy, it would be true.
Ugh, this is so stupid. This has nothing to do with sex, all I did was sit still for fuck’s sake…
But even though he didn’t say good boy, he did tell me I did good, and that matters to me, even for something as stupid as sitting still. I don’t know why it hits different coming from him, but it lights me up from the inside out, warming me in all the right places.
“Sure,” I manage, my voice a little choked up. “Whatever.”
“I’m sure you’re hungry, after waiting so long,” he checks his watch, all casual like he didn’t just call me a good boy and give me a confused boner that’s already gone again. “Kira texted to tell me to have you dropped off at the dinner venue, and she’ll meet you there.”
“You’re not going?” I want to cut my tongue out as soon as I ask that. I want to punch myself in the face for letting that slip.You’re not going?!? Of course he’s not going, you fucking moron! That’s what he just said! And it doesn’t. Fucking. Bother me.
He pauses and I want to swallow those words back in, but I already said them.
“Yosef, go get the car pulled around,” he commands, and our silent observer departs, leaving the two of us alone in this high-rise, up above the world. Just us two, and the ant-sized cars a long way down.
“Are you inviting me to dinner?” he asks. If he was anyone else, I’d call that flirting, but when he says it, it sounds more like an interrogation.
I’m already scowling at him, trying to emphasize how much I’mnotinviting him to dinner. “It’s not my dinner, it’s Kira’s. I’m just asking if you’re going.”
“Do you want me there?”
Gah! Why does his poker face have to be so fucking bulletproof?!
“Doyouwant to be there?” I return, because I honestly can’t tell what this man wants.
His eyes snag on my piercing, on the eyebrow I’m sassily raising at him, and his stern mouth softens just a little. I wish I knew what that expression means.
“I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Not the enthusiastic response I was hoping for.“You’re either hungry or you’re not,” I snap as I sail out the door.
Yeah, I’m being a brat. What’s new?
He joins me in the hallway in silence and we wait for the elevator together in the dim hallway, in the empty building. Everyone went home for the day, I guess. Everyone but us.
The chime of the lift doors opening breaks the silence, but only for a moment, because we go down together without a word. The tension is insane, but I can’t help but feel like it’s all in my head, because he looks as straight-faced as always.
