At one time in my life, I felt confident about making choices. If I were still that man, I’d know for certain that returning to Afghanistan with Jez is the right thing for my career. And in my personal life, I’d know it would be a much better choice to callGrey and spend the evening with him rather than yearning for more time with Xavier. More hours tracing the long length of his body, kissing his freckles and adorning every inch of him with suckling kisses that stir up faint bruises.
But apparently, my life has changed in the past couple days, because instead of calling Grey, I stride over to the book racks and gather handfuls of books, including the one Xavier was admiring. After slinging them into a basket, I toss in expensive sketchbooks and as many art supplies as I can find.
The new me might be the stupidest man to walk this earth.
chapter 9
. . .
Reuben
I grab a beer from my hotel room’s fridge and throw myself into a chair with a weary sigh. “Fuck,” I breathe.
Dinner had been interesting. If it had been a social experiment to see just how much Xavier could wind up Jez, it would have been incredibly successful. My lips tilt. Xavier’s proving to be preternaturally talented in getting under Jez’s skin. Jez isn’t typically ruled by his temper, but he got on the back foot with Xavier, and Jez is rising like a fish to all of Xavier’s bait.
And Xavier? He just smiles and coos. I retrieve my phone from my pocket and stare at the screen. I’m debating whether to call Grey or open Grindr, when there’s a quiet knock.
It’s so quiet I’m wondering if I’m hearing the people in the next room. But the next muffled sound is definitely on the door to my room.
There’s only person who would try to knock that quietly. A person who knows he shouldn’t be knocking at all.
I set my phone on the table, walk over to the door, and throw it open. “No,” I say harshly. “Absolutelynot.”
Xavier pouts. “Well, that’s not a terribly welcoming statement. You should work on your delivery.”
“As you’re not turning around and running for the lift, I’d say that’s not true. What do you want?”
“I need to speak to you.”
I fold my arms over my chest. It’s rather a defensive pose but who could blame me? “So, speak.”
“Well, now I can’t. You’ve given me performance anxiety.”
I sigh. “That is just not even remotely true.”
“So can I come in?”
“You don’t need to be in my room to talk to me.”
He taps his lip, running his finger over the full bottom one. It’s pillowy, and I know it’s as soft as silk. I want to take a bite out of it so desperately that I can feel it in my blood.
“I actually think I do,” he says.
“I’m certain we can have it anywhere.”
“Not if it’s naked.”
“Ah. No.” I wag my finger at him, which seems to amuse him, and I fight the urge to groan. “We areneverdoing that again.”
“I hate to quote Daddy Dearest?—”
“Please don’t call him that.”
“But he was right. You are acompletejoy suck.”
My lip twitches, but I need to shut this down before we make a bad situation infinitely worse. “I think you should go back to your room and forget you know the number of mine.”
He hums. “I’m not terribly forgetful. I’m afraid it’s a deep flaw in my character,” he says sadly.
