“We only have a few minutes before my car is going to arrive.”
He waves his hand through the air.
And suddenly I start to panic.
He’s still acting casual. Like he still thinks it’s not a big deal that we’ve practically been attached at the hip for the last three weeks of our lives, speed-running a deep physical affair, and now we’re about to go back to being strangers again.
I watch him at the center of the living room as he pulls his black button-up shirt out from his bag, taking off the plain T-shirt he had on.
I watch his silver necklaces shift on his skin as he shrugs on the collared shirt.
Everything about his body has become so familiar.
The way those necklaces feel when he’s above me, and the cool metal hangs over and hits my chest.
The ink on his skin I’ve run my fingers over countless times now, and the way his lips feel when he drags them over my collarbone.
Something sparks through my mind like kindling, and my throat tightens.
I have to invite him.
This can’t be the last of it.
I work up the courage as I pace to the kitchen, the dining room, and back to the living room again. I’m going to invite him to visit me in Los Angeles, all expenses paid. Easy. We don’t have to define it. I don’t have to pressure him to figure anything out. But we could at least know we’ll be together again.
I have no idea if he’ll even accept.
“God, I need to fucking come,” he says as I approach him. “We have enough time for that?”
I pause. “Really? You don’t even want to talk about what happens when I leave?”
He glances up at me and there’s nothing behind his eyes. “What happens is you keep living your life, Mr. Famous Actor. And I keep doing what I do, serving rich dudes expensive liquor in the bar.”
My chest tenses. “Give me a break.”
“Yeah. The other rich guys aren’t like you, I admit. I don’t think any of them would like my cockquiteas much as you do.”
Already I can feel him pulling away from me.
It’s slight, but it’s there.
He’s trying to pass everything off with jokes instead of facing how he really feels right now.
I put my hand onto his waist. “I like you for more than your cock, you know.”
Tell him you’ll fly him out.
Say it.
“Fine. I’ve been thinking about it, too,” he says finally, reaching out to put his finger through one of my belt loops, tugging on it.
The gesture is so small.
For Chase, it’s such an innocent way of touching me, pulling at my belt loop like he used to do when he first came up to my room.
And I see a world of uncertainty behind it.
I exhale. “Good. You’ve at least given it some thought? What we should do, going forward.”
