Page 75 of Pieces of Me

“What I was referring to was the way you made my prostate feel,” Scott corrected him, leaning back against the island and crossing his arms over his chest. “The experience more than lived up to the hype.” He shrugged. “But now the novelty’s worn off, and the demands you’re starting to make on me, Lance, are already getting old, if you want to know the truth.”

Lance blinked, a tide of red sweeping from his chest up into his face. “I’m sorry for all the calls,” he said shakily. “I knew that would probably piss you off, but you weren’t calling me back, and I wanted…“

Scott picked the mug up and turned it idly in his hands. “Wanted what?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Lance flinched a little. ”You were so cold to me the other day. And I thought―I hoped maybe it was because you didn’t want me to leave, that you were jealous about me going to Vegas to film that threesome. All I wanted was some―”

“Reassurance?” Scott finished for him, a dash of regret mixed with pity moving through him. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m not very good at that sort of thing, Lance.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut. “Emotional shit, neediness…I don’t handle those well.”

Lance pressed his lips together, his eyes pleading. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “It won’t happen again. Give me another chance?”

Scott shook his head. “It’s too late―” Suddenly Lance was in front of him, dropping to his knees, pulling Scott’s shorts down to his ankles with one swift motion.

He clutched the counter behind him in shock, gasping when Lance leaned forward to nuzzle his balls. “Lance, stop―” He broke off as Lance licked the tip of his dick, which started to stiffen automatically at the stimulation. “No, I’m not interested―”

“Tell that to your cock,” Lance crowed, looking up at Scott from between his lashes and going for his most seductive look. “I’ll fuck you so good, baby. So good. You’ll never want to let me go.” He yelped as Scott put his hand on his forehead and shoved him away, sending Lance sprawling onto his ass.

Scott yanked up his pants. “Yeah, you’ve proven you can get my dick hard,” he said coldly. “But so can a stiff breeze. Have some self-respect, would you?” Lance scrambled to his feet, his fists clenched and his face mottled with humiliation.

Scott went on ruthlessly, because obviously it was time to make things crystal clear so they could both fucking move on. “I could care less who you bang. I wasn’t jealous the other day; the truth is I’m just an asshole when I’m bored.” He pushed off the island and started herding Lance toward the front door. “I don’t want a boyfriend because there have already been more psycho bitches in my life than I will ever need. If you want to fuck, no strings attached, I’m your man. You want more, and you starting acting needy, then I’m out.”

Lance bit his lip. “Well, I hope you end up alone and miserable someday, you bastard,” he hissed, the hurt throbbing in his voice, “because you’ll be sorry. You’ll realize what you threw away, and it’ll be too fucking late! Don’t think you can come crawling back!”

Scott couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the desperate cliché. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not you, it’s me, Lance,” he answered in kind. “Whatever.”

Lance’s shoulders slumped, and he opened the front door, looking back only long enough to breathe a quiet “Fuck you” before going through it and slamming it shut.

Blowing out a breath, Scott moved to the house phone on the wall and picked up the receiver. A short conversation with George at the concierge’s desk and Lance’s visitor’s privileges to the building were revoked; he wouldn’t be allowed up to Scott’s apartment unannounced ever again.

Then Scott stood there alone in the kitchen, the sudden silence almost deafening, the only sound the soft ticking of the appliances.

Toxic.

Scott winced as the word echoed in his ears, almost as if someone had shouted it at him. It was true. He walked over to the island and picked up the M&Ms mug, turning it over in his hands for a moment. He stuffed it into a plastic bag and went out into the hallway to drop it down the garbage chute, watching it disappear without a trace into the darkness.

It was sad. He’d liked the mug, and he’d liked Lance. But toxic Ashworths didn’t get to have nice things…they only destroyed them in the end.

Each and every time.

✩✩✩

The phone vibrated next Rylan’s elbow, startling him. He grabbed it, smiling as he saw Scott’s number on the display. He answered it with a cheerful “Hey,” surprised at how strained Scott’s voice was as he returned the greeting.

“Everything okay?” Rylan asked, concerned, standing up with the phone lodged against his shoulder as he moved to the sink to rinse off his sandwich plate. “I’m leaving for the club in a few, if you want to talk when I get there.”

Scott cleared his throat. “Actually, I was thinking maybe I could run by and pick you up, save you from having to take the bus.”

Rylan blinked. “Sure. But isn’t it out of your way―”

“I don’t care,” Scott interrupted. “I don’t have any set duties tonight, I’m just playing party host. Doesn’t matter when I get there.”

Rylan frowned. “Of course,” he said slowly. “I’ll be happy for the ride.”

He hung up and headed to get ready.

Twenty minutes later he answered the door with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Come on in,” he mumbled around it. “Almost done.” He expected Scott to plop down on the couch to wait, but instead he followed him back toward his bathroom, leaning against the doorjamb while Rylan rinsed and spit.

Their eyes met in the mirror as Rylan wiped his mouth off with his hand towel.