Page 35 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

“Now, that isn’t what I meant.” Sighing, Cyrus holds his hands up in defense before moving past her towards the door. Ever the gentleman, he holds it for her until she begrudgingly steps through. He follows her out even though he’d been entering when he approached. His eyes are on her, staring, making the air feel too hot. “You do deserve that, Alana. Blinding pleasure that makes your legs wobble for days after.”

Alana’s face burns at the memory of their aftermath together. She was out of commission for days. Called out for the first time in a solid year. Not that he needed to know that.

“But if it turns out that meathead Connor can’t give you what you need, well, you have my information.” There’s a smug, conceited smirk on his face. One that threatens to render Alana stupid. She reels herself in.

“I’m sure I’ll be just fine. But I’ll keep you posted.” She gives him a pointed look.

Cyrus chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “I’ll see you around then, Miss Alana. Have fun on your date now.” He brushes past her with a nod, his hands in his pockets as he kicks a littered soda can into the street, and disappears into the crowd.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CYRUS

“Connor? Can you even believe that? Out of anyone in this damn town.”

“Mmhm.”

“I get dating around. I mean, she has a right to. But Connor? Really?”

“I heard ya, I heard ya.”

Tomás shakes his head with a bored sigh and bites down on his slice of pizza, far more interested in his leftovers than the crisis currently at hand. He wipes away the grease left behind at the corner of his lip. “What’s it matter if it’s Connor or anyone else? You’re the one who refuses to make a move on the lady.”

Thick brows pinch together with an agitated glare. “We’ve been over this,” Cyrus grumbles. “She’s a client! And I can’t—”

“Can’t cross that boundary, yeah, okay, whatever.” Tomás releases another drawn-out sigh as if this weren’t the first conversation they had about this over the week. “You keep sayin’ that like you don’t make up your own damn rule book. So you say you don’t want to date her, fine. Remind me why it matters if Connor does?”

“Because it’s Connor,” Cyrus blurts. He exhales through his nostrils, irritation spreading through every line in his face.

Tomás has the audacity to laugh. “He ain’t that bad.”

“He has a new woman on his arm every time I see him,” Cyrus argues. “He’s not good for her.” Connor wasn’t a bad guy. Just loud. Abrasive. And a bit of a player. Totally not Alana’s type, if Cyrus knew her any. And he liked to think he knew her tastes well.

To that little comment, Tomás stops mid-bite and fixes him with a flat, lackadaisical stare. “Now ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black. Is that not your whole shtick? A new person in your bed every goddamn weekend?”

“That’s different. At least I do it as a job. Folks know what they’re getting into with me,” he mumbles.

“You’re such a moron.”

Cyrus grinds his teeth and looks away.

“Look, Connor might be a bit of a manslut, but he’s also pretty transparent. At least if his reputation is anything to go by. As you recall, I used to damn near live at the bar, and I’ve heard the stories. So maybe she’s into that? If he only wants a one-night stand, chances are they’re both on the same page.”

Maybe that was the problem. If she only wanted a hookup, why not ask him?

As if reading his mind, Tomás shoots him another glare. “You do realize, as you keep saying, this girl is a client. I don’t know how much you charge to swing around mediocre dick, but you can’t get all huffy over her not calling to set up another time to see you. She’s a baker. I doubt she’s got enough disposable income to go throwing at you every time she wants to have sex.”

Cyrus points a finger at his brother. “It isn’t mediocre, you ass. This dick paid for your anniversary trip last year.”

Tomás barks a laugh. “Gods, don’t tell me that.” He fake gags and sets his meal aside as if the memory has been spoiled.

With an exhale, Cyrus begins pacing his living room again. Okay, maybe Tomás has a fair point. That doesn’t change the fact that Alana deserves more. And yeah, maybe that makes him a big, fat hypocrite—but the idea of Connor touching Alana, exploring her body in the same ways he had done? It plants a hot and uncomfortable seed into Cyrus’ chest, weaving roots of anger through his ribs. Anger at Connor, anger at himself. He has no claim to Alana, and yet, it feels like something vital has been stolen right from under his nose.

“You know what this is, right?” his brother asks with a wide grin.

“Tomás don’t say it—”

“You’re fucking resource guarding the poor girl. Oh my gods, this is a Ducky situation all over again.” He slaps a hand across his knee with an eruption of laughter that spreads heat across Cyrus’ face in a brilliant shade of scarlet.