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He’d shown with his words and his body that he was starved for touch and affection like some kind of loser and…Christ.
He needed to get out of there before he lost it. He didn’t think he could take the look on Renzo’s face that proved it had been one long pity fuck the night before. Not that Emil could blame him, considering the way Renzo had found him, but he was still a man with some semblance of pride, and he didn’t want to sacrifice it all on a one-night stand.
He moved back into the bedroom and swiped his phone, wallet, and keys and decided to leave his suit behind. He had three dozen anyway, so what did it matter? He’d send some cash later for the wood he’d stolen and the sweats.
Tiptoeing down the stairs, Emil had the front door in sight when someone cleared their throat, and he jumped half a foot before looking over his shoulder.
“So, you accuse me of trying to sneak out and then pull this? What does being a massive hypocrite feel like?” Renzo asked.
Emil’s voice felt trapped in his throat, and he had to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to make a single sound. “I wasn’t?—”
“Yes, you were. And that’s fine,” Renzo said. He looked sleepy and sweet, all rumpled from bed, wrapped in a T-shirt and very low-slung plaid pajama pants. Emil wanted to pin him to the wall and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. “But I also have food and coffee if you want to refuel before your great escape.”
Emil flushed. “I just…didn’t want to be a burden.” Not a lie, just not the entire truth. He was pathetic, but not pathetic enough to tell Renzo what he was afraid of.
Renzo sighed and shook his head. “I feel like that’s your motto, which sucks.” He held out his hand and made grabby fingers until Emil took it, and to his surprise, Renzo tugged him close and kissed his knuckles. “I have a lot to do today, and my brother’s going to be home soon. He definitely can’t find you here. But you can stay for breakfast and a blowjob if you want.”
Emil’s flush deepened. “Ah. Uh. Is he gonna kick my ass?”
Renzo blinked, then burst into laughter as he tugged Emil toward the kitchen. “The only time I’ve ever seen Matty get violent against another person was when this asshole at a grocery store called our sister a bitch. I don’t think he’d try to beat you up.”
“What would he do?” Emil asked as he sat at a barstool.
Renzo went back to the stove, then looked over his shoulder at Emil. “He’d probably ask you to stay.”
Panic rushed through Emil, and it must have shown on his face because Renzo laughed again.
“Exactly. But don’t worry, I don’t let my once-a-decade one-night stands meet the family.”
Emil almost choked on his own tongue. “Once a decade?” he asked, and he felt some measure of relief that his voice didn’t give away his jealousy. The very idea of anyone else touching Renzo made him want to put his fist through the wall.
Renzo grinned as he turned around with two mugs of steaming coffee in his hands. “Well… I haven’t had a lot of practice, but I’m considering starting a tradition.”
Emil bit his tongue so hard he tasted copper, and he swallowed back most of his honest words. “You’re going to leave men in ruin, Renzo.”
There was a heavy beat of silence, and then Renzo let out a rush of air. “You can’t just say that.”
“I want to say a lot more, but I’d sound like a creep,” Emil admitted.
Their gazes locked, and he could tell Renzo was feeling something similar to what he was. They were in the middle of a moment—standing at a crossroads—but they knew which way they were going to turn. What choice did they have?
They were star-crossed, not meant for happily ever afters.
The moment broke when Renzo turned his gaze, and Emil didn’t fight for him. He sat back and cradled his coffee between his hands as Renzo continued to cook whatever he had frying on the stove.
It turned out to be a sort of messy egg scramble—nothing like Emil would have ever put in his mouth if he was given the choice, but it smelled heavenly.
“So, I’m kind of a crap cook,” Renzo explained, flushing lightly. “I’m great at baking because it’s all, you know, chemistry, which is my thing. But the one thing I can do is make breakfast.”
“Then I’m glad I’m here for you at your best,” Emil said.
Renzo pulled a face, then laughed as he pushed a plate over. “I also have a ton of hot sauce if it’s actually inedible.”
Staring down at the dubiously colored, scrambled mess, Emil poked his fork into it, then took a bite, and his eyes widened. It was…different, but it was good. It tasted like the only decent parts of his childhood, before his mom gave in to her anger and bitterness. Those memories were atrophied and foggy, but he felt suddenly overwhelmed by them.
He set his fork down and pushed the plate away. “I should actually go.”
Renzo walked around the counter to stop Emil before he could get up. “I know my food is disgusting?—”
