Chapter 17 #3
He absolutely is, and it feels like something that’s come outta left field.
How I didn’t realize before is beyond me, but now that I have, it makes everything he does so fucking sexy.
Like his attitude. His messy hair, the long legs he has spread out, and even the bony feet he has resting on the coffee table—which, per his very own rules, isn’t actually allowed.
He’s all around tempting, my little hypocrite.
The corners of my mouth tip up as he continues to look at me like I’ve gone stupid—and really, haven’t I? “Sorry,” I say after a few seconds, because his darling stare is demanding I say something other than wanna fuck?
But, damn. I do.
Well… I do, but not if he’s going to push me away again. Or almost cry. That shit hurts. It has a phantom ache pressing against my ribcage, even remembering it right now. The limited touch-but-don’t-look setup was fucking with me, and everything feels unresolved even after the morning we had.
I can’t handle him kicking me out of his room again, especially not after being blessed with a taste of him. He said sorry, but accepting that last night would have been downplaying the whole thing when what I’d rather do is confront it some more.
Later, though.
There’s actually a lot I want to talk about. He let me see him, but I still want to understand why he was scared to let me. Or why he’s wearing shirts way too big for him.
And did Liam really give him that dildo?
He blows out a forceful sigh while picking at a loose thread on his—my—shirt, and I remind myself that I have to pay attention. “The strip club—are you still going?”
“Yeah, if we gotta.” I shrug.
“Well, we don’t gotta. You can skip it.”
My eyebrows fall, but the glare is wasted since he won’t look at me.
I’m having too good a day to let him get moody, so I quickly dip my head and kiss him—just a chaste meeting of lips that covers that hushed gasp he gives me.
I sit up again as if nothing happened and ignore the confusion on his face.
It did its job—has painted his face pink and erased all hint of brat away.
“Come on.” I close my hand over the fist he has twisted in my tee and stand up. “We have to go.”
“What? No, I’m watching this. It’s almost over, and then you can pick something,” he suggests, ignoring my silent plea that he get up.
“Nah. We’re going somewhere.”
“Somewhere?”
“Yup.” I shrug again, this time a little awkwardly.
Truthfully, we have to leave now, otherwise we’ll miss the appointments I made this morning while he was in the shower, but I’m not telling him that.
I’m tired of seeing his naked fingernails.
It feels off every time I see them because they’ve always been painted. Always.
I don’t know for sure why he hasn’t painted them, but it has eerily coincided with his sudden love of giant shirts, and together these things feel like omens.
Especially since both have been going on since that night we went to dinner with Audrey.
The outfit he wore then was the last time I saw him in that was something the Baby I know would wear.
I could be wrong, but it feels like it’s my fault.
He’s muting himself, and I can only hope that it’s not because of me.
But with the way it’s eating at my insides and driving me nuts, I’m almost certain that it is.
I figured that going with him would show him that I don’t have a problem with cute nails on even cuter boys.
He’d rather stay home and be lazy, something he makes known in between getting jeans and shoes on and climbing into my truck, but too bad.
“I paid a deposit.” That’s a lie. They do have my card on file, but I haven’t been charged. I’m just hoping that saying I have makes it harder for him to back out.
“For what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I don’t have to look at him to know he’s not excited about that.
Baby doesn’t like surprises, but I’m hoping he’ll like this one.
I’m also just too nervous to give him the details yet, worried that he’ll get mad or be offended, but I’m risking it.
I like Baby—have since I met him—because he’s who he is and usually loud about it.
I can feel his annoyance simmering and still hold my palm up between us. I did jump off a cliff once—I used to cliff dive a lot—but giving him the choice to either smack my hand away or hold it feels a little scarier than that. I always did like a little danger though.
He scoffs. “I don’t think you need anymore practice, Logan.”
That makes my eyes roll. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not, I—”
“Hold my fucking hand, brat.”
He’s silent while I wait, but a few seconds later, I’m getting what I want as he places his palm on mine.
“Good boy.” I use my hold on him to bring the back of his hand to my lips.
“Whatever.”
But I can tell he likes it. All of it—the hand holding, the kiss, the praise—especially that last one. My little vampire sucks praise right up. That and dick.
It may have been scarier, but the payoff is definitely a bigger rush than cliff diving ever was.
We hold hands the rest of the way, but I have to let go to park. Once I’ve successfully squeezed between a bug and a BMW, I regret it. I should have parked a little farther away—my truck is definitely going to look like an eyesore in front of this place.
“This is a nail salon.”
“Yeah, I figured we could get our nails Picasso’d.”
“We?”
That’s twice that he’s gotten held up on that word. “That’s what I said.”
“You’re going to get a manicure?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
“It’s… weird.”
“No, it’s not. Guys do it all the time.” I asked the lady when I called.
“You paint your nails all the time.” I can see the dumb reasons that detail doesn’t matter on his lips, but I’m quick to cut him off.
“Plus, it does have the word man in it.” I toss him a smile, feeling cheesed at my own dad joke, but he doesn’t return the sentiment.
“I don’t know…”
I get out of the truck and walk up to the entrance to wait for him.
I do get a bit worried that he’s not going to get out, but after a moment, he does.
And he doesn’t even seem mad. He looks a little nervous for reasons I’ll probably never fully understand, but it’s okay. He’s being brave for me once again.
I open the door when he’s close enough and hold in another good boy as he walks in.