CHAPTER EIGHT
Blade
My eyes flick open, and if it weren’t for the light pouring in from behind the cheap curtains, I wouldn’t know where the hell I am. And then, it all floods back to me.
I’m in Jett’s bed.
Holding my breath, I glance over. As I suspected, the space beside me is empty. But the sheets are still warm, and the pillow is dented where Jett’s head was. I grab it and squeeze it against my face, breathing him in.
Did I dream the way he kissed me last night? Or the sound he made when he came in my mouth? That change in his body chemistry when he finally stopped holding back?
Why? Why now?
I lie there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe around whatever’s pressing on my ribs.
Last night echoes in fragments. I’m not sure my heart can handle the whole playback reel. The look in his eyes, the moment before I kissed him. A little fear tinged the corners, but his pupils were blown wide. I knew how much he wanted it. I finally got to feel how soft he is under all that muscle.
Jett kissed me like he’d been waiting to kiss someone like that all his life. I knew I was a goner for him the second it happened. Hell, I think I knew it when I laid eyes on him ten years ago. I’d met Dirk first, and they look alike, but Jett stopped my heart.
He was seventeen, cocky as hell, working security for a gambling ring. He had a mouth full of smart remarks that made me hard every time he opened his trap.
Even though I knew he was straight, it hurt knowing that I could never have him. I pushed away how I felt about Jett to survive, and I settled for his friendship.
The way he kissed me last night means I was either wrong all these years, or maybe he was just using me to figure shit out. Did I take advantage of that?
Jett loved the way I sucked his dick, but does he want to take last night further?
He made sure to tell me he wants to leave Trace’s detail and work for Shane as a guard. He’s moving on. Forward, if he’s going to be directly guarding Lennox or their baby. He wants stability, I guess. A steady rotation. Set hours.
Right now, we’re called in when we’re needed. Kept on jobs until we’re done.
I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I need Jett like I need air, but will I be compromised, worrying if we get into hot water? I’m the asshole who blurred the lines between us. Jett was trying to keep things hidden.
I dragged it all out into the open.
God.
I scrub a hand over my face, groan, and push out of the bed. I don’t feel guilty often, but it’s churning like a wave in my gut.
I shower fast, so it doesn’t look like I’m hiding. The hot spray and feeling clean don’t help my sullen mood. I worry that maybe Jett left our bed because he can’t face what I did.
Message received. I’ll just play it cool.
When I step out of the bedroom, dressed and dying for coffee, noises from the living room give me a lay of the place. Happy voices, a clatter of utensils, and a low hum of the television’s weather reports.
The smell of roasted vegetables and cinnamon hits first.
I peek around the corner to see Hana cooking at the stove. Jett is laughing, standing beside her at the counter. He’s slicing apples with his sleeves rolled up, his tatted forearms flexing with every cut.
She says something, pops something into his mouth, and he grins. It’s that full, charming smile I see when he talks to women. It hits me square in the chest. He’s straight, and I was just a test.
Got it.
“Morning,” I mutter, heading for the coffee pot.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Hana teases. “You missed breakfast.”
“We’ll be eating more food in a couple of hours than I have all week.” I pat my abs. “I’m good.”
“I saved you some bacon,” Jett says, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “And a bagel. Cream cheese is fresh. That’s still your favorite, right?”
You’re my new favorite thing...
I nod, avoiding his eyes as I accept the wrapped-up bagel with cream cheese and a slice of bacon. “Thank you.”
Dirk appears, already smirking at me. “Come on, killer. Let’s get the fryer ready.”
Biting into the bagel, I follow Dirk outside. I immediately shiver in the cold bite of mountain air.
Deep-fried turkey still takes over an hour, and Dirk has the oil heating in the tall stainless steel fryer pot.
We started deep frying the bird a few years ago.
It’s a routine that feels steady now. Dirk prepped the deck with a tarp.
It’s a few minutes before I realize he’s talking to me.
Football talk. How the Giants can’t get their act together, and he might start rooting for the Bills.
“Still a New York team,” he says, checking the temperature gauge on the fryer.
“See what happens when you start wearing Buffalo merch around Manhattan,” I joke. “Giants fans will gut you.”
“I’ll be a trendsetter.”
More time passes as I demolish the bagel and stare out at the cabin’s land. It’s acres and acres. Dirk technically owns it since he pays the taxes and spends more time up here.
Hana appears with the dressed turkey, ready for the oil. Jett lingers by the door.
“Wanna do the honors this year?” Dirk asks, because this year he’s got a woman to kiss.
Deep frying isn’t like sticking a bird in the oven and going about your business. It has to be watched. Oil can be unstable.
“Sure.” I prep the bird with the steel hook and lower it into the fryer.
The immediate smell of the skin sizzling and the crackle of the oil is cool.
Dirk and Hana head back inside, leaving me with Jett. I don’t say a word, expecting he’ll head inside, too.
“You okay?” he says to me, as if I’m the one who is straight and got my dick sucked by a gay dude.
“Sure.” I watch the fryer. “You?”
“What’s wrong?” His voice lifts my eyes.
“I woke up and you were gone.”
“It was eleven o’clock.” He folds his arms.
“We were up late. The long drive, the meal, the cold air.”
“The sex,” he says, low and controlled.
Don’t regret this...
I laugh and shift the turkey. “The way you came in my mouth, you should still be passed out.”
When Jett doesn’t say anything. I see he’s redder than the ripe tomatoes Hana cut for the salad.
“Hey, I didn’t mean—”
There’s a loud pop, and oil spits up from the fryer.
“Watch out,” Jett cuts me off and tries to shove me out of the way.
But a spray of scorching heat catches my wrist. “Shit!” I jerk back.
“Blade!” Jett’s voice is sharp.
“It’s fine.”
“No, three-hundred-and-fifty-degree oil will damage your skin.” Jett tugs on my arm to look at it. “Dirk!”
“Wait!” It’s my first shot at this, and I’m being benched already?
Jett steers me inside like he’s operating on pure instinct. We pass Dirk and Hana kissing in the kitchen. “Watch the turkey. The oil is spitting.”
“Damn it.” Dirk rushes outside. “You’re not supposed to move the turkey once it’s in the fryer.”
“Come on. Bathroom,” Jett mutters. “Let me look at this.”
I stand there with my wrist under running cold water while he yanks a first-aid kit from the bathroom vanity. It hurts more than I’ll admit. He gently dries my arm and dabs the burn with cream and steady hands. Mine are shaking.
When he’s done wrapping up the puckered skin, I clear my throat. “So, are you okay about last night?”
He looks up, eyes flicking away fast. “Sure.”
“Sure?”
“It’s nothing.”
The word lands like a punch. Nothing. Okay. I can do nothing. I’ve done it before. Take what I’m given and keep the rest buried.
“Right,” I mutter. “Nothing. Thanks for this.” I hold up my wrist and walk past him.
My heart breaks just a little. What the hell is happening to me?
I watch football the rest of the day, drinking beer after beer. All while keeping my eyes from meeting Jett’s.
Dinner comes and goes. The turkey is perfect. Hana’s sides were delicious. She nudges Jett at the table to take part of the praise. Jett laughs, easy and light, like last night wasn’t some life-changing event for him.
Afterward, I clean up so Dirk can watch the Cowboys lose. They’re America’s favorite team, except if you’re a Giants fan. Hana cuddles next to him, and within minutes, she’s asleep.
“She was up early,” Dirk says, kissing her nose.
“That and the turkey,” I say, finishing my last beer for the night.
“That’s a myth.” Jett plops on the floor with another piece of apple pie.
I can’t look away from all these people who mean the world to me, thinking I fucked up by touching what doesn’t belong to me.
Even with Stavros, it was never comfortable like this. He was just a body. A dude who understood me. Understood my work, even if he didn’t know exactly who I worked for.
Dirk stands and lifts Hana carefully into his arms. “I’ll watch the rest of the game in my bedroom.”
“Night,” Jett says as they disappear down the hall. He then turns back to me with darker eyes. “You know,” he whispers, “when Hana wakes up, they’ll be too loud to hear anything.”
My pulse spikes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t wake you.” He puts down the dish. “I worried I would see regret in your eyes.”
“Me?” I shove a finger in my chest. “You’re the one experimenting.”
“It wasn’t an experiment,” he bites out.
“Good to know,” I say, tugging him to his feet. “Let’s see how serious you really are about me. About us.”
We walk to his bedroom, me leading him. Inside, I kick the door closed and pull him into my chest.
I lower my mouth to kiss him, relieved when he kisses me back. “Fuck, I needed this,” I say, and the air in the bedroom thickens with everything we’re pretending doesn’t matter.
And maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this is just a fling.
But when he moans into my mouth while I stroke his cock, I’m not sure I can take it if it is a fling.