Chapter 8 #2
“The original or the remake?” he asks as he opens the passenger door for me. I look at him as he stands there, hand on the edge of the door.
The harsh parking lot lighting makes him look a little washed out, but otherwise… he looks young. Vibrant. Youthful.
“The original. Obviously,” I say as I get into the car. My heart is in my damn throat as the luxurious scent of leather and spice fills my lungs when he closes the door.
It takes a moment for him to get in the driver’s seat, and when he does, I feel a sense of panic.
Because I’m alone in an expensive, spicy-smelling car with fucking Sloane Pierce. America’s most eligible bachelor.
He looks at me, his dark eyes settling on my mouth before my eyes. He presses the start button, the music blaring through the speakers as all the electronics blink and he pulls up his GPS and taps in my address.
I blink, realizing he knows it without having to look. I must look confused, because he gives me an apprehensive gaze.
“It was in your file,” he says.
“Right… my file. My resume. My information…”
He nods. “Feel free to change the music if you like.” His breath evens. “It is important to me that you are… comfortable.”
The nervous laugh that makes its way out of my throat only makes my cheeks flush as I realize there is no way in the world I could ever feel comfortable. Here. Now. With him looking at me like this.
I cross my legs, my cock protesting with a mind of its own.
“Thank you,” I say, folding my hands in my lap. “I hope… I hope this isn’t too much of a problem.”
He palms the steering wheel as he backs up in one swoop and takes off for the exit.
The lights of the city filter in through the windows, lighting him up like some angel.
“You are not a problem, Oliver, I assure you,” he says carefully.
“Yeah… but, I’m sure a busy man like you had plans after work, and they didn’t include driving me home.”
He focuses on the road, his jaw set.
“Nothing that can’t be rescheduled.”
Shit. So he did have plans. Plans I screwed up, but this is… good right?
I think so, so why do I feel bad? Why do I feel guilty if his attention is what I want?
“Not a hot date?” I say, trying to lighten the mood, but it comes out almost strangely jealous.
“No,” he says matter of factly.
“What about you?” he asks carefully.
“What about me?”
“You seemed to have no problem staying late. No hot date for you?”
I laugh nervously. “Um… no.” The words fall out of my mouth without warning. “I can’t remember the last time I went out on a date, period.”
It’s true. Robbie and I went out a bit when we first got together, but after a month or so our dates out turned into dates in when I lost my job.
I think about that for a moment, and it’s a bit depressing.
I mean, we’re together, we should be going on dates, but instead I’m spending most of my time trying to dig myself out of this financial hole.
Robbie, too, since he hasn’t made much of an effort to look for anything else.
He just spends most of his time working on his computer, on “projects,” and acts like everything will just magically work itself out in between his trips to the bar.
But I guess this—being here, Sloane—I guess this is what he deems working out. But it’s still up to me.
What if I fuck it up somehow, what if—
“That’s unfortunate,” he says. “I would think a man like you would have a line of women out the door.”
I can’t help but laugh at his words. “Yeah… sure.”
He looks at me in question as he pulls up to a stop light.
“I’m serious,” he says flatly.
“No, just… no,” I say. “The only women lining up for me were the old ladies who wanted the latest Emily Henry book,” I say with a laugh.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, um… I used to work at the Stonyville Library.” I clear my throat.
“Library, hmm?” Sloane’s voice is decadent and warm. Too warm for this damn car. I’m sweating. Seriously…
I clear my throat, knowing I need to make the other thing known. Robbie mentioned I would need to clarify at some point, my preferences, but that doesn’t mean I find it any easier.
I look at Sloane, at his sharp profile, his dark hair. His broad shoulders.
Telling him I’m gay is just… part of the act. It’s part of the script, but…
I feel like telling him is more than that.
Like it’s going to unlock some door I won’t be able to shut.
But that’s what I want, right?
“Besides—” I cough. “Even if I did have a line of women… I wouldn’t be taking any of them. They aren’t exactly… my…” I swallow hard. “Type.”
Sloane pulls around a bend I recognize, and I realize we’ve been in the car for nearly twenty minutes already.
“What is your type, Oliver?” he asks, and I think I’m wading into dangerous waters.
“Men,” I say clearly.
Tall, dark, and handsome men who know how to push my buttons. Who know how to throw me around and take what they want from me…
But I keep those dark and depraved things to myself.
Not even Robbie knows the full extent of the things I want.
The things I crave. I’m lucky that I’m able to scratch the surface with him, but that itself is bad enough.
No one will ever know the truth. How deep that line of darkness really goes, and I think it’s better that way.
Safer, for sure.
“I see,” he drawls.
“I hope… that’s not a… problem.”
Sloane pulls up to a stop sign and turns to look at me, his free hand resting on his chin, his thumb brushing the edge of his lip.
My gaze flits to where it rests. The pad of his thumb along his lower pout makes my damn cock twitch, and I squeeze my legs together.
“Of course not,” he says, glancing at my mouth, then my eyes before turning to focus on the road.
“I am an equal opportunity employer, you know,” he chastises, his lips pulling into a smirk.
I push some stray hair behind my ear.
“Right, of course. Just uh… it’s not… something I usually tell people. You know, on a first date.”
I realize my blunder and try to cover up immediately. “Day! I mean day…”
Sloane laughs.
“Don’t worry, Oliver, darling, your secret is safe with me,” he says with a wink, and I feel my entire body heat like a damn volcano, not just my cheeks.
He lets out a laugh, and I bury my head in my hands.
Oh my God. I am such a fucking idiot!
The car comes to a slow stop and I realize we are outside my apartment complex. I’ll have to pick my car up at Robbie’s tomorrow. It’s too late to head there now, and suddenly I feel exhausted.
“Thank you,” I say, glancing at Sloane. His icy eyes hold my gaze and he nods.
“Of course. You are mine, after all. My assistant.” His words settle on me and he lets out a heavy breath. “And I told you, I take care of what belongs to me.”
He opens his car door before I can, and within seconds is at my side, opening mine for me. I step out, nearly stumbling into him from the darkness and my woozy legs.
He shuts it, I realize how close we are.
“Shall I walk you to your door?” he asks with a smirk. “Finish this date… I mean day with a personal escort?”
My heart races like a freight train, so loud in my chest, I think surely he must hear it.
“Um… I am good, I think,” I say, though I am not sure that is the case. My damn legs feel like Jell-O.
“Alright then.” He steps away, giving me the chance to move and I take it gladly. I get halfway down the sidewalk before I turn around, noting he’s still standing, leaning against his sharp BMW, hands in his pockets. Watching me.
Like a damn hawk.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Good night, Oliver,” he says, and with that he slips into his shadowed car and leaves me alone with a racing heart. And a strained, aching hard-on.
Fucking hell.