21. TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-ONE
The dull throb in my temples doesn’t ease as I rub them.
I drank way too much last night, which resulted in a few texts I’ll regret whenever the recipients get back to me.
Brent—well, he’ll have to accept it. I don’t know what possessed me to end our arrangement, but I haven’t wanted anything to do with him since I met Gray.
Try as I might to pretend I don't feel anything more than a platonic friendship; there is this yearning to have Gray around.
I don’t double dip, not after what happened. In the long run, Brent will realize that even though my heart was never in it, my cock isn’t either. I’m painfully un aroused most days.
As for the other texts, well, I’m not sure how Gray will take them. I admitted that I think about him, even if the text comes from a place of concern. Little does he know, I’m always thinking about him.
Rising from my desk, I cross the space in my office to the water dispenser and fill an empty coffee mug.
Last night, something just fucking cracked in me.
Between my dad breathing down my neck and the weight of my lies bearing down on me, I had to do something to dull the pain.
Downing the entire mug’s worth of water, I set the cup on the countertop built into the suite’s wall and stalk back to my desk.
We are taking over a smaller airline this week, and I’ve been swamped with the mundane details of it all.
Commercial companies like AirSeven—a cheeky play on the seven continents—require more time to square away when brought on with us.
It isn’t until I’m back at my house, alone, that the familiar sinking sensation comes.
The only reprieve is when Gray texts me.
It’s…pathetic.
Slumping into my office chair, I click on my computer, reviewing invoices that need my sign-off, when my phone vibrates.
The sad organ in my chest rumbles to life, bouncing around like the Energizer Bunny. I snatch the phone off my desk, unlock it, and blow out a sigh of relief. I wasn’t ready to deal with Brent, anyway.
Gray: Phone is back on.
Gray: Are you hung over?
I smile at his texts. Just as I’m about to reply, another comes through.
Gray: And…I’m safe.
He isn’t, not really, but this is his choice. One I’ve wanted to rip away with every day that passes so he won’t be subjected to whatever horrors left him bloody and broken by a dumpster.
Have you gotten anything to eat yet?
Also, yes, unfortunately. Remind me never to drink whiskey.
Gray: No food yet. WOrKing on it.
Gray: Workong
Gray: WORKING
I chuckle and refrain from responding with: LOL.
The offer still stands. It’s simple to set up a cash app and place an order.
Gray: That’s not what this is.
It doesn’t mean I won’t still try.
Fuck.
I'm giving myself away.
Just as I’m about to backtrack, my office phone rings. Stifling a growl, I answer, “Kade speaking.”
“Your eleven o'clock appointment is here.”
“Send Mr. Reyes up, please; thanks, Alex.”
“Of course,” my assistant chirps and hangs up.
Knowing I don’t have much time before the client is in my office, I check the new text.
Gray: One of these days, I might say yes.
I’ve been sorely tempted all day to grab a hotel instead of coming back to my house.
Brent is on duty tonight, and as I pull into the gate entry, I try my best to appear nonchalant.
He knew what this was from the start. I come to a stop, fully expecting him to approach me, but he doesn’t.
From inside the guard shack, I spot him glancing briefly at my car, then pressing the button to raise the armbar.
Guilt over ending it through a text makes me stay put. After a few beats, he gets up, opens the sliding door, and sticks his head out. “Problem, Mr. Kade?”
Nodding my head in the universal gesture for: come over here, I let the engine idle while he walks to the driver’s side. “I meant to tell you in person. That text was… impersonal , and I apologize.”
Brent is attractive and young and shouldn’t be limited in how he is with me. “What will it take?” he asks, catching me by surprise.
“Excuse me?”
“What will it take to make you keep me around? I thought what we were doing was good— fun. ”
Crap. Did I read him wrong? “It was. But if you recall, I did get your verbal agreement that it could and would end at my discretion.”
“I’m not a business contract, Hunter. You can’t just terminate a person.”
“I wasn’t insinuating that at all—”
“Who is it, then? Because your last one got iced out when you met me. Who?”
My jaw clenches as he throws a very real fact in my face.
Like I said, I don’t double dip like many single people do.
And when someone new catches my eye, I tend to move on quickly and seamlessly, avoiding the part where attachments form.
It’s how I have to be. I make sure everyone understands that beforehand so there are no surprises.
Casual is fucking casual, damn it.
“Have a nice evening, Brent,” I say and press on the gas.
By the time I get to my house, my mood has tanked into the gutter, worsening as I walk into the cold, clinical environment so void of life that it might as well be a tomb.
My furniture is minimal, the walls bare, and upstairs in my bedroom, it’s even worse.
If not for the lack of suitcases, one would think I lived out of them.
The only sign of life in this place is my unmade bed, which I left this morning because my headache couldn’t be beaten into submission.
Working my tie off my neck, I toss it onto the floor, getting angrier by the second.
My skin is on fire, a layer of imaginary filth clinging to it. No matter how clean I am, I can still feel that grime of an infection coating every surface of my body. Breaking things off with Brent brings back memories I don’t want to deal with—can’t deal with, or else I’ll claw my flesh off.
Doctor Perry ran my tests last week.
I’m fine.
I’m clean.
I’m always safe and careful.
Nothing like that will happen again. I won’t allow it.
But I still rush to my shower, stripping like my life depends on it.
I still turn the heat as high up as I can stand it and scrub myself raw.
Having Brent insinuate that I crossed those lines, that I already found someone to replace him because I sampled it and decided I liked the taste, pisses me off.
Maybe it’s because it’s true.
Maybe I did find someone else.
I don’t know.
I can’t make sense of my obsession with Gray. Where does my kindness end and my selfishness begin? Has there ever been any distinction? Or were they always intertwined?
There is some sense of gratification with him, even if it isn’t the sort I’m used to. Maybe that’s why it’s better.
Fuck, I need to know if he’s okay. If he found somewhere for the night.
I need to know what day his mind will change.