Chapter 5
Artemis
I’d love to say I had no idea that Xavier Martinez was in the same restaurant as my siblings and me, but he has a presence that’s hard to ignore. My pulse went haywire the second I felt it—heat and weight on my face and something magnetic in the air.
Once I knew he was there, it was almost impossible not to stare.
Who knew eating truffle mac and cheese could be sexy? There’s nothing remotely erotic about carbs, and yet here I am.
I’m not a man who generally believes in fate, or signs, so the fact he was in my space for the third time in a matter of hours has raised a flag in the back of my brain.
“You going to get that?” Ares, with a knowing glint in his eye, jerks his head toward my phone in the middle of the table.
It’s facing him, so of course he can see that I got a message.
Come to think of it, for someone who was ‘going home to Eloise,’ he sure as shit changed his tune when he demanded an immediate sibling dinner here at Ember and Oak.
“I’m good.” I’m not good. I’m anything but good. My palms are so fucking itchy that the urge to reach into the middle of the table and pull out my phone is overwhelming.
“Dinner’s on Arte.” Ares’s declaration raises eyebrows around the table as he slides my phone to me across the table.
Someone else messages, illuminating Xavier’s message to me recommending the apple pie. And under the weighty stare of my youngest sibling, I struggle to ignore the piece of tech dangerously close to my pinkie.
“Want to share with the class?” My sister’s shrewd stare and narrow gaze across from me would be enough to make a lesser man sweat. She never misses a single thing.
“Nothing to tell.” I tuck the phone in the pocket of my pants ignoring Ares’s snort.
“I’m taking my dessert to go.”
Apollo snaps his head toward me. “You okay?” His eyes dart between Ares and me like he knows he’s missing something but can’t figure out what. They can smell blood in the water, every damn one of them.
“I’m good, just tired.”
You can see Ares’s eye roll from outer space.
Of course I order the apple pie to go, because if I can’t have Xavier, I can at least eat his recommendation. The wait for the server to bring both my dessert, and the bill, is almost too much to stand.
“You sure you’re okay? Want me to come back with you?” Apollo’s voice conveys real worry. He knows going back to school has been… difficult feels like an understatement, but anything else feels overly dramatic.
“I’m good. Just a lot going on at school.”
There’s literally nothing going on at school. I’ve done every shred of homework, picked up any available extra credit, and I’m on course to ace every fucking class I’m taking.
I’ll only ever fail something once.
But trying to keep up with my peers is exhausting as hell.
I continue to ignore Ares’s wry smile, his barb about having a date with my favorite porn site, and his offer to work out with me if I need to burn off some excess energy. Somehow, I make it down to my car without punching him.
It shouldn’t sting that he can see straight through me. Barbs of irritation stab into me at his meddling. The fuck does he think he is trying to… what? Play cupid with a guy who plays on another team? In another state?
Before Eloise, my brother was a player. Actually, that doesn’t begin to cover how much of a ho he was. He was The Player. He probably fucked half the league before he settled down.
A flicker of excitement threatens to catch in my chest. Could I be a one-and-done guy? Fuck Xavier, get him out of my system, and move on without it causing issue? I’ve done it before; I could do it again.
Yeah, right. And pigs could win the Stanley Cup. Ha. Not a good comparison, because some years they do.
I don’t reply to the text. But I do make sinful sounds while I demolish the pie. He was right. Ten stars. Best pie I’ve ever had in my mouth.
Ares called it though. After I’m done with dessert, I spend an hour working out, and when my already exhausted-from-the-game muscles can’t take anymore, and I’m dripping with sweat, I flip open my laptop and jerk off to whatever comes up first.
Frustration grinds me to a halt because the guy staring back at me doesn’t have brown eyes and looks nothing like the man I want to fuck.
I know nothing about Xavier other than he’s hot, and I want to bang him out of my system. But something about his playful nature, and the way he has slithered under my skin, sends up warnings.
I click until I find someone who looks more like Xavier. If I’m not going to fuck him in real life, I can at least fantasize over someone who looks like him, pretend those feral sounds and the slapping of bodies is mine against his, and his against mine.
I come. It’s fine. My breath saws through the dark silence, my sweat cooling against the chilly air. It’s good. But it’s not enough. Not even close.
It feels hollow, like an echo where a roar should be.
I toss and turn in bed for hours before I slap the soft quilt that feels stifling and unlock my phone.
I finally open his message entirely, staring at his words, dismantling them in my brain. My thumb hovers over my phone ready to engage. “Don’t,” I mutter into the darkness.
It takes some kind of Herculean strength to put the phone down and leave him on read, but I can’t afford to take a chance on a wild card right now.
Restraint wins. Barely.
So, I roll over and let my subconscious dredge up more fantasies of the man with the cheeky smirk who won’t get the hell out of my mind.