Chapter 8
Zeke
After spending the last four years working to make ends meet and giving away parts of myself just to survive, sitting on this floor with Talon has me teetering on the edge of sanity.
It makes me want more. It makes me want him.
He wants nothing from me and asks nothing of me, but continuously shows up in ways I didn’t know mattered.
“You’re going to be alone for Christmas, right?” Talon asks quietly, jarring me out of my thoughts as I take a sip of the sweet bourbon. The music and laughter above us are a nice backdrop, but I’m glad I’m down here in the shadows. With him.
“Yeah, but it’s not so bad,” I answer.
How do I tell him I’d much rather be alone than suffer Derek’s company and his demands?
“Would you maybe want to grab lunch together? My family is all back home in New York. It’d be nice not to spend the day alone since I’m used to a lot of fanfare around the holidays,” he says with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
My brain has trouble processing the request, so I spew the first question that comes to mind.
“Won’t everything be closed?”
“In a vacation destination like this? Nah, something will be open,” he says confidently.
My vision begins to swim, and I know it has nothing to do with the alcohol in my veins.
“Okay, sure,” I hear myself agree. This is about as terrible an idea as there ever was, but when Talon looks at me with a beaming smile, I don’t even care about the bloody lip or bruised ribs I’ll receive if Derek finds out.
Which reminds me… “How are we going to explain where we’ve been tonight?
When we show up at the gondola to leave, people will be curious,” I tell him.
He simply smiles, just like always.
“People will definitely notice. You are kind of a celebrity around here,” he muses, not bothering to answer the question.
“I’m not. People just pity me, and I fucking hate it,” I admit, my lips loosening after another sip of the sweet liquor.
Suddenly, Talon leans forward, his big hand landing on my knee, distracting the ever-loving fuck out of me.
“Hey, I don’t pity you. Your reasons for making the decisions you have make sense to you, and that’s what matters. I won’t pretend to understand it, and I won’t say that I don’t want to help, because I do, but you have to want it, and something tells me you’re hellbent on doing it alone.”
“I just know the price I’ll pay for the so-called help I need. I figure why trade one devil for another, you know?” I throw the rest of my bourbon back in one burning gulp, wishing I could keep my mouth shut.
Talon scoots his body closer and throws an arm across my shoulders, pulling me into his side.
We took our bulky jackets off when we came into the basement, and all that separates us now are his button-down and my sweater.
When his fingers begin lightly rubbing my upper arm, my dick swells, startling me, and I jerk out of his hold.
“Shit. You’re not a hugger,” he observes. “That’s my fault, Zeke. My family is very physically affectionate, and I forget not everyone is like us,” Talon explains, making me feel like crap.
“Oh, uh, no. I mean, that’s true, but I didn’t mind,” I say, stumbling over my words. “I just…” I trail off, not knowing how to finish that sentence since ‘liked it too much’ isn’t an option I can just throw out there.
But Talon doesn’t let it go.
“Just what?”
“Just didn’t have a lot of it growing up, so it feels overwhelming sometimes…when people touch me.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.
Touch has become a punishment for me.
Starved of it as a child, Derek was my first experience with physical intimacy. Except I got chastised when I would reach for him, and the result was pain when he would reach for me. I think my wires have gotten crossed somewhere along the way.
I don’t say any of that out loud, though.
Talon’s arm hangs limply by his side until his hand slowly crawls across the floor, his small finger overlapping mine first.
“Is this okay?” he asks as he intertwines the rest of our fingers together.
His grip isn’t tight. He isn’t trapping me, and I’m relieved to find my heart rate slowing down instead of speeding up, preparing to fight or flee this situation.
“Um, yeah,” I confirm, confusion settling between my brows. “Do you always hold hands with guys?” The question sounds stupid, but I remember the day he admitted he was straight.
He laughs quietly before answering.
“No, but like I said, I enjoy physical touch. I like the connection. It doesn’t really matter to me what gender or sexual identity you go with; if we connect, we connect.”
“I can’t say that’s a terribly popular opinion out here,” I tell him.
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but…New York, remember?
Also, my parents are great, and my siblings and I are really close.
It’s hard being away from them, and I guess I’m a little touch-starved,” he says, revealing more about himself.
“But if I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.
” He tries to pull his hand away from mine, but I squeeze, causing him to leave our fingers locked.
“No, it’s nice,” I say honestly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“If you miss your family so much, why did you come out here?”
Talon shifts beside me, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s distracting as hell.
“I guess in a way, I came out here for them, and I’m happy to be here, but I miss them at the same time.”
His answer doesn’t give much away, and I don’t press for more.
“How old are you?” he asks after a beat of silence.
“Twenty-two. You?”
He groans before answering.
“Thirty-two,” he says, shocking the absolute hell out of me. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself.”
“You don’t look thirty-two,” I observe, growing more curious about his backstory by the second. He glances at me with a smirk. “What?” I finally ask when he stays quiet.
“You definitely look twenty-two,” he says before bringing his glass to his lips.
The way they part to make room for the rim of the cup is mesmerizing. The tip of his tongue is just barely visible, and my greedy eyes slide down his throat as he swallows, causing my palm to sweat where his palm is pressed against it.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. For so long, sex has been a transaction conducted out of obligation, not an act of love or passion.
Derek never gave me time or space to grow true desire before making demands in return for the help I needed, and before him, there was no one.
Because of that, my relationship with intimacy is non-existent, and my relationship with sex is full of anger, bitterness, and resentment, making me wonder if I’m even capable of a healthy sex life.
Because of that fear, being turned on at all right now is somewhat of a relief. However, being turned on by Talon is the world’s cruelest joke because, of course, the first man I meet whose touch brings me comfort instead of fear and who has an extraordinary emotional I.Q is straight.
But I’m used to pain, physical and emotional, so I cling to his hand a little tighter, allowing myself to enjoy the moment for once, hoping like hell it’ll be enough since I know it will be over all too soon.
“Take my number,” Talon says, his voice filling the void. “I’ll reach out tomorrow after seeing what’s open, and I’ll send you a text.”
It’s a completely reasonable request, but still, I hesitate.
“Um, maybe it would be better if…” I let the sentence die after pointing it in the right direction.
“If you put your number in my phone instead, so there’s no trace of me in yours?” Talon finishes for me.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod.
“You know that’s a red flag, right?” When I don’t look at him, Talon sets his bourbon down and carefully approaches my face with his now-free hand. When he pauses an inch from my skin, I nod again, unsure what he’s planning to do, but knowing I trust whatever comes next.
He places two fingers under my chin and guides me to look at him so gently, I almost break right there on the floor.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says. “Isolating you from healthy friendships is a major sign of insecurity. My number should be allowed in your phone without it causing an argument.”
I avert my gaze because having Talon’s perfect features this close to my face is too much to bear. Too close and not close enough all at the same time. When he runs his thumb along my jaw, a shuddering breath leaves my lungs, stripping me raw.
I close my eyes in an attempt to fold into the spots he’s touching, wanting to reduce myself to only those places we’re connected because they’re the first places to have ever come alive.
All too soon, the moment is gone, and he’s passing his phone to me.
“Any chance we could take a selfie?” he asks while I type my number into his phone. “I’ll use it as your contact picture.”
He wants a picture with me?
“Of course,” I say without hesitation, already knowing he doesn’t plan to post it anywhere or somehow use it against me.
He leans in, angling his head so our temples touch as he holds his camera out in front of him, our faces centered on the screen.
I’m blown away by how good we look together.
His dark coloring next to my sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes, his hint of scruff to my baby face.
Of course, he’s wearing an easy, breathtaking smile, and although I want to give him one, my gaze is far more contemplative as I stare at the screen, wishing this moment could multiply into a million more.