Chapter 13 - Evan
EVAN
Honestly, if he starts trying any harder he’s going to wind up underneath me. Or—more likely, I’ll start stripping off my clothes and begging him to try more. Harder.
I’m doing mental gymnastics not to read too much into this. My suspicion from before about his neurospiciness is being confirmed again and again, but all this undivided attention is really throwing me. It’s my fucking catnip, but I don’t know what to do with it.
I don’t know what to do with the fact that I kissed him, and he didn’t push me away. He held my hands. For kind of a long time. “Do you feel sorry for me?” I ask if only because I’m trying to put this into some category I can cope with.
He looks confused again, but at least he’s looking at me. I love his stormy blue eyes. I love being given the chance to study them up close. “I don’t think so,” he says.
“‘Cause I’m not like—attached to Isaac or anything.”
“You said you like me.”
My face goes instantly red hot. I could blame the pepper in the rice, but I did say that.
I said it a couple of times. Went ahead and admitted it like I tell people I have crushes on them all the time.
“Yeah, well, all I’m saying is I’ll figure it out.
Meaning you don’t have to try so hard. You don’t have anything to feel bad about. ”
“I don’t think I feel bad, either,” he says.
My mouth twists. I don’t want to look away from him, but I do.
“Has Isaac ever told you he has feelings for you?”
I’m glad I’m done eating, or I would have choked again. I manage a laugh instead. “No.”
“Hm. Thank you for being upfront with me,” Deacon says.
The minor subject shifts are a little hard to follow, but I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about Isaac anymore.
“I don’t want it to make things weird with us,” I say.
He actually laughs. He doesn’t do that very often, not outside of the dinner parties or around his finance friends.
“What’s funny?” I ask.
“The idea that you could make it weird when I’m…you know.”
“You’re not weird, Deacon. You’re amazing.”
He blinks, wide-eyed at me.
I grin. “See how I did that? Made it weird?”
He smiles again.
“Wait.” Something he said from before catches up with me. “Why did you ask if Isaac has feelings for me?”
“He mentioned he’s got someone else he’s interested in. That he loves.”
“No. He doesn’t,” I tell Deacon. I toss the napkin on my plate and scoot back on the couch, crossing both my arms and legs so none of my appendages get any crazy ideas.
“He told me he did.”
“Then I think you might have misunderstood. No offense.”
“None taken. But I didn’t misunderstand. And after what you said at dinner, I thought it might be you.”
This causes me to burst into a laugh. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I promise it’s not like that. That’s not how we are at all.”
“He said it was hopeless. I think it’s why he’s giving me a chance.” Deacon’s expression is open and thoughtful.
I scowl at what my roommate is telling me, though.
And then I think about Isaac’s head resting on my back, his breath heavy, and his grip heavier.
These recent requests for me to go to dinner with him.
The handful of times I thought he was going to kiss me after we had sex.
But I always figured, and I still do, that he offers those like consolation prizes to make me feel less cheap.
Or maybe assuage some of his own guilt about being unable to keep his cock out of his assistant because he definitely has some of that.
But there’s no one else outside of his occasional dates.
I would certainly know if there were. I’m privy to his entire calendar.
If he were seeing someone consistently, I’m pretty sure I would know, the same way I could tell he’d hit it off with his “date.” Even if Deacon hadn’t told me about them tonight, I would have figured it out soon enough.
I buy his tickets, make his reservations.
I even hold his phone during important meetings so it won’t distract him, and he doesn’t hide his notifications.
I’ve seen texts from many men. His younger brother Jake, mostly, and business associates, but also a lot of “are you free tonight’s” attached to men with first names only saved into his contact list. Isaac is as single as gay men in this city come. Or I don’t know. Maybe he isn’t anymore.
I feel myself shriveling. What is even the point of me? “It wouldn’t be me,” I whisper, my voice as small as I feel. I don’t know why Isaac would say something like that to Deacon, but I assume he’s got his reasons, which also are none of my fucking business.
Deacon nods. Not like he’s agreeing necessarily but acknowledging what I believe to be true.
My eyes sting as I look at him, so I drop my gaze to my forearms and take a thin breath.
I feel stupid for letting this situation hurt me, but it’s not like I didn’t know it was coming.
The numbness has officially worn off. I’m like one big emotional ache.
I don’t want to go to work tomorrow, and I don’t want to be here, either.
I think I may have let myself get a little too isolated over the last few months while I waited around for Deacon to really notice me and satisfied myself on Isaac’s dick.
I’m the only one of my college friends who stayed in the Bay Area.
My best friend here is a guy I know from high school, and he’s busy with a new relationship and building his own career.
I used to talk to him a few times a week, and now it’s every couple of weeks.
I haven’t seen him since that New Year’s party.
At the office, because I work so closely with Isaac, and I’m not on a team, I’m generally relegated to the outskirts of conversations—no happy hour invites for me.
Until I got too busy with my software, I had my cam boy side hustle, but as real as those relationships felt in a moment, they were one-sided as hell.
I was an idealized image playing a part with a little of myself thrown in for flavor.
But I swear up until right now, I’ve been fine.
I thought—and this is so fucking embarrassing in retrospect—that I really had a shot with Deacon.
That eventually he’d get used to me enough that the shyness would wear off, and we’d find ourselves in a situation kind of like this one, and I would work myself up to making a move.
Maybe giving him a kiss. One he’d return because in my head—he was kind of waiting for the right moment, too.
But that’s not what happened when I kissed him.
Stupid.
I sniff as a tear falls. I swipe quickly at my cheek, reach for my plate, and stand, trying to keep any more from coming out.
Deacon beats me to everything. The plate is out of my hand before I even feel its weight. He’s standing above me before my knees are straight. His hand is on my shoulder.
Why? “If this isn’t gonna result in the biggest hug of all time, I think maybe stop touching me.”
He removes his hand, and I suck in another breath to head off a fresh wave of tears. I hate pushing him away.
“Evan, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“I know,” I tell him. “I don’t expect you to. I’m not sure I do either.”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m really trying not to.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says.
“It’s late. I have a lot I need to think about.”
“Did you want a hug?”
“No, God. Deacon.” I reach up and rub both my burning eyes. “Did you?”
When he doesn’t answer for a full three seconds, I put my hands down and turn away, leaving the living room and closing myself in my bedroom for the night. I don’t burst into tears or anything. A few more trickle out before the well dries up.
I put on some music and sit down on my bed next to Apollo who’s sound asleep and snoring softly. My phone is still there, and the sight of it has me thinking hard about Isaac. What the fuck am I going to say to him tomorrow? Am I supposed to act like I don’t know? Will he have talked to Deacon?
Can I seriously keep working for him? On a conscious level, I knew he wouldn’t be single forever.
He’s incredible—a total catch—and not only that—he doesn’t want to be single.
Maybe I thought I’d get promoted before he found someone?
If it were someone else—if he’d found some stranger and let me know he was in a relationship, would I be feeling the way I’m feeling now?
Maybe some sense of rejection was unavoidable since we have such a regular thing, but I also like to think I would have felt some relief.
Sure, it would have been a bummer not to get to have sex with him anymore.
He’s good at it. It makes working in the office at a nine to five way more appealing knowing I’ll likely get off at some point, but there’s some stress that goes with it, too.
It’s not like I want everyone finding out.
It’s not exactly a good look—fucking the boss.
But this—him and Deacon? It’s ripping me up inside. And it’s making me second guess everything. For example—was I completely off about not having a shot with Isaac? Should I have opened up more to see if we could have had a connection beyond physical attraction?
I shake my head and bury my face in the pillow. No. All roads led to this. Well, not this exactly, but me alone. This was how I set it up. Because avoiding my feelings felt like a safer bet. God, I’m so fucking stupid for thinking this wouldn’t catch up with me.
That settles it. I’m skipping work tomorrow. I need to reevaluate what the fuck I think I’m doing with my life.