9. Silas
9
SILAS
H e’s so fucking hot. Out here in the sunlight, it’s even more blinding. His color-saturated lips, those sparkling emerald eyes, and the idea of him in a jock—like the one I’m wearing right now. He’s too much. I knew this conversation would get me worked up, and I’m well aware these pants hide nothing.
I wish I could say I didn’t wear the pants on purpose, but I did. Training him has me more sexually frustrated than I’ve ever been in my life. Do I expect a man like him to break his vows and put his prestigious career on the line for a guy like me? Fuck no. Would I jump at the chance? Fucking probably. Watching all those erections go to waste is killing me slowly—like bleeding out from a paper cut.
A better idea than a cup is a cage—one only I have a key to. That would satisfy his proper Catholic sensibilities, and it’d be sexy as hell. And that’s why I’m having this conversation. Intrusive thoughts like that . I could have probably been nicer, but something’s gotta change, or I’ll go up in flames.
He probably doesn’t even know what a cock cage is.
I feel inordinately possessive of him in the sickest way. I was his first. I control who comes and goes into his apartment. He’s put his body in my hands to make it even better than it already is. That first week training him, I won’t lie—I did expect to hear from him through Katia. The tension was thick in that gym, and his boners were persistent. But after five intense sessions, he seems to tolerate all of it like it’s a clicking noise in a radiator. Something he can relegate to the background and ignore. I’m the one with the problem.
Wanting him is hard to admit, though. I don’t like putting myself out there like that, not since Ben took all my feelings for him and told me they didn’t matter. And I don’t know that I would call what’s happening here feelings exactly. It’s a goddamn gym crush. Only so much more complicated because he’s him . And I can’t read the guy for shit.
“Forget the jockstrap,” I sigh. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Figure what out?”
“You know how I can tell you’ve never been in a relationship, Graham?” I ask in lieu of answering his question.
“How?”
“You keep asking questions like that.”
“I’m just trying to understand.”
“And you need everything spelled out for you, apparently.”
“What I don’t need is to be spoken to like a child.”
“Then quit acting so clueless.”
Next thing I know, he’s right up on me, his chest touching my shoulder and his voice low, close enough to my face that the heat of his breath warms my cheek. “I was the captain of my debate team. I know how to have a conversation and argue different points of view. The problem here, Silas, is that you won’t say what’s actually on your mind. So quit talking around it and make your point. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
I slide my gaze around to meet his. “Why haven’t you set something up with Katia?”
“I can’t afford you. ”
I glance down at his mouth. “And if you could?”
“Then you’d really think I was stalking you.”
“Do I sound like I’d mind?”
“Up until this second, yes.”
I’ve had those pretty lips around my cock. “I wouldn’t.”
His eyes narrow like he’s trying to see inside my head. It’s taking a lot of willpower not to grab him by the sweatshirt and drag his body against mine, slot our legs together, and get one or two good grinds in. It’s so hot between us. That night wasn’t a fluke.
I just wish he weren’t such a—whatever the hell he is. Republican. Senator. Husband. Daddy’s boy. His looks are probably all he’s got going for him, but I’m hooked. “You might want to take a step back,” I warn him.
“Why’s that?”
“Figure it out, Senator.”
He smirks and backs off half a step. So, maybe he’s not completely clueless.
I suck in a fresh breath of air. “You want to run or what?”
“You sound like you hate me.”
“I’m not sure I don’t.”
“I kinda like it.”
I snort. “Of course you do.”
I take off at a jog, and he somehow manages to keep up.
“You were nicer at the Plaza,” he tells me after a few minutes.
“I was being paid a lot that night to be accommodating. It’s not my nature. I’m from Queens.”
“And working three jobs to take care of your mom.”
“That doesn’t make me a sweetheart or some kind of hero. It’s what needs doing. Where does your family live?” I ask.
“TriBeCa. But I grew up in Greenwich Village. They split their time between here and the Hamptons.”
“Of course.” I can’t believe he had the nerve to say he couldn’t afford me and then all that in the span of a few minutes. “How are you and Avery settling in?”
“She’s loving it,” he says, fighting for breath.
I slow to a walk for a few minutes so he can get used to the pace. He adds, “Already making tons of friends through her Pilates classes.”
“And you?”
“My home office is all set up. I spend a lot of time in there on the phone trying to get ready for the legislative session. I’m not sure what to expect. And there’s a lot of reading and catching up to do. The campaign took over my life for a while. I’m glad I don’t have to do that again for another five years.”
“Is this what you always wanted to do? Politics?”
He laughs. “Not at all. It’s what my father wanted, and the challenge sounded interesting.”
“You like to keep busy, huh?” I ask.
“Kind of. Yeah. You’re not really one to talk.”
“Hey, if I could drop the doorman gig, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but it pays my health insurance.”
“ That’s the job you’d quit?”
“I like training, and the other one—” I glance at him for this, “That’s just easy money.”
“Is it always?” he asks.
I look away just as fast, down at the path beneath my feet. “Some nights are better than others.”
“I bet you have stories.”
“Yeah, but I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You kiss? Huh. Don’t seem to recall that.”
“Like I told you at the time. It’s way extra.”
“You did leave a mark, though,” he says, and I stop in my tracks.
“I what?”
Graham stops, too, and pulls his phone out of his inner jacket pocket. Opening it, he scrolls before turning the screen to me, and there it is, a mirror selfie focused in on a spot right underneath his left ear, a tiny mouth-shaped hickey. My balls tighten dangerously as I look at the photograph for a few seconds too long. I start walking again, hoping to distract myself from what’s happening behind my athletic cup. “Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t have to explain that to anyone on your wedding day.”
“A little concealer…bada bing…”
I roll my eyes. We cross the bridge overlooking the Bethesda fountain as we make our way to the west side of the park. I like this side better. It feels wilder and more private, but that could just be the paths I like to take. The ones less traveled.
“Ready to run?” I ask.
“If I have to.”
I reach out to swat him in the ass but whip my hand back at the last second. What the fuck was that? Fifteen more minutes, and I’m calling this a day.
Friday, I find Graham waiting for me on Park Avenue—but this time, he’s here uninvited. We parted with a couple of see you laters, and we have a training session at the gym scheduled for five this evening, but I guess he couldn’t wait? Or he’s taking my advice about cardio to heart.
He’s wearing sunglasses and a backwards ball cap along with a new shirt like the one I’d worn the other day, but sadly, his pants are baggy. Shit, even his slight hint of love handles are hot. I’d almost rather skip core workouts with him altogether than risk losing that soft midsection of his.
I also love a tight body, though, so my wanting to keep him less than model-perfect could also be for the selfish reason of maintaining my dignity around him.
I try not to look surprised to see him. He’s not the most enthusiastic of my clients, so this attempt at extra credit does impress me. I pull out my earbud and squint at him. “Have you formally decided on running, or is this a trial period?” See, I can talk to him without being a complete dick.
“Trial period,” he says. “My shins were killing me after last time, but I figured you might have some tips or tell me it works itself out eventually.”
“And your feet are okay in those shoes?”
“You were wrong about the blisters. No offense.”
“I can teach you some stretches for your shins. It usually works itself out.” I program my watch for a thirty minute walk-run. I’ll have to hit the treadmill later to get my usual cardio in, but this morning, I’ll just enjoy the view.
He’s vaguely disguised, and I guess he has his reasons, but this version of him is stupid sexy. The cap does things to me—the kind of things that make me want to do bad things to him. It’s been a while since I’ve had a genuine crush on someone. I’ll find men attractive in passing, and if my straight roommate Drew ever wants to experiment and make out with me, I’ll be absolutely down for it, but this kind of unrequited pining is painful in multiple regions of my body. Chest, dick, my ass a little bit.
Fuck.
“Did you know I’d be here?” I ask, not so subtly alluding to the light stalking behavior.
“You were working when I got home last night, so I thought maybe.”
“Normally, I run five miles.”
“Oh.”
“So I guess if you’re gonna keep showing up like this, we need to get you up to my level.”
A small smile bends his rosy lips. “Go hard on me, then.”
Fuck him for saying that. Fuck him for flirting with me when he’s got nothing to back it up. I respond with, “All right, then, let’s push . ”
He gives his beard a scratch and lopes into the park. I follow, setting the pace, not needing to have a front row seat to his ass jiggle.
“Do you not have any friends?” I ask.
“None I much care for,” he huffs, already working to breathe.
“You’re a strange guy, Graham.”
“How’s that?”
“I can’t decide if you’re really sheltered or if you’re on the spectrum or something—absolutely no offense intended with that.”
“I’ve never been diagnosed with anything,” he says.
“So you think you might be?”
“Why do you ask?”
“It’s not really typical to be as old as you are and not have had any meaningful relationships—even friendships if that’s accurate. It’s confusing.”
“I’ve just been focused on my other goals is all.”
“Is that really all?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few hundred yards, not until my watch beeps and tells us to slow to a walk. “I don’t know why I never wanted a relationship. My family’s transactional. Everything is about what mutual benefit can be derived from alliances—not so much what spot in your heart needs to be filled.”
“But when you were a kid…”
“When I was a kid, I was either at Catholic school or church. Or I was being displayed like a prop for my family.”
“Hold on. Back it up—at school—that’s where people usually make friends.”
“That’s not what I was told,” he says quickly, now that his breathing has settled back into something more sustainable. “I was told my grades were the only thing that mattered—that knowledge was power, and I was there to learn, not play.”
“Okay—but what about your teenage rebel years? What about when most kids turn to other kids to learn how to live and how to belong?”
“Yeah, well, those weren’t good years for me.”
I sit with that a moment and hazard a glance at him, but he’s still impossible to read behind the sunglasses. There’s a tight set to his jaw and a tension at the corner of his mouth. I want to stop him and ask him to explain, but my watch beeps again for another five minute run.
I get lucky, though. He doesn’t let that stop him.