16. Graham
16
GRAHAM
M y blood thrums as I approach Silas at the park entrance where we’ve met twice. He looks me over, confused.
I’m not dressed for a run. I have no interest in sweating and freezing my ass off at the same time. This is already the coldest November I can remember. I can’t believe it hasn’t broken a record. I’m in jeans, boots, a black sweater, and a wool overcoat. He’s in all his tight compression clothes, a beanie and gloves, lightly jogging in place and shaking out his arms to keep himself warm. Or he is until he sees me and goes still.
“That was a good text,” I tell him.
He looks me over again. “Not good enough to talk you into a run apparently.”
I take my phone out of my pocket and type out a text. His phone buzzes when I hit send.
He reads the words on his screen.
Me
Can we go someplace warmer instead ?
He seems to read it several times before finally glancing up from his screen to me. “Yeah.”
Okay, so maybe he meant what he said in his earlier message. Maybe he is easy.
I manage to hail the first cab that passes, and he and I hop in. The warm air from the heater makes him shudder. “Where are we going?”
“My old apartment.” I give the driver the Chelsea address and sit back, turning to look at Silas. He swipes off his beanie, leaving his hair a mess of static and half-dry strands. He smells like he just showered.
“Spent the night with your ex, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“You do that often?”
“He’s been in London. So no. First time for me. Not sure what I was thinking. I mean, I was pretty drunk.”
The instantaneous jealousy is like a nuclear blast. I want to push my way out of the cab and storm away from him. Whatever this is—whatever he wants from me or I want from him isn’t normal or healthy. It’s corrosive. Toxic.
Stupid.
So fucking stupid. I could flush my entire future down the toilet in the space of a sunrise, but all I can think about is how much I want to slide my hand between his thick, muscular thighs, run it over his crotch and see if what he said was true—does he really want me? It’s been a few days since Avery took advantage of my erection, and we haven’t had a repeat of the event, though I know it’s only a matter of time. I can practically hear her biological clock ticking.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you,” I say, changing the subject so I don’t explode.
“I wasn’t expecting to text you, but I guess I got sick of the misunderstandings.”
I assess him as coldly as I can manage, my need to keep my guard up around him has become a survival mechanism. “Are you prepared to be clearer?”
“I am,” he says.
“How?”
“When we get wherever we’re going, I’ll make sure you understand exactly what I want.”
“Wanna tell me about your ex?” I ask, though I don’t know why. Maybe I’m a masochist.
“Not really. Do you need to hear about it?”
The jealousy isn’t going anywhere, so I might as well get my need to know more out of the way. “Sure.”
Silas pulls off his gloves and keeps his gaze on his hands. “His name’s Ben. He’s an architect. He moved to London about a year ago and broke things off. It came out of nowhere. I thought we were good, but he was ready to move on.”
“Except not,” I say.
Silas’s dark eyes meet mine sharply. “Apparently he wasn’t a big fan of London. Thing is, I’m not sure he’s a big fan of me, either.”
“And yet…”
“Right, well, old habits.”
“And you say you didn’t see it coming?”
“Him up and leaving? I mean, I knew he had the opportunity—just didn’t realize he was gonna break up with me to take it.”
“Ah.”
We’re silent for a few blocks, and tension fills the cab to the point where I’m having trouble taking a deep breath. My old apartment is getting closer with every roll of the tires, and I feel a round of second-guessing coming on. More words erupt from my chest. “Were you working for Katia when you were together?”
“Uh…yeah. For about a year before he left.”
“And he knew?”
“Yes,” Silas says quietly. “Sort of. He knew I was an escort, but he didn’t know about the sex. ”
This raises my eyebrows. I look out the window to hide my surprise.
“Or maybe he did,” Silas goes on. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Honestly? It wasn’t going to change anything, and I didn’t want to hear what he thought about it.”
“What do you think about it?” I ask, surprising myself.
“I think it pays the kind of money I need, and it’s easy.”
“Is it?”
“More or less. Yeah. Beats busting my ass on some loading dock. Schedule’s flexible.”
My mouth twitches. I nearly smile.
“Are we done with twenty questions?” he asks.
“Unless you have any for me,” I tell him.
“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into right now?” he asks.
The question makes my heart race. “Probably not.”
“Nervous?”
“Yeah.”
He makes a sound like a soft laugh, and I hate it. I shift in my seat and refuse to look at him.
“Sorry,” he says like he noticed. “I’m a little nervous, too. I was expecting a jog.”
After another block of silence, he asks, “Were you nervous the first time?”
“Yes,” I tell him. I was a mess with index cards.
“You did great.”
I guess that’s a compliment, and it sends my anxiety through the roof. “It’s not really the same though, is it?”
“How do you mean?” he asks.
“We know each other now.”
Silas stretches his legs. “I’m not sure I’d go that far.”
I barely suppress a heavy roll of my eyes. He’s fucking impossible. It makes me want to reopen his text and read it again. He’d said some borderline nice things. Desperate things. Things that made me sweat as I read it in my bed an hour ago. Say the word… I’d be on my knees. I want you.
I have no reason not to believe him. He’s here. But I have every reason to question what the hell I’m doing here with him.
I’m not sure Avery would take kindly to my sneaking off in the morning to see about a guy when I agreed to think about starting a family with her a week ago. Especially a guy who runs ice cold one second and burning hot the next.
“Last night was that bad, huh?”
He scowls at me. “Where’d that come from?”
“I just figured. You’re sort of scraping the barrel with me of all people.”
“I don’t see it that way,” he says shortly. “How much longer until we get to this apartment of yours?”
The question makes my cock ache. I rub at my jaw and realize I left home without shaving. I gesture at the road. “It’s rush hour. Who knows?”
He shifts, folding his arms over his chest and sinking as much as he can into the seat, his legs spread wide. He looks like a kid in detention—the rebel type I always marveled at who didn’t seem to care about what anyone thought of them—teachers, parents, administrators, fellow students. Me. They never looked happy, and Silas doesn’t either. He never does.
“I’d think you’d be trying harder,” I say after another few silent blocks.
“Hm?”
“You said a lot in the text you sent. Apologized even. But now I just get this same old pissed off version of?—”
“I’m not pissed off. I’m impatient. I want to be alone.”
“So you’re only an asshole in public?”
“I’m not an asshole,” he mumbles. “I’m frustrated.”
“About what? ”
He gives me a look like I could not possibly be more oblivious. And I guess I am because I can’t read the look or guess what he’s thinking. I feel sick.
“Did you read my text?” he practically snaps.
I inhale sharply and turn away.
“I’m sorry,” he says, softer. “I don’t know why I get like this with you.”
“I’m not an asshole either.”
“I know that.”
“I get this feeling like you’re gonna be really bad for me,” he says.
“Me? Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”
“Then why?—”
“Can you stop asking questions?” he says. “Please?”
I do better than that. I shut the fuck up entirely. My silence doesn’t help the cab ride go any faster, and it does nothing to thin out the thick tension in the air, but it’s quiet.
My thoughts turn to my apartment. I haven’t been back in a few months. The last time I was there, I cleaned out the fridge, so nothing should smell. I have no sentimental attachment to the property. I’ve hardly lived there. A couple of weeks at a time now and then.
It was professionally decorated—an ideal bachelor pad with a huge TV and a great sound system. Like my parents thought I might want to throw big parties with all my “friends.”
Or have someplace private to bring someone. Avery, I guess. But Avery loves my parents’ place. I never felt the need to bring her someplace private, so the apartment remains a secret.
The classy facade of The Chelsea Hotel flashes by, which means we’re close. I glance at Silas and catch his eye while he does the same.
I don’t know what he sees on my face, but whatever it is, it causes him to say, “I’ll explain once we’re inside. ”
I want to ask explain what? But he’s sick of questions. He’s the most unpredictable person I’ve ever met. I have no idea what to expect—what our dynamic is, or if we even have one.
All I know is I want him. Nothing about that has changed, even if he just stumbled out of bed with his ex.
The cab pulls to a stop. I swipe my card to pay for the ride, add a tip, and duck my head getting out. I don’t look up until we’re inside the building. The amount of surveillance cameras in the city is staggering, and the last thing I need is for someone to spot me here and snap a photo of me going inside with Silas. I have no way of knowing how he organizes his life—whether he’s well known around town, or how easy he would be to dig up dirt on—I expect easy.
“I’m on the third floor, assuming you don’t mind the stairs.”
“I think I can handle it,” he says, still grumbling like he’d rather be anywhere else. “No doorman?”
We had to come through two sets of locked doors to reach the stairwell. I’m not sure what purpose a doorman would serve. The mailboxes are all easily accessible in the lobby. “No.”
“How do you get deliveries?”
“Do you have a doorman where you live?”
“No, but…stuff just shows up at the door.”
“I’ve never had a delivery here,” I say flatly, my nerves getting the better of me.
“What’s the story with this place? You said Avery doesn’t know about it?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“It’s nice.”
“She had her heart set on the Upper East Side.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” Silas says, one step behind me.
“You prefer it up there, too?”
“Cleaner, less crowded. What’s not to like?”
“It’s fine, I guess,” I say.
Silas leaves that comment alone, and soon we’re at my door. I unlock it and let him in. Light floods the east facing apartment. Honeyed hardwoods gleam like someone just polished them, but the truth is they’re just new, and no one lives here. The tan, leather sectional looks soft and glowy on the cream rug. Only the darkened television set shows off a fine layer of dust.
“Jesus, this is nice,” he says, staring at the wall of windows. They’re multi-paned with a cathedral shape, rounded at the top and flat on the bottom. Running a hand along the black granite island as he walks toward them, he adds, “You could grow a hundred plants here.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I murmur, not loud enough for the sound to carry. I drop my keys, phone, and wallet on the counter before leaning against it to watch him. The light catches all the contours of him in his tight clothes, and I breathe through a sudden, nauseating wave of attraction.
If I could pray these feelings away, I would. I neither need nor want this. I want what Avery’s offering. Legitimacy. Acceptance. A kernel of truth born from a lie. Instead, I get a choice—and with a temptation like Silas, I hardly stand a chance.
Do I have to go through with this? No.
But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. As bad as he is at it, he may only want to talk, and if history is any measure, the things he says do more to destroy me than entice me.
His shoulders move with a deep inhalation, and he turns to face me.