“Oh. Uh. After you,” Beale said, and though I would not admit it aloud even under the rudest torture, those few, rough, fumbling syllables felt like raindrops on parched skin.
“Oh, no, you go.” I smiled tightly. “I can wait. If you’re gonna shower, I mean. I’ll… wait here.”
“I should, probably. Yeah. Good call.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll just… do that?”
“Sure.”
God, this awkwardness was terrible.
I’d slept in this man’s arms last night. I’d kissed him goodbye this morning with a smile and a “call me if you need anything,” and I’d let myself start to think thoughts about how I could maybe… have this. Have him. For my own.
Stupid, stupid. I was nobody’s endgame. Nobody’s motherfucking soul mate.
I was desperate to know what had changed, but I was fucking terrified to know what had changed.
I wanted him to keep talking and also to just go away before he shredded my self-control.
But apparently I enjoyed the pain more than my sanity, because I found myself saying, “But what do you think of the decorations, though? Be honest.”
“‘Be honest,’ huh?” Beale’s jaw worked like I’d asked him a totally different question. “That’s… wow.” He blew out a breath. “Honestly, I think the decorations are great, Trey. I think Mason will love them. I think no one could have pulled this off like you did. But then, I’ve thought you were pretty extraordinary from the first moment we met.”
I stared at him in surprise. He’d spoken those pretty words like a challenge. Like the opening salvo in some war. Like he was pissed that I was extraordinary, and more pissed that he had to acknowledge it. I had no idea how to respond to that. It was one thing for him to be “it’s been fun but it’s over” distant, but another thing entirely for him to be angry.
What the hell was that about?
“Well. How kind of you to say,” I managed to reply. “I—”
“It’s really not. I—ah, fuck it.” Beale grabbed my face in his two big paws, speared his fingers in my hair, and kissed me until my ears rang. He tasted like green tea and bright anger, and as he kissed me, that anger leached into me, too.
How dare he be mad at me! How dare he kiss me like this when he was the one pulling away?
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself up so I could put my legs around his waist. Beale caught me with both hands under my ass in the way I guess I’d instinctively known he would—even if he was mad at me, even if he was acting distant—and I groaned, reveling in the feeling.
Someone nearby whooped and someone else laughed, and I barely heard it because Beale was kissing me with passion and a kind of aggression I’d never experienced with him before.
He carried me into the guesthouse, where the air-conditioning was cool on my overheated skin, and broke apart just long enough to say, “Keep everyone out, LJ,” and for Littlejohn to say, “Already told Trey I would.”
Then Beale slammed the door behind us… and we were alone.
14
Beale
Czarina’s StarCharts for Today:
Virgo, your greatest gifts are your listening ear and your loyal heart. But are you listening to the truth or to your own fears?
What the fuck was I doing?
I’d driven here, absolutely ready to confront Toby and demand answers, forgetting that the place would be littered with volunteers. So I’d tried avoiding him, except that hadn’t worked either, so now all of a sudden I was kissing him like he was oxygen and I was a fire.
His weight in my arms and the smooth, solid heat of him against my chest felt so right it was hard to stop, but I had to. I was angry, when I hardly ever got angry. I couldn’t imagine having sex with someone in this state. It probably wasn’t healthy… right?
I pulled him off my body, which was a little like pulling a remora off a shark, and set him on the tiled floor in the living room, where the two of us stared at each other, panting.
One time, maybe a year ago, at the same flea market where I bought my variscite, I walked by a woman doing Tarot readings, and she’d offered me a single-card draw for free. I’d learned as a kid that some “fortune tellers” would tell you whatever junk you wanted to hear just to get you to spend more for a full reading, but this lady had a vibe about her, a kind of clarity to her aura, so I’d gamely drawn a card.
“Ace of wands.” The woman had frowned, and her earrings had tinkled as she tilted her head like she was trying to see inside mine. “I see new beginnings for you. Passion beyond passion. But remember that when hot passion collides with a cool and patient spirit…” She’d brought her hands together in a loud clap, like booming thunder, and grinned. “Remember that destruction leads to new beginnings, too.”
I’d politely excused myself after that because the woman clearly didn’t know what she was talking about. Passion? Destructive? Me? Never.
Until now.
Toby’s big brown eyes were fever-shiny, his cheeks were flushed pink, his hair was a violent mess, and his lips were bright red. He wore that wary, vulnerable look that had slayed me the first night we met and—shocker—slayed me even now when I felt like he’d played me for a fool.
Fuck, I wanted him so much. I shouldn’t, but I did. And it might destroy me, but I was going to see it through.
Forgetting all about what might be right or healthy, I was on him again in a second, pushing him against the wall across from the little sofa, kneading his ass with both hands, and moaning when he rubbed his half-hard dick against my thigh. I wanted to get closer to him, to feel that completeness one more time before… before whatever happened next.
“Come on,” I muttered, pulling him toward the bathroom. Just that morning, we’d been careful to hide the lube and condoms in Toby’s toiletry case under the sink for the duration of the party, giggling like a pair of kids who didn’t care very much if they got caught. Now, I grabbed the case and practically threw it on the vanity, rifling through it thoughtlessly.
“Hey,” Toby croaked. “Hey, chill. Beale!” He grabbed the case from my hand and frowned at me severely as he removed the things I wanted. “Look, the stuff’s right here, but before we do this, we need to talk. We need to—”
I kissed him again, hard, pouring all my hurt and anger and fear into the kiss, and Toby clutched at my shoulders for a beautiful half second before pushing me away once more.
“Wait,” he panted. “Wait. Look, angry sex is probably enjoyable, and I’m not opposed to giving it a whirl, but I think it would be advisable for me to know why you’re mad at me beforehand.”
I rubbed both hands over my face and forced out a frustrated growl between clenched teeth. Then I turned on my heel and stalked back to the kitchen where I slammed open the refrigerator door and took out a bottle of water.
“Seriously, Goodman, what the actual fuck?” Toby demanded, tossing the lube and condoms on the counter so he could set his hands on his hips.
I downed half the bottle in one go, then slapped the bottle down on the counter so hard water sprayed out the top.