I didn’t want to go to a club. I didn’t want a hookup with someone like freakin’ Aron, who had started my life down this ridiculous path in the first place. The gorgeous men who thronged the late-summer streets left me cold.
I wanted Beale.
And yet the second my feelings touched the edge of potential hurt, I flinched and ran like an animal bumping up against an invisible fence, because I was nothing if not consistent.
My family disowned me? I ran from expectations and hid behind Hagatha.
My heart got broken? I ran from relationships.
Paparazzi came out of the woodwork after the Jayd debacle, and I got scared? I ran away from home to bury my head in the sand.
I fucked things up with Beale? I ran back to the city.
My one attempt to repair things didn’t hit right? I was going to chuck everything away again.
Except I wasn’t. Not this time.
It wasn’t enough to simply fight hard when things seemed hopeless. I was pretty sure you had to keep fighting over and over, which sounded exhausting until I remembered that Beale was the prize, and that was worth anything.
So what if he hadn’t read my article? So what if my grand gesture had, in the end, fizzled? This wasn’t the final nail in the coffin. It was not the end of the line if I didn’t allow it to be. I would go back to Whispering Key and sort this.
First thing in the morning.
I pulled out my phone and ordered myself another Peanut Butter Party delivery, stat, vowing it would be my last, no matter what happened. Then I got a chicken phall roll from my favorite Indian place on Macdougal and ate it as I walked home, pausing to watch the kittens in the window of the pet store just a block from my building. None of the felines were as antisocial and weirdly adorable as Marjorie, but one was a pretty ginger who sort of reminded me of her, and…
Okay, fine. I was a mere mortal, and no more could I take. I couldn’t wait for the next day. I couldn’t wait another minute. I got out my phone—which was Beale’s phone—and dialed his number with a mouth gone dry. I would tell him how I felt. I would apologize. I would ask how he felt. I would…
Voicemail.
Fuck.
“Um. Heya, Beale. So, it’s me… Toby Elford.”
Jesus Christ, how had I ever graduated kindergarten?
“I was just calling to say hi. And Mason said a plague of food poisoning hit the island, so I wondered how you were. And I think I owe you money. And also an apology.”
I ran out of breath and choked on my own saliva as I gasped air into my lungs, since my family line had clearly not evolved to the point where we could speak and breathe at the same time.
“So maybe.” Cough. “You could call me back? My number is…” I coughed some more. “Um. Actually. I guess it’s probably already on your phone, since that’s how phones work. Ha! Well. Alrighty, then. Hope you’re well. Um. Bye.”
I closed my eyes and smacked the phone against my forehead repeatedly. Had I actually just left a voice message in which I overtly referenced gastrointestinal illness and aspirated my own spit simultaneously?
“Why must you always be such an overachiever, Tobias?” I moaned.
Thank God my readers couldn’t see me.
But the good news was that when you hit bottom, there was nowhere to go but up, right?
“Tommy? Tommy! Damn, baby, what’re the chances? Been callin’ you for weeks!”
The bad news was that so often when you thought you’d hit bottom, you hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
I opened my eyes to find Aron standing in front of me on the sidewalk, flanked by a couple other muscleheads. They were all dressed to the nines, like they were out on the prowl, and the look on Aron’s face as he stared at me suggested I was a Christmas miracle that had appeared a few months early.
One of the friends jabbed the other in the bicep, and they rolled their eyes behind Aron’s back in a knowing way, like they thought their friend was about to score before they even made it to the club.
The very idea made me wanna vomit.
“Mi angel, can we talk for a second?” Aron reached out a hand for me, and when I sidestepped, he darted a glance at the others, like he didn’t want me to get away but also didn’t want to explain my presence to his friends.
I inhaled sharply. Once again, my instincts were screaming at me to walk away, run away, deflect, and retreat, but I made myself stand firm. I wasn’t going to do that anymore. Leaving Whispering Key was the last time I would run away.
From now on, I was running toward something. Toward Beale.
So instead, I pretended that Beale was standing behind me, his broad chest against my back.
“I told you not to mi angel me,” I said, folding my arms. “It was bad enough hearing it the night you staged that picture.”
“What? Tommy, come on.” Aron smiled for his friends’ benefit and reached for me again. “Two minutes—”
“Zero minutes, and do not place your hand on me unless you’d like me to explain to your friends exactly how a photographer from BlazeNewz helped you pay for that Tom Ford.” I gave his suit a critical eye. “Under these streetlights, you look positively jaundiced. Silver is so not your color.”
He forced a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy. I didn’t stage—”
“Of course, I’m sure your friends will find out all the details when I testify on behalf of Jayd Rollins. I’ve already given an affidavit that the picture was staged,” I lied, not bothering to lower my voice. “I named you and BlazeNewz specifically, and explained all about the deal I was offered to out Jayd for money—”
“Aron, what’s he talking about?” One of Aron’s friends elbowed him in the side.
Aron seemed too busy staring at me to notice.
“I’m not certain whether his team are planning to go forward with things from a legal standpoint first,” I continued blithely, “or just get HiWire News to write up a huge exposé of the situation. First they need to contact your gym to see how they feel about one of their trainers being involved in something like this. And they’ll contact that body competition thingy, too—”
“Muscle Men of Manhattan?” Aron’s eyes were round. “No.”
“Yep.” I inspected my nails. “But it won’t be so bad. Your bosses might not be happy, and I’m not sure if the Muscle Men will want someone of your moral standing to compete, but at least you have your blood money, right? Better than the choice you gave Jayd.”
“Jayd?” Aron’s other friend said. “Like, Rollins? Wait, what?”
Aron swallowed and whispered hotly, “But I’m not out in the bodybuilding world. They can’t run a story with my name that ties me to Muscle Men! That wouldn’t be…”
I gave him a look that said he was a hypocrite and an asshole.
“…cool,” he finished weakly. He ran a hand through his hair, which was a poor choice considering how much product was in it. “Shit. Tommy, mi… uh.” He cleared his throat and held out his hands in a placating way. “There’s no need for any of that. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
I tilted my head to one side. “Not my call, Aron, but I don’t know why they’d have any interest in helping you out unless you managed to get BlazeNewz to stop showing that picture, and I’m pretty sure that could only happen if you admitted you staged it—”