“Incomplete?” Caleb asked, meeting Leo's eyes with a wry look of his own. “All the fucking time. All of that, all the fucking time.”
“Okay,” Leo said uncertainly.
“What are we doing?” Caleb wondered, because he sure as fuck didn't know either. He shoved the hand not carrying his bag into the pocket of his jeans—so he wouldn't do anything stupid like reach for Leo. If he was going to kiss him, he wasn't going to do it in a place where they could get so easily interrupted. The Wynn had a lot of floors, but not that many.
“I wish I knew,” Leo grumbled. “You just said . . . you didn't know the answers to your own questions, and I thought . . . that's just it. I don't have a fucking clue.”
“You hate feeling that way.” It was so hard not to reach out and pull Leo close; to comfort him, the way that Caleb knew he wanted to be comforted.
“I'm not good with feeling powerless, you know that,” Leo said.
“You're not powerless. You've never been powerless. You weren't powerless when I came back. Not really. I might have forced you to do the tour. But you never had to speak to me again if you didn't want to. You didn't have to become my friend again. You didn't have to forgive me. You made every single one of those choices. And you choose us, you choose me, every single moment of every single day.” Saying it all out loud, Caleb couldn't help but feel humbled. He'd done nothing to deserve the fierce love and loyalty of Leo Humphries—except give him the best love he could in return.
“I'm powerless in the face of your insecurities,” Leo said softly.
“But I'm not,” Caleb said steadily, and because he simply couldn't not anymore, he reached for Leo's hand, squeezing it firmly. “You aren't powerless, because it's your belief that gives me the power to fight them. Without you, they'd have consumed me a long time ago.”
Leo's gaze was warm. “I'm really glad you went back to therapy,” he said. “I'm even glad you're tackling your album, even if I'm not involved.” Caleb opened his mouth, because this would be the perfect time to say something. The ideal time, but maybe not the ideal place, to confess I don't know what I'm doing, and I think you might know, way better than I do, what exactly that is. “No,” Leo said, reaching up and placing a single finger against Caleb's lips. The touch burned. “No, I don't want you to change your mind, just because I said it. I'm letting you do your thing, but . . .” He glanced down as the elevator doors opened.
“But?” Caleb asked hopefully. Of course fate had conspired to interrupt Leo at exactly the wrong moment.
Leo grinned as he picked up his bag and they walked out of the elevator. “But?”
Caleb groaned. “You're a sadist.” They walked down the hallway, comparing room numbers to the one on the key card that Diego had handed them.
“I think this is it,” Leo said, gesturing to a door, finally.
“Good, good,” Caleb said, grabbing the key and hurriedly jabbing it into the slot. Maybe Leo would finish his sentence if they were actually alone, in their own room.
But it didn't appear that was the case, because as soon as Caleb got the door open, Leo was oohing and ahhhing over the room, which even Caleb could admit was pretty damn fabulous. They were on god knew which floor, but it was high, the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall of the suite showcasing an incredible view of the entire Strip.
There was a gold chandelier, dripping with crystal, situated in a spacious living room, and a bathroom outfitted in cream and gold marble, big enough that it might take up the entire downstairs of their little beach house.
“Geez,” Leo said, after he finished peeking in all the rooms. Caleb had already noticed that even though there was a gigantic bed tucked away behind a gold-embossed door, there was a comfortable-enough-looking couch in the living area. He could always crash on it, if things got too awkward.
He'd never have imagined even thinking that, not after he and Leo had finally gotten back together, but they were in an unprecedented situation, and as they both agreed, they had no idea what they were really doing.
“I guess that was a terrible bet for you to take,” Caleb said, propping his hip up on the edge of the couch. “I don't think Elvis is getting anywhere near this wedding.”
Leo shot him a wry look. “I should've known better. Benji's rich—we're all rich—but he likes to show it off.” He shrugged and dumped his bag on the ground, settling on the couch perilously close to Caleb's hip. “What does your therapist think?”
Caleb did a double take. “About . . . about Benji being rich? Or Benji showing it off?”
“No, silly,” Leo chided. “About you . . . about us.”
“Is that . . .” Caleb cleared his throat. Suddenly emotional. Is that what Leo had been holding back? Had he been waiting for the okay from his therapist? For Caleb to tell him he was better? “Is that what you've been waiting for?”
“I don't know if waiting is the right word,” Leo said. “I've been trying to give you what you said you needed. Some space to figure stuff out.”
Caleb had never hated the word space more than he hated it right now. He reached out, fingers brushing against Leo's knee. “Then what’s the right one?”
Leo sighed with obvious frustration. He sprang to his feet, beginning to pace around the living room. “That's what I'm trying to tell you . . . I don't know, and it's terrible. Even when I thought I hated you, when I wanted you to go away again, I was sure of that. Then I was sure that we could at least be friends again. And then I was sure that I eventually wanted more, that I wanted for us to be back together, but now? I'm a fucking mess.”
“What are you sure of?” Caleb wondered.
“You,” Leo said decisively, stopping right in front of him. “Definitely you. You more than ever.” And before Caleb could ask how he could be or why he still would be, Leo leaned in and kissed him.
The kiss was cautious, a little hesitant, and it reminded Caleb, in its vague echoes, of the first kiss they'd had when he'd first come back to LA. The one that had started out so good, had felt so right, and then had dissolved into disaster, when it had become painfully clear that Leo wasn't ready for kissing. That he might never be ready for kissing.
But this version of Leo, right here, right now, he was ready. He sank into Caleb, moaning a little, and it felt like it had been way more than a week since they'd kissed last. It felt like it had been an eternity. Leo leaned in, deepening the kiss, fingers scrabbling along Caleb's chest, trying to pull him closer. Finally, Caleb gave in and reached up, hooking an arm around Leo's waist and reeling him in, until he was straddling his lap. They traded long-drawn-out kisses for a minute, then two, and Caleb, who'd already felt like he was on the edge before any of the kissing had started, felt his control slip when Leo did a particularly filthy grind against his own hardening cock.
Leo abruptly pulled away, and for a moment, they stared at each other, their breath mirrored in hard, short pants. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“Don't be,” Caleb said but didn't pull him in again.