“Thorne, I wasn’t—”
“I know you want me to help you, and I will when I get home. I promise.”
“No, I…”
“What?”
“Never mind. I guess I’ll see you Friday.” Riley had lost interest in phone sex or even continuing to talk.
“Okay. I’ll try to call you tomorrow. I should have some time in the evening.”
“It’s fine if you don’t. I’m probably going out with Marc.” Riley wondered if Thorne would even notice the bitter edge to his words. Probably not. Marc had tried to convince him to go dancing that night, but he’d wanted to be home to talk to Thorne. Hell if he was doing that again.
“Okay. I love you.”
“Yeah. I love you too.” You fucking bastard.
Riley ended the call and flopped back onto the bed. The enormous bed that Thorne wasn’t in. The bed where he wasn’t jerking off while watching Thorne do the same.
He rolled to his feet, yanked the comforter off, and dragged it to the couch. A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that if things were so bad he wanted to sleep on the couch, he should call Thorne back and explain why he was angry.
There’s no point in talking to Thorne while he’s in that mood. He’s pissed at his client, and he’s going to take it out on me.
Then tell him you won’t put up with that.
It’s a hell of a lot easier in person.
Riley ignored further commentary from his conscience. He curled up on the couch, snuggled into the blanket that smelled like Thorne, and fell asleep watching Say Anything, which was good because he would never have gotten through the boom-box scene without crying. If only they could go back to a time when Thorne was willing to stand outside his apartment blasting Peter Gabriel at him.
***
When Riley stumbled from the couch to the kitchen the next morning, he looked at all the paper samples, fabric samples, florists’ brochures, and other wedding paraphernalia lying on the table. Anger flared, and he almost swiped it all from the table in a full-on tantrum.
Riley hated that Thorne was right. Thorne had been pissy and overbearing and too sure of himself, but he had every reason to think Riley was calling about some wedding detail that made no difference whatsoever. No wonder Thorne didn’t care about this shit. Riley didn’t anymore either. He thought this was what he wanted, but now…
You could call Thorne, tell him how you feel, and find a way to scale back.
They’d committed to so much already. They probably couldn’t get refunds. And what if he regretted not going through with it in the long run? Like he’d told Thorne, this was a once in a lifetime thing. Surely it was worth all the work.
Is it worth risking your relationship?
It’s not that bad. Thorne’s just tired. He just doesn’t want to make any more decisions.
After a cup of coffee, Riley managed to get himself showered and dressed. Then he met Marc for breakfast at a bagel shop located close to both the soon-to-be-bakery and Darius’s tailoring shop where Marc now worked. Riley and Marc hadn’t had a chance to spend much time together for the last few weeks.
“You look exhausted. Did you sleep last night?” Marc asked when they sat down with their bagel sandwiches.
This was becoming a running theme for Riley. “I’m fine, just too much to think about.”
“Wedding shit?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it. How are you?”
Marc finished chewing a bite of sandwich before answering. “I’m…like always.”
Marc sounded even more down than Riley was. “Marc?”
“I’m fine, really. Work is going well. Even Darius admits I’m improving.”
“And Darius? How is he?”
Marc shrugged. “Same as always. Aloof, arrogant, demanding.”
“In lust with you.”
“What he feels or doesn’t isn’t something I’m privy too.”
Riley knew Marc was trying to cover up how much that hurt him. “Why don’t you just ask him out, for fuck’s sake?”
“I do actually need a job, you know.”
Riley took a sip of coffee before replying. “He’s not going to fire you. Remember how impossible he said it was to find competent help.”
“All the more reason he’s not going to go out.”
Riley studied him, trying to get a better read on the situation. “You still never told me what happened when you first got the job.”
Marc groaned. “Nothing.”
Riley raised his hands in defeat. “Fine. Be that way. I’m eventually going to get it out of you.”
“I just wish Darius would get it into me.”
“I know you do. That’s why—”
Marc shook his head. “It’s a fantasy. At least it gives me something pleasant to think about at work. Did you pick out what you’re wearing for the wedding?”
Riley chose not to call out the convenient change of subject. “No, Thorne was supposed to go see Darius to get his recommendations, but he left for Chicago on Saturday. Now I guess I have to do it.”