“I’ve never done anything like that before in my life.” It wasn’t even a lie. But the next part was. “It must have been the whiskey.”
Finally, he met my eyes. Studied my face. “Okay.”
“Because I’m straight. I’m not into guys at all. I just—lost control for a minute there.” I concentrated on not blinking, not looking away, not surrendering anything. The defensive walls were up and they were going to stay up.
He nodded slowly.
“But it didn’t mean anything. And it won’t happen again.” I said it firmly and meant it.
He focused on the plants again, his face impassive.
Jesus, Maxim. Could you please be a little less Russian right now and let me know what you’re thinking? Are you mad? Insulted? Fine with this? Do you even give a fuck?
“So let’s forget it happened. That work for you?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
He moved to the next plant. “Of course.”
“Good.”
An awkward pause.
“So…you about done out here? Have you eaten yet? Thought maybe I could make us some lunch and then we can look online for some options for apartments.” The more normal I could make this, the better. I’d thought about asking him to leave, or even paying for him to stay at a hotel, but decided that would be worse. That would be acknowledging outwardly that he had affected me, and I couldn’t do that. The only way to pass the test I’d failed last night was to try again.
“That would be great, thanks.”
“Okay. I’ll get something going and give you a shout when it’s ready.”
“Sounds good.”
I walked back into the house, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. Once I was inside, the door closed behind me, I exhaled and tried to feel relieved. That had gone well, hadn’t it? So why did I still feel so uneasy? It wasn’t like his reaction had been upsetting. On the contrary, he’d barely seemed to care. Why was that?
I found myself getting unreasonably grumpy about it as I made sandwiches for lunch. Had our interlude in the kitchen not affected him at all? How could he be so cool about it? Had he not enjoyed it as much as I had?
Why didn’t he appear to want me anymore? He’d certainly been all over me last night.
Christ Almighty, have you gone insane? Are you even listening to yourself? He reacted exactly how you wanted him to! How you needed him to! You can’t have him living here for two more weeks, coming on to you all the time. You’ll lose your mind! This is the best possible outcome from your stupid mistake.
Don’t fuck with it.
Sixteen
MAXIM
It wasn’t the damn whiskey.
He was lying. About some of it, at least. I could hear it in the tone of his voice, defensive and insistent, and see it in his face—a carefully controlled mask.
But why?
As I finished watering the flowers, I went over his remarks again in my head. I owe you an apology. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I’ve never done anything like that before. It must have been the whiskey. I’m not into guys at all. It didn’t mean anything. Forget it happened.
Even though I’d been prepared for it, I didn’t like it.
I didn’t want his apology—I wanted his body, his attention, his permission to feel this way. I wanted to be invited in. Just…more of him. I wanted more of him.
And it was fucking terrible and greedy and selfish of me to want more than he was willing to give. He was being so generous, and I certainly didn’t feel like I deserved any of it, but I couldn’t help feeling that way. I didn’t even really understand it. I’d never been the guy who wanted more. Give me no-strings sex without the complications of more any day of the week.
But this felt different. He was special to me. I wanted to be special to him.