The last remnants of his afterglow disappeared when Sam didn’t answer, his back still turned to Dominic. “Sammy?”
The redhead sat up. “I’m fine.”
Dominic narrowed his eyes, studying the boy’s back. “Did I hurt you?” he said, sitting up and touching Sam’s shoulder.
Sammy squirmed away from the touch instead of leaning into it as usual.
Dominic’s blood went cold.
“Of course not,” Sammy said with a chuckle, finally turning his head. “It was bloody amazing and you know it, but I think… I think we shouldn’t—I should stop asking you to fool around with me.” He smiled crookedly. “It will be smarter if we don’t do this anymore. It’s not exactly helping my crush. I refuse to be that stupid, clingy gay kid who can’t take the hint.” He laughed a little, looking down. When he lifted his gaze back to Dominic, his expression was achingly honest. “But if we keep this up, I know I’ll become him. I know you have something of a soft spot for me, but promise me you won’t indulge me from now on. I don’t want to get my hopes up only to get them crushed again and again. And I don’t want my—my stupid crush to ruin our relationship. I don’t want us to lose what we have over something that’ll never work out. Not with you.”
Dominic could only stare at him, too surprised to speak. Although, surprise was a very inadequate word for the confusing storm of emotions inside him.
Sammy got out of the bed and picked up his discarded clothes. Slipping into his shirt, he walked back to Dominic and kissed him chastely on the cheek. “Thanks for the great sex, Nick,” he mumbled with a yawn. “Don’t worry, I’m going to work on getting over my stupid crush. Friends?”
“Of course.” He should have probably been relieved, but all he felt was wrong-footed and confused.
Sammy smiled at him and padded out of the room with a sleepy, “Good night.”
As the door closed after him, Dominic stared at it unseeingly.
Chapter 24
Jess Sanders loved her job. The shop was upmarket, so it was rarely crowded or noisy. Most of the time, she sat at the counter, reading fashion magazines or people watching, which she liked the best.
Take that gay couple, for example.
Well, Jess assumed that they were a couple. If they were friends, they were very strange ones for sure.
The dark-haired man clearly belonged to the wealthy clientele the shop catered to. It was obvious not only from the Rolex on his wrist and his impeccable dark suit, but also from the self-assured way the man carried himself. He smelled of money and power, which wasn’t all that unusual or noteworthy; Jess saw ten men like him every day.
It was his companion that was interesting.
Jess couldn’t think of a reason a man like that would be friends with the redhead in those cheap, ill-fitting clothes and worn sneakers. Truth be told, the owner of the shop had told Jess to make sure that poor people didn’t “ruin the look of the shop.” Jess wasn’t sure how she was supposed to accomplish that even if she were inclined to listen to her employer. Besides, she had a feeling that even if she did try to be cold and condescending toward the redhead, she wouldn’t like the other man’s reaction.
She didn’t think they were friends. They were the cutest, and Jess didn’t mean their looks, although they were that too. In Jess’s opinion, they were absolutely adorable together. The dark-haired man seemed very insistent about buying his companion everything the redhead took even a slight shine to, without even glancing at the price tag, so they ended up with a sizable pile of jackets, jeans, shirts, and jumpers. The red-haired man—boy, really—was looking a little overwhelmed as they approached the counter.
Jess flipped her magazine closed, moved to the register, and added up the piles of clothes. “That’ll be 1942 pounds.”
The redhead spluttered, his green eyes going comically wide.
Jess felt a pang of discomfort. Maybe she should have made sure the kid knew that the clothes weren’t cheap. It was going to be awkward as hell.
Thankfully, the other man didn’t even blink. He pulled out his wallet and handed Jess his credit card.
“Nick, that’s too much,” the boy protested as Jess politely pretended to be engrossed in packing the clothes into bags. “Seriously, I don’t—”
“It’s fine,” the one called Nick said, his tone final. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“Sammy, don’t worry about it,” Nick said, his voice softening as he noticed the redhead’s discomfort. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, but it makes me uncomfortable too to see you in rags while I’m wearing a designer suit. It makes me look like a prick. People will think I’m not taking good care of you.”
Sammy snorted. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” he said, rolling his eyes. “And it’s not your job to take care of me.”