Nate still couldn’t stop thinking about it over the weekend, overanalyzing every word, every look, and every touch. He knew he was obsessing. He knew he was being kind of pathetic, searching for any sign that his sister might be correct.
To be fair, there were things about Raffaele’s behavior that had made him wonder sometimes. He’d had sex only with Nate for months, not even glancing at other people—beautiful women—with any interest. There was also the fact that he sometimes seemed kind of possessive of him. Or the fact that he had actually listened to Nate sometimes—like that time Raffaele had refused to waste his time on Andrew Reyes until Nate told him to stop being a dick. It might seem like a small thing, but Raffaele didn’t allow his employees to talk to him that way, much less listen to them when they talked to him that way. Nate had always been the exception. It definitely was strange, but…
But it still seemed like a bit of a stretch to assume that Raffaele might actually have serious feelings for him. He had been the one to end things, the one who had cast Nate aside. Nate would be damned if he behaved like those clingy women who constantly called Raffaele and refused to let go. He had his pride, dammit.
The doorbell rang, snapping Nate out of his gloomy thoughts. He looked at the door from his sprawl on the couch, wondering if Maya had forgotten her keys. But it was a little too early for her to come back from her outing with her friends.
Sighing, he got to his feet and went to open the door.
Raffaele stood on the other side.
Nate’s heart jumped to his throat, his mind going blank.
“What are you doing here?” he finally managed, his voice sounding surprisingly steady. He felt… He felt woefully underdressed and unattractive in his old, ratty t-shirt and equally ratty shorts, while Raffaele looked mouthwateringly good, as usual. God, he wanted to kiss him all over—the cleft in his chin, his muscular neck, his mouth—
Nate snapped his gaze up to Raffaele’s eyes, but it was almost worse. Those black eyes burned him.
Raffaele said nothing.
Seconds ticked by, stretching into a small eternity.
Nate searched for something to say, desperate to break the silence.
“It’s good that you’re here, actually,” he said, turning away to grab the car keys on the shelf. His fingers were trembling, fuck. “I’ve been meaning to return your car, but it keeps slipping my mind.” He turned back and handed him the keys.
His hand hung in the air between them for a long second before Raffaele finally accepted the keys. Their fingers didn’t brush. Fuck, Nate had never wanted to grab someone’s hand so badly.
“You don’t have to return it,” Raffaele said.
“It’s your car,” Nate said, unable to look him in the eye. “You should give it to your new PA.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, and he hoped his face didn’t betray the ugly feeling they caused inside him. Christ, jealousy was such a horrible feeling, and a completely irrational one. Why the hell was he jealous of the poor guy who slaved as Raffaele’s PA in his stead? It made no sense.
Raffaele remained silent, just looking at him.
Nate licked his lips, the pulse in his neck racing. “I… So why are you here?”
Raffaele stepped forward.
Swallowing reflexively, Nate stepped back.
The door shut, the finality of it oddly comforting and frightening at the same time. They were alone. In an apartment with a bed. And a couch. And the floor.
Get a grip.
Nate cleared his throat a little, avoiding Raffaele’s gaze. He didn’t trust himself. “You didn’t answer.”
“You did something to me.”
Nate looked back at Raffaele, too startled to be flustered. “What?”
Raffaele’s expression was a little tight. Grim. “You did something to me,” he repeated, his voice strained. Accusing.
“What are you talking about?”
Raffaele grabbed him and then shoved Nate against the door.
Nate yelped, disoriented. His protests died on his lips when Raffaele bracketed him with his arms on either side, his eyes boring a hole in him, his expression so intense it stole Nate’s breath. He should probably have been nervous, but all he could focus on was how good Raffaele smelled. How close he was. How much he missed him.
“You turned me into an idiot.”
Nate blinked when the words registered.
What?
But before he could say anything, Raffaele gripped his chin with his hand and tipped his face up. He glared at Nate, his black eyes roaming over his face like a scalding, physical touch. “I can’t fucking focus on my work,” he ground out. “I’m either thinking of you or trying not to think of you. When I’m not stalking you through security cameras, I somehow end up on the second floor, and then I have to come up with ridiculous excuses for being there.” He chuckled, the sound devoid of amusement. “This is not me. I feel like a goddamn idiot—but I can’t stop.”