“You know why guys don’t do exclusive at first, Clarissa? It’s because they aren’t at all serious about the relationship, but want all the benefits. You shouldn’t play into that. That’s fucking bullshit. You deserve so much better.”
“Says the guy who escorts a different coed out of his house every week.”
“It’s not all that often, and they aren’t you.”
I snort. “You can run lines all night, Jenner, I’m well versed in bullshit. Pretty words don’t work on me. Never have. If something happens, it’s because I want it to.”
“Believe it or not, I’m serious. If you were mine, I wouldn’t let an hour go b
y without proving it. Get back here and let me show you just how good we can be.”
“Troy—”
“Fine. Put the physical aside, it can wait. What if we do this right? Take our time. What if we work, what if we give Dante a real family?”
“Stop, okay, just stop. I’m with Brett. I’m hanging up.”
I end the call and see him hang his head before he disappears from the window. Gathering some clothes, I meet him at the door of my house. He’s angry, I can see it in the tick of his jaw as he takes them from me. “Thanks.”
“Troy, I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I get it. You don’t think I’m good enough. It’s fine.” He drops the towel, and I can clearly see he’s hard. My jaw goes slack as I drink him in. Long, thick, and fucking perfect. That’s the best way to describe him. His body is a solid wall of muscle, every part of him masculine and worthy of worship, but the pissed off expression on his face is the biggest turn on of all, no matter how wrong it is. And it’s because I can picture the sex with him, the grudge fucking, and it’s tempting.
Following my line of sight, he glances down at his cock and smirks. “At least you know the attraction is mutual.” His tone is anything but playful. I’ve hurt him by shooting him down. He tugs on new boxers and then pulls up his sweats before gathering his costume from the floor. Breathless, I stand in the middle of the room as he glances at me with contempt before shaking his head.
“And women wonder why I don’t jump into commitment. Why I make my intentions clear. It’s because of this look, it’s because of these looks I get. My mother looked at my dad the same way. Either they’re afraid I’ll hurt them or afraid I won’t ever measure up to the daydreams they have of happily fucking ever after. News flash, maybe I won’t, maybe I can’t. I’m not perfect, but neither are they, and neither are you. But it’s expected of me somehow. To do the right things, say the right things.” He pulls his shirt down over his taut abs and draws my eyes away with his tone. “You and I may not be going anywhere, but I’m staying put. I’m not leaving my son. And I hope you hear me.” He walks over to where I stand and commands my eyes. “You keep punishing me for something you won’t let me apologize for, for something you won’t ever let me make up to you.” He rakes his teeth across his bottom lip. “But I want to, Clarissa. Oh, how I want to.”
Swallowing, I stand mute while his emotions fly around me. Emotions he’s hidden well. “Fuck it,” he says in a tone filled with ice. “I’m under enough pressure. Thanks for saving me from more.” And with that, he shuts the door softly behind him, and I realize I’m still holding my breath.
Troy
My supervisor, Steven, nudges me and I pull out my earbuds.
“Sup?”
“You going to work through your whole break?” I look at the clock and see I’ve missed half of my lunch hour. “Shit. Thanks, man.” I stop my place on the line and sub out.
Making my way toward the break room, I check my phone to see a text from Clarissa.
Clarissa: Okay, don’t ever tell him I showed this to you.
It’s four in the morning and way too late to reply, but I take a seat at the table with a sandwich in hand and click play on the video she sent.
I can clearly tell Clarissa recorded behind a crack in Dante’s door while he tried his best to follow along on a Fortnite dance. A few seconds in, I damn near spit out my sandwich, watching him jerk his body while my own body tenses because I’m embarrassed for him. It’s painful. My kid has absolutely no rhythm. He’s got no chance of winning any female over with those dance skills.
Knowing she won’t see my text due to the late hour, I respond anyway. We’ve pretty much been avoiding each other since I made a total ass of myself on Halloween, and I consider the text an olive branch.
Troy: OMG, that’s hilarious. I feel like a dick for laughing, but the poor kid has no rhythm. Sad emoji.
To my surprise, she replies.
Clarissa: I’m just as guilty. Can you dance?
Troy: What are you doing awake?
Clarissa: I usually wake up once or twice at night, it started when he was a baby, and I’ve never really gotten back to a regular sleep pattern. It’s a mother’s curse. So, can you dance?
Troy: I’m no Fred Astaire, but I’ve definitely got rhythm. Especially when it’s important. Winky face emoji