“You’re not trying hard enough,” I said when he took up the wrong fork yet again. “Are you paying attention?”
“Maybe you’re just a sucky teacher. Have you ever thought of that?”
“How many ways can I show what the different forks are used for?” My voice rose; I’d lost the battle with my patience. “You can’t screw this up, or no one will believe you’re my actual partner at that dinner event. It took me a while to convince them I was also into men. If I can do that, you can do this too. Now show me which is the fish fork?”
Kit peered down at the table setting, raised his hand, and picked up a fork. “Is this the fish fork?”
“That’s the salad fork.”
“This is stupid!” He swept the forks and knives off the table and jumped to his feet, his eyes glistening. “I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you—”
Kit bolted from the room, sobbing.
“Where are you going? We’re not done yet.”
I followed him to the living room, where he’d thrown himself onto the couch, his back to me. His shoulders were shaking. I felt like crap. Had I pushed him too hard? I just wanted him to do well at this. We couldn’t keep him on otherwise.
“Kit, please don’t cry.” I crouched beside him. “I’m sure we can figure this out.”
He turned over on the couch and stood. His eyes were dry, and a smile spread on his lips. It disappeared for a second when he bowed. “And, end scene.”
What the hell? Had he been pretending all this time?
I slowly rose to my feet. “Are you saying this whole you-don’t-getting-it was an act?”
“Yup.” He smiled proudly. He must not have realized how upset I was. “I’m a good actor, aren’t I? I’ve had to be. I mean, gah, some of those guys I had to sleep with, I had to pretend every single moan.”
“Why on earth would you think this is an appropriate time to engage in acting? We were in the process of preparing you for your first job.”
“Because you deserved it.” He jabbed a finger in my chest. “You should’ve asked me if I already knew all this stuff, but nope, you assumed that because I’m a hooker, I don’t know anything about conducting myself in ‘polite company,’ but guess what, Sullivan Matthews? I wasn’t born a hooker. I had parents who taught me important stuff. Next time, don’t make assumptions about what I do or do not know. First, ask. If I can’t do something, I’ll tell you, just like I told you I can’t drive.”
He had a point. I should have asked, but he could have also divulged the information instead of continuing with this one-sided charade. “Let me get this straight. We watched almost an hour of footage that we didn’t need to, then spent a whole hour with you pretending you didn’t understand anything I said? Do you know how expensive my time is, Bait?” I spat the last word at him, and he jumped.
“Weeeell, I—think about how you’re going to laugh about this someday.”
I took a step toward him, and he took one back. “You should run, Kit. Run as fast as you can.”
“Where’s your sense of humor?”
He bolted. He wasn’t fast enough. I caught his flowing shirt and yanked him back. He lost his balance and fell hard against me. I would never hurt him. He was too…Kit. But I threw him onto the sofa and straddled him before he could get up. I slid my hands around his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing against my palm when he swallowed hard.
“Sully, what are you doing?”
“People who play games with me don’t usually live long enough to see how it ends.” I applied the mildest pressure, and his eyes bulged.
Kit punched his hips up and moaned. His nostrils flared. I searched his face, rubbing his Adam’s apple with my thumb. He was a guy, lying under me, grinding up against me, getting off at the feel of my hands around his neck.
And my cock twitched.
What the fuck?
I released him and jerked to my feet. Kit placed a hand on his neck, where I’d been holding him. Shallow puffs of breaths escaped his parted lips. Pink, plump lips.
“Lesson’s over,” I croaked. “Tomorrow, your driving lesson begins. Be ready at nine. Liam will be here to pick you up.”
I snagged my laptop on the way out. He could keep the dinnerware as a housewarming gift. Right now, I needed to put as much distance between Kit and me as possible.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d have shrugged this off as me being attracted to him because of his femme mannerisms, but that wasn’t it. The last boy we’d worked with had been just as femme as Kit, and I hadn’t had so much as a flicker of interest in him. But Chad had been professional. He hadn’t made me laugh the way Kit did. He hadn’t played any trick on me, nor offered me his food.
Kit was different.
And I hadn’t gotten laid in a long time—over a year. Maybe that was exactly what I needed to cool down.