didn’t want me to know he was home. He doesn’t want me to apologize. I destroyed whatever friendship we had in one careless minute, and he seems hellbent on making sure it can’t be put back together.
That thought makes my chest ache even worse, the raw edges of that gaping feeling stealing my breath.
The last thing I’m in the mood to do right now is to score a hookup, so I turn the car in the direction of my apartment and head home.
My place is dark and quiet as I step inside, but Bishop feels like he’s everywhere tonight—he’s managing to burn toast even though I’ve told him not to touch the setting on the toaster, just hit start; he’s lying across the couch in my living room in nothing but his underwear, looking at me with a sleepy, horny expression; he’s leaving his wet towel in a heap on my bathroom floor; he’s hastily pulling on his clothes and making an excuse to run out the door while I’m desperately trying to think of words that might make him see how I really feel.
I heave a sigh and kick off my shoes, making a beeline for my study—the only room in my entire apartment that isn’t covered in memories of Bishop, because he’s never been in there.
I flip on the light and close the door behind me. It’s not like there’s anyone to shut out, but it’s a force of habit, a result of too many nights as a kid having to hide books under my mattress and only read them by flashlight after my dad went to bed. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not a monster; he just always thought that reading fiction was a waste of time, and if there’s anything my dad hates, it’s time being wasted. The only thing he thought was worse than fiction was genre fiction. God forbid, he opened my closet and saw my stash of sci-fi books. I worried more about him finding the books than I worried about him finding the gay porn I had hiding in my sock drawer.
I pluck my favorite book off the shelf, a tattered paperback I’ve read more times than I can count and settle into the overstuffed chair to get lost in an imaginary world of aliens and a dystopian future. That feels a lot easier to handle than my real life at the moment, where everything I want just keeps slipping through my fingers.
Leo
The sound of the front door closing jerks me from my sleep. I blink several times until the world comes into focus, a yawn forcing its way out of my mouth. Bishop moves carefully like he’s trying to stay quiet, gingerly taking off each one of his shoes and then setting them down slowly. He starts to tiptoe past me, but I reach out and snag him, a smile already tugging on my lips because he’s so damn thoughtful and adorable.
“Shit, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks in a whisper.
“Come here,” I say, instead of answering the question, because I could give a good god damn that he woke me. The apartment was too quiet and lonely last night without him; it reminded me too much of New York.
“Where?” he asks with a laugh, and I tug him down on top of me, wrapping my arms around him. He’s about the same size I am, minus all the muscle, so he’s a little heavy, but his weight is comforting.
“How was your date?”
He wiggles around a little, trying to get comfortable, and then settles his head on my shoulder. His warm breath puffs against my chin, the feeling of his body pinning me down going straight to my dick.
“You want me to tell you about it? I wasn’t sure if that would be weird or uncomfortable.”
I thought about it a lot last night while he was gone, whether I wanted to put my head in the sand and pretend he’s only mine. Thinking about that was a hell of a lot better than seething over Hudson’s unexpected visit. I considered the jealousy aspect. Of course, the thought of Bishop with someone else is uncomfortable. But I also considered how I would feel not knowing about a major part of his life. The latter seems worse by far, so I’ll have to learn to live with a little bit of jealousy.
“I want to know,” I answer. “But only if you want to tell me.” As much as I don’t want to