Just Like This (Albin Academy #2) - Cole McCade Page 0,84

likely to see the email first.” He turned the laptop back to face him, balancing it on one thigh, his fingers hovering poised over the touchpad. “We’re supposed to be protecting confidentiality, aren’t we?” His gaze flicked over the screen, the image of the intranet email client reflecting in his eyes, turning them to golden mirrors. “His student file says his parents are agents representing some rather big names in Hollywood. They themselves aren’t often the focus of the spotlight, but their clients are. Paparazzi do hover, looking for a way in through any back door they can find.” His mouth tightened at the corners. “And if they’re anything like my parents, it’s possible they have an idea of some role in the spotlight for Chris in the future. He’s attractive. Charismatic. He’d sell well on the big screen. So he’d be a target, too.” Rian’s voice had turned soft, wistful, reflective as he spoke—but now it flattened, professional and cool. “I’m just trying to protect him from that possibility. We just don’t know who’ll be receiving this, in the end.”

There it was again—that irritating urge to console Rian, when Damon had learned the hard way in the last day exactly where that got him.

So why the hell did he want that feeling back?

Fuck—Rian probably had it right. They were just too much of a mess together, all odds and evens, coming at each other in all the wrong ways. They didn’t fit. Fuck, they were practically anathema to each other, and yet...

Last night, they had just felt right.

And he didn’t understand how that was possible.

How they could be so different, and yet sometimes those moments just clicked where they felt good together; where they fit together like they belonged, this connection that made their differences melt away—and for the first time in a long time Damon didn’t feel like he was trying to straddle two worlds when he had never wholly belonged in either.

He just felt like...like he was part of something all its own; something made just for him, where he didn’t have to try to belong because he just...

Did.

“You’re so quiet,” Rian murmured, never lifting his gaze from the laptop. “What’s wrong?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” Damon said. “Just thinking. Maybe they are, too. Trying to protect him from unwanted spotlight, I mean.”

Rian’s brows furrowed. “How...?”

“You said Chris is a good kid. No reason to banish him out here if he hasn’t done anything wrong; if he’s the model son, nobody’s embarrassment or problem child.” Damon shrugged, lacing his hands together against his thigh. “Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they wanted to give him a chance to grow up without the people who dog their careers dogging his heels, pushing at him about his life choices and where he belongs.”

“That’s...that’s a more benign interpretation than I’d have thought of.” Rian lifted his head, looking at Damon, the carefully blank glassiness of his eyes clearing for a moment, trouble dwelling in hazel-dark depths. “I hope you’re right, Damon.”

“Send it. Let’s find out.”

Rian lingered on him for a moment more, as if he’d say something else—before he looked down quickly, and gave the mouse touchpad a definitive tap. “Sent,” he said, then sighed, drooping. “It would make me feel better about at least part of this. Knowing Chris has parents who’ll care that something’s wrong.”

“I hope they care enough to fucking call back,” Damon growled irritably.

“And if they don’t?”

“Depends on what Chris is willing to say to us.”

Rian glanced away, peering out the window, one hand rising to tuck his hair back before he leaned forward and absently deposited the laptop on the coffee table again. “Think we should go try to talk to him again?”

“He might be a little more talkative after a night of rest and some time to think.”

And Damon might be a little less jumpy and grouchy with something to focus on other than Rian—those ever-mercurial moods, the delicacy of his movements, the way Damon was suddenly all too familiar with the lines and smooth shapes of the body hidden under his loose, flowing clothing. With a mutter under his breath, Damon levered himself off the recliner and stood, dipping to scoop up his discarded shirt from the floor.

“C’mon.”

“I...ah...” Rian cleared his throat, standing and brushing at his clothing. “I’ll meet you there.”

Damon pulled his shirt over his head, frowning as he settled the hem around his waist. “Yeah...?”

“I’m still wearing what I had on yesterday.” Rian’s smile was sheepish, strained, but his face was red from his scalp to