“I’m glad,” he said, smoothing his palm along the back of Thomas’s head. “I don’t want you to be like Andy or to replace him. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being compared to him either. Our relationship — if there is one — will be its own unique thing.”
Thomas leaned into the caress. “Yes, it will. If we end up together, Andy becomes a part of my life too in a way, because he was such an important part of yours.” A teasing note entered Thomas’s voice. “Plus I do have to admire his taste in men, don’t I? Especially since I share it.”
“Apparently,” Rhys said with a quiet chuckle, and he resumed combing Thomas’s hair, the rhythmic strokes lulling him into a calm, meditative state.
Thomas fell quiet, though as he turned his head to accommodate Rhys’s efforts at detangling, Rhys could see he was smiling. Once he’d finished combing out Thomas’s hair, Rhys paused, debating whether to follow through on what he’d been considering. He put the comb aside, but instead of braiding Thomas’s hair as he had before, he pressed his fingertips against Thomas’s scalp and began a slow and thorough massage.
“Oh…” Thomas went almost boneless, and he leaned back against the chair to give Rhys better access. “So good.”
Seeing Thomas enjoying such a simple thing as a scalp massage gave Rhys more satisfaction than he expected, and it motivated him to keep going.
“I used to do this for Andy,” he said, not feeling as sharp a twinge as usual at the memories. “Especially when he had a headache.”
“I can see how it would help,” Thomas replied. “It feels amazing. I’ll have to return the favor.”
“That sounds fair,” Rhys said, sifting his fingers through Thomas’s hair one last time before releasing him. “There, how did I do as a personal stylist?”
Thomas leaned back farther, looking up at Rhys with a warm smile. “You’re hired. You’re lucky I’m not following you around begging you to do that.”
“Ah-ha, I finally have something to use as leverage against the Bambi eyes,” Rhys said, tugging lightly on a lock of Thomas’s hair. “It’s about damned time.”
Thomas laughed, then turned around and rose up on his knees. He was between Rhys’s legs, hands braced on Rhys’s thighs, and he looked at Rhys, his blue eyes wide and full of warmth. “Does that mean I have to step up my efforts?”
“I reckon it depends on how bad you want a massage at the time,” Rhys said. Gazing at Thomas, he felt a sudden, unexpected urge to frame Thomas’s face between his hands and draw him into a kiss, one that Rhys would remember much better than those of the night before. But the impulse unnerved him as well. He’d barely begun to process the fact that he’d agreed to think about making their pretend relationship real. He wasn’t ready to dive into such overt lover-like behavior. “Are you about ready to go?” he asked, deciding a change of both subject and venue was in order.
He thought he might have caught a flash of disappointment in Thomas’s eyes, but Thomas nodded and rose to his feet. “Sure. Let me put my clothes on, and we can go. I owe Caleb an autograph when we check out.” He paused, then reached out to stroke Rhys’s cheek gently before heading toward the bathroom.
Rhys watched him go, feeling as if something had irrevocably changed between them, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake. If they’d kept up the pretense, their friendship would have remained intact. With this new development, Rhys didn’t have that guarantee, and he didn’t want to lose Thomas as a friend if things didn’t work out.
But he’d stepped on the path, so now he had to keep walking it to whatever future lay in store.
