I push off the bed, taking some tissues from the box on his nightstand. Wiping off the fluids as best I can, I give up and start pulling together my clothes, confused about what just happened. “Okay, uh. Thanks,” I say, turning to leave. Pausing at the bar, I look back at him. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah. Of course. Never better.”
An obvious lie.
He’s lying to my face, and I have no fucking clue what just happened.
* * *
I drive back to the lake semi-numb. I woke up this morning determined to force him off the op. I made it to my car, through the morning traffic, and up to his apartment before my determination scattered like paper. One look at him in his nerd-boy glasses, and it was game over.
Ronan felt as good under me as I remember, and it’s devastating. I’d forgotten that he could almost suck himself off, which is impressive, but it’s in the other details that I find the deepest ache: the way he completely gives himself to me, the astonishing level of disheveled his hair attains after sex, the desperate rise and fall of his chest when it’s feeling good, the delicate sweetness of his collarbones.
It’s strange, the way he flipped like a switch after. I know him. I know him very well, even if it’s been a few years. The way he fell apart under me, the way he softened, the way he wanted it rough, like he always wants it rough…he wanted this. I know he did.
But he regrets it. That’s also true.
I have another class at the gym, another opportunity to work it out in my Corner of Heavy Things. Maybe this time it’ll actually fix something. I get changed and take off, my head still a swirl of confusion and ache.
After class, even after a long, scalding shower, my head is still not quite in the building. As I leave the locker room, I run into Odd.
“Fuck, Thane. You damn near killed us today.”
“Shit, sorry. Did I go too hard on y’all?” I ask, scrunching my eyebrows together. They rely on my good judgment to keep them safe, and if I fucked that up…
Odd holds up his hand as if to ward off the direction of my thoughts. “No—it was just really challenging. But you looked like you wanted to murder someone the entire time.”
I grunt, avoiding his eyes.
He reaches out, placing his hand on my arm. “C’mon, dude. You didn’t smile during the work out, not even once. And you love these classes. What gives?”
I let out an exasperated breath, but Odd holds eye contact. It’s both annoying and effective.
Damn.
“Fine. But I don’t wanna talk about it here. Can we go somewhere?”
“Sure. There’s a new queer-owned café off of Barton Springs. That okay?”
I nod and follow him outside. He gives me the name and address and we get in our separate cars and head out. Traffic is only moderately irritating, and miracle of miracles there’s parking for the both of us. The place has a really nice vibe, with good indoor and outdoor seating.
“You mind being outside?” I ask, needing some fresh air.
“Not at all.”
The outside area has twinkle lights and heaters for the slight chill in the air, and I sit down across from my friend, finally relaxing a little.
“All right, you’ve got me out here. What gives? Why do you have a line right here?” he asks, pressing on the space between my eyebrows.
“Ronan,” I say, deciding that I don’t have it in me to be coy.
“What’s going on?”
I give him the SparkNotes version of our history, and he sucks air through his teeth, a pitying look on his face.
“Yeah. So, now he wants to go in on another op because he’s convinced he screwed up.”
Odd shakes his head. “Look, man. We’ve had two fucked-up ops in a row, and they were fucked by bad data both times. Why the hell do you think I needed your class tonight? Does Ronan know that we would never blame him for bad intel?”
