But to himself. And I could see how much it broke his heart, even if he’d brainwashed himself not to feel it.
“I got a thing for cigarette smoke.” His voice wavered, less confident than before. “Specifically, them big ol’ cigars that sell for cheap at the shitty tobacco store. They smell horrendous. I fuckin’ love it.”
I nodded, pretending I understood even if I didn’t. “Mm-hmm, sure. So you’d never sleep with someone like Tobias?”
“Nah, never seen him before. I saw it, though.” He fell against the wall, bumping into the racks behind him. His chest deflated, and his arms came down to his sides, the chill I saw earlier starting to spread into goosebumps. “The way he looked at me, I mean. Maybe he’s seen me around? Heard about me from somewhere?”
I tilted my head, trying to figure it out. “He doesn’t seem the type. He’s been with us for three months, and he still has trouble talking to the other cooks.” Reminded me of my younger self, honestly.
“You’d be surprised, Prince Charming. You don’t look the type either, but I’m sure I wasn’t your first. Right?”
No point in lying to him. “No, you weren’t. I’ve been paying for sex for a few years now. Not very often, but often enough.” I tapped the clipboard in my hand, giving my fingers something to do while I tried to raise as much confidence as I could to ask my next question. “What’s your type?”
“Huh?”
I smirked at his surprise. “You told me what your reputation is. I don’t fit your usual clientele. You like me enough, though.”
He shook his head quickly, holding a hand up, palm facing me. “My reputation is my type. I go after what I like.”
I pushed off the rack behind me, taking a step towards him. “I don’t think that’s the complete truth. You like me, don’t you?”
“No.” It was barely a breath. Hardly a whisper loud enough over the hum of the walk-in. He froze in place, his arctic eyes wide as he looked at me.
Inching closer, I lowered my voice to match his. “I think you’re lying, Crew.” Hypocritical, coming from me. “What’s your type? What kind of person immediately gets you going?” Step. “You seem to like my tattoos.” Step. “Taller? Shorter? Come on, Pretty Boy.”
I was right in front of him. He never looked away, maintaining eye contact with a ferocity that fed the fire in my gut. The Crew from before was gone. I’d caught him off guard, as he always seemed to do to me. “Are you afraid, Crew? Scared that I’ll know just how much you want me if you answer?”
There was a quiet, choked groan from the back of his throat. It echoed, following him as he stepped further back.
I took a final step, looming over him. His bangs shifted as he lifted his head, looking up at me. A storm brewed in his eyes, muddying the beautiful blue ocean that lived there. The longer strands of his hair swept past his shoulders, creating a cascade that reminded me of the faucet in my kitchen back home. Whenever I cooked in the late evening, the sunset would peer through my window and shade the water a golden color.
For some reason, I never learned my lesson, so when I looked up, I’d be blinded by the sudden ray of light in my window. I’d always curse its existence. My hands would falter, and I’d splash golden-tinted water everywhere.
If only it were the shade of Crew’s hair. I had planned on investing in better blinds, specifically for that reason. Now, I think I’ll tear down the ones I currently have.
Crew’s breathing picked up. I could feel his breath against my skin. His lips parted slightly, the cracks in them only enticing me further. I didn’t get to kiss him the other night, and I wanted to so badly, it hurt. Instead, I pushed him more. I wanted a reaction. Or an ounce of unfiltered truth.
I wanted him to feel the drastic change he made in me, just by being around me. I needed him to feel something similar. I wanted to understand him. “Do you even like those men? Or do you just know what they’ll give you, so you say you do?” I dipped my head, allowing him to feel my breath as I could his. Maybe if he felt how warm it was, he’d remember the blaze that ignited when our skin touched.
I want to feel my skin on his. The restlessness in my bones demanded it.
Crew took a deep, shuddering breath, and I wondered for a moment if he was finally going to agree with me. I wondered if he’d admit to it. Our connection, or whatever it was that had me so infatuated. But hisinhale stopped, his eyes widened further as his pupils expanded until I couldn’t see blue anymore.
“Crew?”
“Get away.” His tone was more of a bark than anything, a whimper sounding towards the end.
I took a step back, giving him space. His chest began to rise and fall with quick, heaving breaths as he looked around the walk-in. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
He looked at me, a pool of unshed tears swimming in his eyes. They sparkled, even in the low lighting. Ice glazed over them. “Don’t follow me.”
Déjà vu of the other night flashed in my mind, immediately gearing my body up to chase him. “Where are you going?”
Turning his back towards me, I could see his shoulder blades ripple beneath his jacket. He shook his head, hand on the handle of the door. “Don’t fucking follow me, Price.” My name cracked on his voice.
Did I push too far? “Crew, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but?—”
“Shut the fuck up!” A slump shaped his form as he leaned against the door. Something much quieter, much closer to broken than before, echoed. “I need a minute. I’ll be back. Don’t fuckin’ follow me, Price. I mean it.”
