No.
“I’m not like him,” Callahan answered, everything in the depths of his eyes imploring Jace to believe his answer to be the truth.
“You’re more like him than you realize,” Jace said.
Callahan drew back with a wince, the previously tender-looking laugh lines deepening into something harder, colder.
“I’m nothing like him.” Callahan straightened and jerked his head, pulling himself away from Jace’s touch. Jace had apparently hit a nerve, and Callahan’s reaction was one more hint that Jace might have been wrong about which Callahan was the impostor and which one was real.
“Hey,” he said, testing his theory and reaching once again for Callahan’s face. He stroked his thumb over the rough stubble on Callahan’s cheek, and the man softened again.
“I don’t use people,” Callahan nearly spat the words between them.
Jace picked at one of his teeth with the tip of his tongue. He found it impossible that Callahan didn’t use people. He was using Jace, which he didn’t even realize, but something about the expression on Callahan’s face made him not want to mention it. He could maybe let that one, very important instance, slide.
“Okay.”
“Rhys plays games and then gets tired.” The muscles in Callahan’s jaw worked as he spoke. “And then he moves on. I don’t treat people like they’re disposable.”
Just Jace.
The 72 hour boyfriend.
He swallowed, fighting back the voices in his own head that tried to hammer home just how disposable he was to someone like Callahan. Good enough for a weekend, but not for the long term. He was such a hypocrite, and holy shit, Jace still wanted him all the same.
“Alright,” he agreed.
Callahan blinked up at him, a sad sort of desperation in his eyes. “Would you show me your pictures now?”
No.
No.
No.
“Yes.”
Callahan fumbled for Jace’s camera, tucking it into his lap like it was a precious package, which it was.
“What do you want to see?” he asked.
“Your favorites.”
Jace leaned forward and set the camera back down on the table, ignoring Callahan’s sound of protestation.
“There’s nothing good on that card,” he said in explanation. “There’s nothing good to see here.”
“I like it here,” Callahan pouted.
“You really grew up here?”
Jace pulled his phone out of his pocket and went to the website his sisters had pitched in to have built for him as a going-away present. Months ago, the idea had seemed preposterous. He wasn’t anyone worth anything, and while he’d had a couple small gallery events back in Chicago, it was mostly for friends. He’d never amount to anything more than a kid with a passable eye for a good shadow. His life hadn’t afforded him the opportunities someone like Callahan had been given.
“Yes,” Callahan said. “I mean, not in the hotel, but Mallardsville. We lived closer to the beach.”
“Shocker.”
“It’s not my fault my family has money.”
