Chapter Eleven
Remington Needs a New Thesaurus
Remington’s throat went completely dry. It had upset him enough to read the message from George effectively breaking up with him, but to find out George was…
George was Sebastian.
“You look very real to me,” Sebastian said.
“No,” he rasped. The tumbler slipped out of his hand and landed against the counter with a crash, not hard enough to shatter, just enough to draw Jace and Callahan’s attention. Remington forced a neutral expression and righted the glass.
“Holy shit,” Sebastian breathed the curse out on a whisper, like the pieces that had immediately connected for Remington had just slipped into place.
“No,” he said again.
“Remington.” Sebastian reached out, wrapping his fingers around his forearm, but the touched burned and Remington shook him off.
A list of reasons and repercussions a mile long ran through Remington’s head and he turned away, slipping out of the front door, hoping Jace and Callahan didn’t see him go. It was less than a breath before the door opened again and Sebastian was there.
“Remington, hear me out,” he said, but Remington frowned and stared at the street, his hands braced on his hips.
He should have known.
He should have seen the signs, not just in Sebastian, but himself. The way it had thrilled him, the way it had come so easily to tell Sebastian to eat, to drink, in person and online. Giving Sebastian the structure he so clearly needed had made Remington’s dick ache with want, but he hadn’t known it was Sebastian.
It couldn’t be Sebastian.
He’d sent the message saying he was real, but he’d meant it as an abstract concept. He was real in that he was an actual person, able to do the things he’d been doing. The screens between them kept him safe, kept them separate.
“This isn’t a bad thing,” Sebastian said, standing behind him.
“This is a terrible thing.”
“If I didn’t know you better, Remington, that would hurt.”
Remington looked over his shoulder, staring down at Sebastian with his expensive watch and his flop of blond hair. “You don’t know me at all.”
“I know you like books and history.” Sebastian took a step closer. “I know you like your wine. I know you took care of me when I had too much.”
“I took you home,” he corrected.
It was as much a lie as the truth, because he had taken Sebastian home, and it had taken so much willpower for him to go. Seeing Sebastian so out of his mind had pulled at feelings deep inside of Remington’s chest. It hadn’t been a sexual thing. He hadn’t wanted to take advantage, though he’d sometimes let touches and stares linger. He only wanted to take care. And he’d done so as Allan, even though he didn’t know the man he’d been caring for was the man he’d wanted to be there for all along.
“Remington,” Sebastian said his name again in that hopeless way he had about him.
“Please stop saying my name,” he begged.
“Remington.” Sebastian stepped closer, and Remington could feel the heat of him.
“It won’t work,” he warned, turning around and coming face to face with the man he’d been wanking over in secret for weeks. “You can’t coax the reaction you’re hoping for out of me.”
Sebastian licked his lips.
“There’s so many reasons this is a bad idea,” Remington mumbled, running through the list in his mind, even as the heat and nearness of Sebastian worked to erase it.
“Is it because I’ve never been with a man before?” Sebastian asked.
Remington made a disjointed sound in the back of his throat. In truth, it had nothing to do with the fact Sebastian hadn’t been with a man before, because neither had Remington. Sebastian at least had the benefit ofsomesexual experience, whereas Remington…
