Tomorrow.
Monday.
“I should get you safely back to Myers Bluff, then,” he said.
Beckett stretched out on top of him, their erections rubbing against each other. Rhys groaned and chased after Beckett as he moved away.
“Don’t you have to work?” Beckett asked.
“Generally, yes. I’m at a bit of an impasse right now it seems.”
“Is everything okay?”
Beckett looked genuinely concerned, and Rhys sat up, testing the rigidity of the floor beneath his feet.
“My father wants me to do something and I don’t think I want to,” he said, standing. “I know I don’t want to, but I have to figure out what to do instead.”
He needed to call Jeremiah, his financial advisor, and he needed to do it before his father did. He didn’t think it could wait until business hours.
“That sounds…problematic,” Beckett hedged.
“It could be,” he admitted. “I need to rearrange some finances as a priority.”
Beckett laughed and pushed past him into the bathroom, leaning over to turn on the water. “What a funny life.”
“What does that mean?” He frowned. “Should I be offended?”
“Rearranging finances implies you have more than one bank account and enough money to move between them at any given time.”
“Of course I do.” Rhys scrunched his nose.
“Was Callahan rich like you?” Beckett stepped into the shower, tilting his face toward the spray and slicking water back through his hair.
“I don’t know anyone who’s rich like me,” he said, leaning against the sink. “But he’s wealthy.”
“Does it bother you that I’m not?”
“Honestly, I find it rather refreshing,” Rhys confessed. “Can I join you?”
“You’d better.”
Rhys followed Beckett into the shower. He relaxed while Beckett tended to him, washing the remnants of sweat and cum from the night before from both of their bodies before sliding down to his knees and sucking Rhys’s cock into his mouth. Beckett sucked him with hollowed-out cheeks and a sloppy tongue until Rhys came right in the back of his throat. With a strangled grunt, Beckett slurped the last of Rhys’s willpower to deny his feelings right out of him, but he knew better than to admit he was falling in love while Beckett still had the taste of cum in his mouth.
Five hours later, they were back in Myers Bluff, and the limo idled in the street in front of Beckett’s apartment building. Rhys wasn’t confident the building was up to code, but he tried to hide his distaste for the squalor.
“Do you want to come up?” Beckett asked, his mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“I can’t stay.”
“Not for long. Just to see the place.” Beckett rubbed the back of his neck nervously, awkward smile falling away. “It’s weird that you’re my boyfriend and you’ve not seen where I live.”
“Fair point.” Rhys told the driver he’d be right back, then followed Beckett up to the third floor.
Beckett shoved his key into the lock and twisted the knob, opening the door in a decidedly not-grand gesture. Rhys stepped over the threshold after Beckett and closed the door behind him.
The apartment was small, but it was very Beckett; there was no arguing that point. To the right of the door was an archway that led directly into the kitchen and in front of them was a very cramped living room. The space was made even smaller by the massive green velvet couch that hugged one of the walls. Opposite that, a shelf overflowing with plants that all crawled toward the widow, some scattered pictures, a record player, and a small TV on a gold-painted entertainment center.
“It’s not much,” Beckett mumbled.
