He still didn’t look convinced, but he was quick to draw himself back when I ignored his pressure for more details. Instead, I shifted the conversation to Riot, who it was clear Lincoln wanted to see again, but for some reason hadn’t. Whatever his reasons for self-deprivation, I wasn’t terribly interested in breaking through them. The only thing I wanted to do was dwell in the lingering afterglow of one of the most intense scenes and best orgasms I’d ever had.
Lincoln and I had skirted around each other most of the day, but the evening brought us together, and he was scrolling through his phone looking for a place to order takeout from when mine started to ring. He glanced at my screen and raised a brow, opening the menu for our favorite Chinese restaurant.
“Are you going to get that?” he asked, pointing at Marshall’s name on my screen.
“Are you going to getthat?” I countered, tapping a picture on the menu of barbeque pork chow mein.
“Obviously.” He added it to the order.
“Obviously,” I said, swiping to answer the call and untangling myself from the couch. “Hello?”
“Silas.”
I hated that I loved the way he said my name, a bit like a prayer, a bit like a reckoning.
“Marshall.”
“How are you feeling today?”
“Tired,” I said, giving Lincoln the finger when he made a circle with one hand and aggressively speared his other hand into it over and over again. “Sore.”
“You gave me quite a workout too.”
I chuckled, feeling proud. “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t think you are.”
“Not really,” I murmured, heading down the hall toward my bedroom for some privacy. Closing the door behind me, I pressed my back against it and shut my eyes. “Is that wrong of me?”
“Not in the slightest. I like you honest.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut and the call lapsed into a silence millimeters on the tolerable side of awkward. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I pushed away from the door and crossed the room so I could sit down on my bed. It was smaller than Marshall’s, the sheets dirtier, the thread count lower. It wasn’t that I was poor, it was justthat…he had better taste. I wasn’t sure, but in the quiet on that call, I was painfully aware of every difference that existed between us.
Clearing my throat, I asked him, “What can I do for you, Marshall? I mean…why are you calling?”
“I’m calling to check on you after our scene,” he said, “but I’m also calling you because I wanted to.”
“You don’t seem to be in the habit of depriving yourself of the things you want.”
“Neither do you,” he said quickly.
“No. I’m not.” My breath hitched. “So…”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left on Saturday morning,” he admitted, the words coming quietly, almost rushed. “I told my brother about you earlier today.”
Something about the revelation took me by surprise, either the fact he had a brother or that he’d already told his brother about me.
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I have three.”
“Older?”
“All of them younger,” he said.
“Oh.”
“I told him I was interested in you.”
