“You don’t go anywhere else?”
“Only if I’m with a group of friends.” He shrugs. “I wanted a place I could think of as my home base.”
“A place where everybody knows your name?” I suggest.
“Exactly,” he says with a nod. “What can I say? I like being surrounded by people who like me.”
I’m safer that way.It’s not the sentiment he’s going for, but it’s the one I hear. Toni seems to genuinely like the people he’s introduced me to tonight. Anytime he’s added an aside to me about someone, it’s always been a positive comment. Yet, in some ways, I still feel like these people are nothing more than a shield to him, keeping the potential bullies at bay.
“Rodney and Leif met here,” he adds, sipping on his bright green cocktail. “What a night to remember. If Rodney had known spilling a glass of rum and coke all over someone would lead to true love, he would have been dousing guys with booze years ago. Although, I’m pretty sure Leif is the only guy it would have worked on.”
“Leif is certainly unique.” It’s the one good thing I can think of to say about the man.
“He is indeed,” Toni agrees. “Leif and I have never clicked. We’re too different, I think. Our personalities rub each other the wrong way. He makes Rodney happy, though, and that’s what counts. As long as he keeps doing that, he’s all right in my book.”
I stare at Toni in surprise. After the scathing remarks Leif made about Toni the one time I met him, I’d wondered if Toni would do the same given the chance. Apparently, not. In fact, I’ve never heard Toni say a disparaging word about anyone—except Zac, who doesn’t count.
“You’re a good man, Toni.”
He blinks at my words, but then his face lights up in a blinding smile. “Thank you. It’s nice of you to say.”
Resting my forearms on the table, I lean closer, eager to learn more. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“I hate jellybeans,” he deadpans.
I burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? Everyone loves jellybeans.”
“Everyone is wrong.” His grimace makes me crack up again. “I do love Turkish Delight, though,” he adds. “And I’m not talking about real Turkish Delight. I’m talking about the crap left behind in the bottom of the chocolate box because no one else wants to eat it. That shit is gold to me.”
“Ew.” I shake my head at him. “I can’t believe I let you kiss me with that mouth.”
Toni smirks, biting down on his bottom lip. “You let me do a hell of a lot more than that.”
A bolt of heat shoots straight through me, and I’m almost distracted from my aim. Damn it, every time I try to dig a little deeper, he somehow manages to lead me off course.
Standing, I edge my stool closer to his, so his right hip is bracketed by my thighs. “Tell me something real.”
“My dislike of jellybeans is exceedingly real.”
“Toni,” I say in a firmer tone. “We’ve been dating for three weeks now, and I still feel like I hardly know anything about you.”
He takes a long sip of his drink, looking everywhere I’m not. I let the silence stretch out until finally he turns those big browns on me. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. But I have no doubt tonight’s quest for information will be limited to one question. “Why don’t you let anyone into your home office?” It’s a question I’ve wanted to ask from the beginning. The single locked door, right there in his tiny living room, looms larger every time I see it.
There’s a brief hesitation. He swallows, lets out a hollow laugh, “It holds so many treasures I couldn’t bear to put at risk, Ned. A big, old wooden desk. My computer, which is much more precious to me than the laptop I use in the office with Logan. Let’s see, what else.” His hand lands on mine as he continues to ramble. “I have a bookshelf, my colour printer, a big arse monitor which I have to say I do adore. The real estate on that thing is—”
“What do you keep in there you don’t want anyone to see?”
Toni falls silent, a false smile frozen in place. “I dabble in a little art,” he says, as if the admission didn’t need to be pried loose with a verbal crowbar. “It’s not exactly a giant leap for a graphic designer to do graphic art on the side.”
I nod, encouraged by this little crack in his shell. “Well, if you’re as talented with your art as you are with your designs, it must be amazing.”
“It’s not about that.” His shoulders lower as he leans across the table. “It’s a way for me to get stuff out. Negative stuff, mostly. That’s all.” His tone tells me it’s no big deal. His body language strives to confirm the message. The locked door says the opposite. “Surely, it’s better for me to put it all into my art than for me to yell at people or get all depressed or something. This way no one has to deal with my shit but me. Besides, it would mess with my creativity if I knew people were going to see it.” This part I believe because his gaze falls away as he says it. “Rodney calls it part of my sealed section,” he adds lightly. “You know, the forbidden part of the magazine you’re not supposed to open unless you’ve bought it.” His gaze lifts to mine, dead on and full of warning. “I call it my right to privacy.”
“I would never cross that line without an invitation,” I assure him, understanding the vulnerability the comes with creativity. “Your secrets are safe from me.”
“Secrets,” he scoffs. “I don’t have secrets. There are no dark and painfuls hidden in my past, no gaping wounds on my soul. This is it,” he gestures to himself. “This is the best of me. If people can’t take me as I am, fuck them.” Speech made, he sucks down the last of his drink before dumping the glass on the table and standing up. “Let’s dance,” he says, and all the tension falls away, replaced by a salacious smile. “I want to get you all sweaty again before I take you home and have my wicked way with you.”
