I feel Liam watching me from across the table with those warm brown eyes of his. Flecks of amber and coffee and wheat in them. “He hurt you pretty badly, I take it?”
I meet his gaze. “That’s one way to describe it.”
He slowly nods and whatever public mask he has completely drops away. I see it in the weary shadows limning his gorgeous eyes as well as hear it in his voice. “This all stays between us, both ways, regardless of how our future plays out.”
I nod.
His gaze focuses on his sashimi. “In college, I fell in love with my roommate. We lived together all through undergrad and during law school. Seven years, in total. We became an item our first month together. But he was deep in the closet and not out to his family. Terrified of them.
“On the day we were supposed to graduate from law school, he completely ghosted before the ceremony, left me a note that just said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and returned home. Never responded to my texts, calls, or e-mails. Sevenyearswe spent together—living together, sleeping together, and him calling me Master—and apparently I wasn’t worth so much as a discussion when he left.
“I haven’t had a ‘relationship’ since then, and that was seven years ago. I’ve fooled around with some guys but never really dated anyone. I’ve spent those seven years second-guessing myself and wondering if I fucked up so badly that he was too scared of me to tell me, or if I just misread him and the situation, or what. I don’t know. All I know is that it haunts me, even now.”
“Holy shit,” I mutter. “You win.”
He snorts. “It’s not a competition.”
“No, but you’d win if it were.”
“I think losing your parents would earn you the gold.”
We eat in silence for a moment. “What are you wanting out of this?” I ask. “Honestly. Because I’m not into casual fucks or play.”
Liam sets his chopsticks down. “I’m lonely. I’m kinky. I’m very dominant, if you haven’t guessed, and I need a strong partner who can handle that side of me. I have no interest in a doormat. I need communication. I need to trust. I need someone who understands I have a fuckton of pain that colors every part of my world, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over it. I need someone who understands I don’t hold them responsible for my pain, but who can make allowances for me and my need to be reassured, at least in the beginning, that what we have is real.
“I also need someone who promises not to ghost me. I get that, sometimes, relationships end. But do me a solid and tell me to my face. Better yet, please give me a chance tofixit, if it’s something I did and not simply us realizing we’re incompatible and agreeing it’s not going to work.”
“You sound like an emotional DIY project.”
Belatedly, I realize that was the absolutely wrong thing to say, because his whole body language shifts, changes.
Locks down.
“It’s okay to tell me you’re not interested in me,” he quietly says.
“Whoa. I didn’t say I’m not interested. I’mveryinterested. But I’m not going to stroke your ego just because. You want honesty? You’ll get that from me. Maybe more than you bargained for. You can’t get pissy with me when I do what you ask, either.”
His jaw tightens, then the weariness returns and his posture relaxes. “You’re right,” he says. “I guess I am a DIY project.”
“Never said I wasn’t.” I laugh. “It’s always easier to work on someone else’s shit instead of your own, right?”
He finally laughs with me, a gentle chuff that stirs something deep inside me. “I suppose you’re right. Again.”
“I’m usually right.” He arches an eyebrow at me and I shrug. “Hey, it’s not being cocky if it’s true. It’s one of my strengths as an analyst. You don’t think the brokerage would keep me on if my success odds were in the shitter, do you?
“The question is, are you prepared for a lifetime of annoyingly pointed observations? You want a guy to lick your taint while blowing smoke up your ass and telling you you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, that’s not me, unless we’re in a scene. You want a guy who will tell you thetruth? I’m your guy. And no, I wouldn’t ghost you. That’s a dick move.” I pause and then ask it. “Unless you did something to make him afraid of you?”
It takes him a moment to reply. “I didn’t think I did. We discussed everything, negotiated. He asked me for many of the things we did together, the limits we had. But I’m not going to say I’m positive he wasn’t afraid of me. Before that happened, I would have said no, he wasn’t. Now? Who knows.”
“Is there any reason he would want to ghost you?”
“I mean, I know he was afraid to admit to his family he was gay. That’s the most obvious thing I can think of. His parents paid for his college and all his expenses, and he felt beholden to them. He was also deep in the closet to them. Evangelicals.”
I shudder. “I’ll hard-pass that. I’m a Methodist, thank you very much.”
He laughs, but he sounds amused.
“What’s so funny?”
