"We should go," Toby says suddenly, stepping away from Robin. Maybe he can feel the tension in the room. Maybe he can feel my eyes on him. "I have a program at four."
"Teen creative writing," Robin adds. "He's teaching them about unreliable narrators today. Very sexy, very mysterious."
"Everything is not sexy, Robin."
"Most things are sexy if you think about them right." Robin winks at Jason, who looks like Christmas came early. "Especially lions."
"Car. Now." Toby is physically pushing him toward the door.
Robin goes, but he calls back over his shoulder, "It was lovely meeting you all! Please keep taking care of our Toby. He forgets to eat and sleep when left unsupervised!"
OurToby.
Our.
"I'm fine!" Toby protests, then pauses at the door and looks back. His eyes find mine for the first time since he walked in, and something complicated passes between us. "Thank you. For last night. These are just... thank you."
Then he's gone, the door swinging shut behind him, and I can hear Robin's voice through the walls, teasing Toby about something as they walk back to the car.
We watch through the window as Robin stops by the driver's side to ruffle Toby's hair one more time. He says something that makes Toby laugh and shove him, and then they're climbing into the Audi, and then they're driving away, and I'm still standing here with my hands clenched into fists and my lion roaring in my chest.
"So," Vaughn says into the silence. "The roommate is a hot guy who touches him constantly."
"Who drives a seventy-thousand-dollar car," Ezra adds.
"Who Toby went home to at three in the morning," Jason contributes.
"Who he lives with," Silas finishes.
They all look at me.
I'm gripping the edge of the workbench hard enough that the wood is creaking, starting to splinter under my fingers. I canstill smell them—Toby's warm sweetness and Robin's vanilla-butter-cologne, all mixed together.
"They're not together," I say.
"How do you know?" Vaughn asks.
I don't. I don't know. Robin touched Toby like he had every right to. Called him ours. Fixed his clothes, his hair, stood close enough to share breath. They moved around each other with the ease of long familiarity, the kind of comfort that comes from years of proximity.
But Toby didn't smell like sex. Didn't smell like Robin, not underneath. And the way he looked at me just now, that complicated expression right before he left—
"They're not together," I repeat, more firmly this time.
But my lion is ready to find out for sure. Preferably by marking Toby so thoroughly that pretty boy Robin won't eventhinkabout touching him again.
"Boss," Jason says carefully. "Your eyes are doing the thing."
I know. They're probably full gold right now, my lion too close to the surface, too agitated to stay hidden.
"Eat your tarts," I growl, and stalk back to the bike.
But I can still smell vanilla and butter mixed with Toby's warm-sweet scent, and it makes me want to break things.
Preferably Robin's perfect face.
Chapter 5
Toby
