As he marches away from me, I follow with a sense of irritation under my skin. It’s all directed at me, of course. Not him. I’m the reason I get this attitude. I’m the reason I give people whiplash with my mood swings.
Julian shows me to a locked room around the perimeter of the club. Using a key card from his pocket, he unlocks it easily. Once inside, he turns on the light. It’s dim with a blue light illuminating from the ceiling. Around the room, the walls are lined with mirrors, so everywhere I look, I see myself.
How tragically ironic.
“What’s going on?” he asks as he turns toward me. His sullen expression is replaced with one of pity, and I feel like an ass for being so rude to him.
“I was bored, so I came here to find you. You didn’t seem very happy to see me.”
“Bullshit,” he snaps. His full, pink lips are pressed in a flat line. “What’s really going on?”
A laugh builds in my chest, and when it comes out, it feels like a lie. Nothing is funny right now. In fact, the only joke around here is me.
“I don’t want to talk,” I say. My arms hang by my sides. “I know I said I did, but I’m already in my fucking head, and I hateit, and I really don’t want to face it anymore, so could you just…distract me for a minute?”
Julian stares at me for a moment, his eyes so harsh and cruel. I’m reminded suddenly that Julian does not want to be a nice or comforting guy. He’s the same guy who wanted to call the cops on me the minute we met—even though he didn’t. He nearly cost Freya her job—but he didn’t.
I don’t believe true villains exist, but if they did, Julian would fit the bill.
Why the hell I came to him for comfort, I don’t know.
Maybe because I know it’s all for show. I’ve seen the gentle man beneath the menacing facade. He’s not as heartless as he wants everyone to think he is.
In fact, it would appear that Julian and I are complete opposites. I have the playful exterior with the dark moods, while he tries to appear cruel to the world…with a heart of fucking gold.
Slowly, he eats up the space between us, stepping up to me and placing his hands on my chest. Without a word, he slides my coat from off my shoulders.
I expect him to touch me some more, and honestly, with the way I’m feeling, he could do anything. Instead, he gazes into my eyes.
“Why wouldn’t you go to Freya? What makes you think I’m the right person to do that?” The tone of his voice isn’t snarky or bitter.
“Why not?”
“What exactly about me says comforting?” he asks, and it makes me laugh. Then we’re both laughing.
“Nothing, Julian. Nothing about you says comforting, but I wasn’t exactly looking for comfort, if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you want,” he answers, his expression tight with confusion. “But…is this okay? I mean…wouldn’t she be hurt?”
I take a step toward him, bringing my mouth to his neck. “I’ll make it up to her later.”
Julian is a bit shorter than me, so I have to lean over to kisshis neck. His back arches as he leans into me, letting me suck on the skin below his ear.
“But you and I are dating too, aren’t we?” I ask as my lips travel to the front of his throat and over to the other side. “We’re not just two guys dating the same girl.”
He makes a sound, not really a yes or a no. Just a sound.
“Right?” I ask, leaning back and staring into his eyes.
I watch his throat move as he swallows. His eyes soften with desire in them, and it makes my cock twitch in my pants. “Yes,” he mumbles.
Taking his face in my hands, I crash my lips against his, licking into his mouth and making him gasp loudly. His arms wrap around my neck as he bends to my will, letting me dive into him, letting me take pleasure from his body.
This is nothing like the kisses on the couch that night. If my intensity is frightening him, he’s not showing it. Instead, he shoves me toward the bed. As the backs of my legs hit it, I crash onto my ass, taking him with me.
Julian straddles my hips and stops kissing me long enough to stare at me. His eyes drink me in as if he’s looking for something, and maybe that something is recognition. He’s searching for the Archer he knows, not the broody, broken mess of a man who showed up at his club tonight.
His ring-fingered hand grips my chin. “You and I would be terrible together,” he says, and the despondent sound of his voice breaks my heart. “We’re both too moody. It would never work.”
