“Yeah. I hear you. But speaking of questions, I’ve got one for you.”
“Okay, let’s hear it,” I say, assuming he’s going to ask something business-related.Silly me.
“You meant to send those pictures of me on the simulator to yourself for your yank bank, and then you deleted the evidence, didn’t you?”
It feels like the rug was pulled out from under me. I hadn’t realized the blunder until Grey texted back. When Vox covered for me, I’d hoped that would be the end of it. But I should’ve known better.
How the fuck do I handle this?
Like a coward.
“No, I meant to send them to Greyandmyself, to include him in your training. Besides, as you said, they’re cool pictures, and he can pass them on to the marketing team.” It’s weak, but my delivery is decent.
Vox leans over until he’s an inch from my face.
“Liar.”
The thing about desire is that it’s nearly impossible to mask.The sympathetic nervous system is hard to control and is such a fucking tattletale. Sweat is beading on the nape of my neck, I’m positive my pupils are dilating even further in this dim light to drink in as much of Vox as I can, and my breathing is rapid and shallow.
“Maybe,” I confess, shaking my head and leaning back a little. “I should get going.” My words say I’m leaving, but my body stays rooted to the chair while Vox’s hand remains rooted to my thigh.
“Could I have beaten you?” Vox asks, his voice low and calm, beckoning me down a dangerous path.
“Not with that time,” I answer honestly. “But it would’ve been close.”
Holding me hostage with another question clearly burning in his eyes, Vox finally asks, “What have you been doing for the last five years?
The brutal answer comes immediately.
“Surviving…barely,” I tack on at the end.
He nods, but doesn’t press for more. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says instead, bringing a flush to my skin.
“Me too,” I admit, and then decide to risk a little more in an effort to find out everything I can about him. Oh, I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Can I ask you something now?” Vox’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. I know he thinks I’m about to ask if I can kiss him, and the disappointment in his features is almost comical in its immediacy when I ask, “Any idea where your name came from?”
“That was a wasted opportunity, Lang,” he says with a shake of his head and a teasing grin.
For you and me both, I think to myself. As far as I know, Vox isn’t certain that I’m attracted to men, but I haven’t done a great job in the last hour of hiding the fact that I’m attracted tohim.
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t do something insane, like give in and un-waste the opportunity.
Vox sighs and offers an answer. “My mom was a model for Roxy. Dad worked for Volcom. They were probably high when they named me. I’m just glad I wasn’t born as Roxycom or Voloxy.”
“When you put it like that, Vox is pretty decent,” I say, laughing again in an effort to dispel the pressure behind my sternum. “Do you remember either of them?”
“My dad, more so than my mom, but still not much. I guess my mom continued to travel for work after I was born. My grandma never talked about either of them. I was too little to really understand anyway, and my grandma was there for me in every way a parent should be, so I just kind of accepted that being raised by her was how things were for me. We didn’t have much, but we had each other, and I never felt the need to waste my time searching for people who made it clear they didn’t want to be in my life. That was the start of my abandonment issues, and ever since, I’ve just been happier doing everything on my own. At least that way, if I get disappointed, I have no one to blame but myself.”
A silence descends between us until Vox snorts.
“Sorry, you probably weren’t expecting that emotional dump.”
“No need to apologize,” I tell him sincerely. The mood has taken another serious turn, and the air feels heavy with desire as we share parts of our lives with each other.
Needing to create some physical distance, I stand. “Mind if I grab a glass of water?”
“No, man. Help yourself. Let me just make sure I have clean glasses,” he says, climbing off his stool to follow me.
He has one foot planted and moves to take a step, but the floor is wet, and his other foot shoots out from under him. Tryingto gain purchase from something other than the wrought-iron backing of the bar stool, he latches onto me, but I’m unprepared for his weight, and we both go down.
