“All of it,” Tate whispered.
“All ofwhat?”
“Everything,” Tate said through gritted teeth. “You made promises you didn’t intend to keep, Donovan.”
He frowned, trying to recall what he’d said.
“Not with words,” Tate added, clearly sensing Donovan’s confusion. “With … what you did. The way you…”
“The way I what? Fucked you?” Donovan put his hands on Tate’s thighs. “Because I didn’t treat you like a whore?”
“Yeah,” Tate bit out.
Silence echoed for a moment as they stared at each other. Donovan wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure why Tate would make those types of assumptions. History, maybe? Or did he think that little of Donovan?”
“Goddammit,” Tate hissed. “You made me want things I can’t have. Is that what you wanna hear?”
Donovan leaned closer. “What do you think you can’t have?”
They continued to stare at each other, both of them seething. Donovan wasn’t backing down from this. He wouldn’t. It was too damn important.
“You,” Tate hissed. “I can’t have you.”
“Says who?” he snapped, never breaking eye contact.
Tate sucked in a sharp breath but he didn’t say anything.
“Last night…” Donovan swallowed, gathering his thoughts. “What happened last night … that doesn’t happen for me.”
Tate’s big blue eyes widened. “What doesn’t?”
He closed the gap between them, sliding his hands to Tate’s hips and pulling him to the edge of the counter.
Tate’s eyes shifted away quickly, but then the bells over the door jingled. Donovan didn’t move. He remained where he was.
“Morning,” Tate greeted.
“Can you … uh … tell me if you have toilet paper?”
Tate looked at Donovan, so he answered with, “Back wall, bottom right.”
“Thank you,” the woman said.
“This is unprofessional,” Tate whispered when the customer disappeared to the back of the store.
“I don’t give a fuck.” And he honestly didn’t. He was not letting Tate get away from him again.
Donovan watched Tate so he knew when the woman was coming back.
“It’s on the house,” Donovan told her without looking back. “Merry Christmas.”
Tate nodded and smiled. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
The bells jingled as the woman left. Donovan gripped Tate’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze again.
“It doesn’t happen to me,” he repeated, picking up where they’d left off. “And I dare you to tell me you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.”
