Slade was getting really tired of being called a liar.
“This is probably exactly what you wanted, ain’t it? For me to get pissed off. That way, you can calm me down, seduce me. I bet Carson’s out here somewhere. Watching. Waiting.”
“I don’t know where Carson is,” Slade seethed, his gaze dropping to Atticus’s mouth.
He was still leaning against him, holding him down to avoid getting hit again. The proximity was stirring him, making it difficult to remember he wasn’t interested in Atticus. That he merely wanted to protect him from Carson.
So much for not being a liar.
“Carson!” Atticus yelled.
“He’s not here.”
“Fuck you.” Atticus turned his head. “Carson!”
“Goddammit,” Slade bit out. “He’s not—”
“Cars—”
Slade gripped Atticus’s throat and crushed his mouth down over his. The move surprised them both. The next thing Slade knew, he was kissing Atticus, and the man was kissing him back.
Jesus fuck.
Not only was he kissing him, he was practically inhaling him. Atticus’s hands remained flat on Slade’s chest as Slade tilted his head, angling his mouth so he could devour him. Their tongues thrashed as air became scarce, but he didn’t want to stop. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed anyone like this. With complete abandon.
Atticus’s hands fisted the front of his shirt and a soft whimper/groan escaped. Slade swallowed the sound, trying to slow down the kiss before they both burst into flames. It was damn near impossible. Atticus kissed the way he did everything, with eager anticipation. Slade wanted that. He wanted this man eager for him.
Fuck.
Before every shred of decency escaped him, Slade remembered where they were, and he managed to pull back. Enough for him to look into Atticus’s eyes.
“Are you gonna stop screamin’?” Slade huffed, trying to catch his breath.
“No.” Atticus’s eyes dropped to Slade’s mouth. “Goddamn you.”
It was clear by the heat in his tone that Atticus was pissed, but he didn’t try to move. He didn’t shove Slade away. They stood there like that, with Slade pinning him against the truck, his legs bracketing Atticus’s, his hand still gently curled across his throat. Atticus’s arms fell to his sides.
“It’s not about Carson,” Slade whispered. “Do you get that now?”
“I don’t get any of this.”
Slade understood that. Ever since the night his brother, Spencer, was flirting with Atticus, Slade had been sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He’d told himself he wouldn’t pursue his attraction and look where that got him. Here he was, standing in front of Atticus after having kissed the man.
Forcing himself back, Slade let his hand drop, and he stood tall. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck that,” Atticus snapped, jerking on his shirt. “I don’t need your fucking apologies.”
Maybe not, but Slade felt the need to give them.
“I think I’m gonna head to Dallas tonight,” Atticus told him.
Slade’s stomach dropped, and disappointment filled the space where the momentary thrill of that kiss had been. He didn’t want Atticus to go. Not yet. Not until they managed to figure this out. Six weeks was a long damn time for this to sit on the back burner. There was no doubt by the time he came back, Atticus wouldn’t want anything to do with him.
“Don’t go.”
Based on Atticus’s expression, his plea surprised him.
Slade decided to go all in. “I don’t mean to complicate things with you and Carson. I don’t. I swear. But…” He exhaled on a harsh breath. “I also don’t want to let you walk away without knowin’ that I’m all in here.”
