Brantley finished the sandwiches in record time, sneaking a few bites of turkey to Tesha as though Reese didn’t notice every time he did.
When finished, he set the empty plate on the coffee table and shifted closer to Reese.
“Lay down with me,” Brantley urged, sliding behind him.
Reese didn’t hesitate, getting horizontal as Brantley got comfortable, propping a pillow under his head. When Reese was on his side, Brantley put his arm around him and pressed close, enjoying the warmth of him. This intimacy, the kind that wasn’t sexual in nature, was something he’d rarely permitted himself to enjoy before Reese. It completed him, made him feel safe, gave him something to live for.
“I love you,” he whispered near Reese’s ear.
Reese’s hand gripped his wrist as he leaned into him. “I love you, too.”
That was how they spent the rest of their Saturday night, curled up together on the couch.
Chapter Seventeen
After Slade’s declaration, Atticus had taken astep back.
Because we want to fuck you.
Seriously. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?Oh, gee, thanks, it’s good to be wanted.Yeah, fuck that. Atticus didn’t want to be their play toy.
So whatdidhe want because what he should’ve done was run out of the house as fast as his feet would carry him. He didn’t. Oh, no. He wasn’t that smart. And the fact that he didn’t only proved that he couldn’t resist temptation, no matter how ill-fated it was.
And there was no way this was ending any way but badly.
“Why me?” he asked, thrusting his hand in his hair as he paced back and forth behind the couch.
Slade was still standing in front of the door, blocking his exit. And Carson was still in the chair, his eyes tracking him back and forth, back and forth.
“Can’t you two just play your game with someone else?”
“This isn’t a game,” Slade said.
Atticus spun to face him, glaring up at the taller man. God, he was gorgeous. He shouldn’t have been because there wasn’t anything specific about him that stood out. With his ordinary brown hair and his run-of-the-mill brown eyes, he was textbook average. Only there was nothing average about those beautiful lips or the square jaw or how silky his brown hair looked or the twinkle of mischief that was always present in his brown eyes. Never mind the body that was built for fucking. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, lean hips, and muscles that made your mouth water.
Atticus hadn’t noticed any of that before today. Okay, maybe before today, but not too much before. Yesterday? A week ago?
Fuck.
“Not a game, huh? Then why is it a ‘we’?” Atticus asked Slade directly. “We want to fuck you,” he mocked.
Slade’s eyes darkened, and yeah, that was fucking hot, too.
“It wasn’t a collectivewe,” Slade stated.
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“It meanshewants to fuck you,” Carson noted, still sitting in his chair, observing. “AndIwant to fuck you.”
Atticus glared between them. “How is that not awe?”
“Because I’ll take you home right now and be content to spend the rest of the night with you in my bed,” Slade clarified. “Only you.”
That should’ve pissed him off because Atticus sensed that underneath, this was still a game. They were expecting something from him. A decision. An excuse. Something that would make this okay.
But it wouldn’t be okay. Nothing about it was okay. Last night, Atticus had been with Carson. Happy, in fact, with Carson. To the point he’d even allowed himself to get his hopes up, which was something he never, ever,everdid. He didn’t contemplate the future because he knew he didn’t have one. Not where relationships were concerned.
He didn’t know what was so special about Carson that made him wake up with a smile and hope clinging to every breath he took.
