He looks up at me, a stern expression on his face. “You know what? Nobody who’s a good person even reads that stupid shit. Fuck them. Fuck all of them, and anyone who would talk about her like that.”
I nod. “I can’t stop thinking about how she must feel. I can’t even stand being misquoted, let alonethis.”
He rests his forehead on mine.
It’s so disorienting, being this close with him, after trying for so long to hold back.
“Why do you hate being misquoted so much?” he asks.
And then he tilts his head to one side, moving forward to kiss me at an angle, before I can respond. He takes his time, this time, and I open for him naturally, letting his tongue slide over my own.
Surrendering to it is like a dream.
He finally pulls back for a breath. “Going to grab a seltzer. You want anything?”
“I’m okay.”
I puff out a laugh when he has to move back in and kiss me one more time before he walks over to the bar.
He’s been touching me, pawing at me, and pulling at my clothes for as long as I’ve known him, but kissing him feels like entering the fucking stratosphere.
But I’m trying so hard to explain myself correctly right now.
Hedoesdeserve honesty from me, even when I struggle to express it.
“I hate being misquoted because it’s not right.”
“And because it means you’re not the one crafting your own reputation, when you’re misquoted?” Chase asks, coming back over with a can of lime seltzer. “You don’t have to have a pristine reputation, Logan. If people are wrong about you, or people you associate with, you ultimately can’t change it.”
I hum. “I’ve been desperate for everyone to like me since I was a kid. That part has nothing to do with being famous.”
He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
It feels like he’s attaching himself to me like a backpack. His head is pressed up against the back of my shoulder as he clutches close to me again, this time from behind.
His fingers slide beneath the hem of my shirt as we stand there in front of the fire. He rubs his thumbs back and forth over the skin on my lower abs, and his voice is close to my ear when he speaks.
“So you have to hurt yourself every time there’s an article you don’t like?”
“The intention was never to hurt myself.”
“Good.”
His hands slide up a little, roaming over my stomach.
I felt empty and purposeless until he arrived, and now I feel like I’m being anchored back down to Earth by his touch.
“I would never fucking pay you hush money, by the way. I’m kind of mad you assumed that.”
“You don’t get to be mad about that,” he says.
I lift an eyebrow “Yes, I do. Quit thinking that shit about me. It’s not what it was for. The money was for the paints.”
“Hm?”
“You posted on your page the other day about wanting that full set of watercolors. You were talking about needing to save up another paycheck to get the expensive ones.”
His fingers dig into my skin, gripping my chest tightly all of a sudden, and the unexpected strength makes my cock jump.
