Page 188

Then chair wheels roll over tile in the next room. It’s sharp, specific, and unmistakably real.

I stop breathing.

Another murmur. A pause. Then that voice again, smoother now. Warmed into performance.

HotnReddy.

Heat moves fast through my chest and face. My nipples tighten in the cool room. My blood drops low and insistent, waking other parts of me.

My hand moves under the sheet. I stop it.

“No,” I whisper.

My dick doesn’t care.

From next door, Clint laughs. It’s filthy around the edges. A laugh I’ve heard through headphones, in darkness, with my hand on myself and my face hidden behind an avatar.

My eyes land on the laptop bag near the chair. The silver edge of the computer glints through the open zipper.

The chair next door rolls again. Clint says something I can’t quite make out, in that voice that swims with sex and risk.

My pulse jumps.

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, planting both feet on the cool tile. The day assembles itself in pieces I can manage.

Apologize to Don. Call Jessica. Ignore any texts that ask how I’m holding up.

From the other room, Clint’s voice lowers again.

I stand and move toward the laptop bag.

Just one minute. Quick in, quick out. Just long enough to put a picture to the sound coming through the wall.

Relapse has a texture. It’s the plastic on a cigarette pack unfurling between your fingers. The scratch of the match tip as it strikes.

The thought turns my mouth dry.

I pull the laptop free, drop it onto the bed, and sit cross-legged in front of it.

The screen wakes. My fingers move faster than my conscience. No hesitation, no typos.

And there he is.

Not quite polished. Not fully HotnReddy, though I doubt anyone else notes the distinction. The light is wrong, a little too harsh on one side of his face, leaving shadows under his eyes and a faint sleep crease on his cheek. His jaw is rough with morning stubble.

Before I’ve been in the room a minute, the private chat opens.

HotnReddy: Where have you been?

My breath catches.

On the screen, Clint’s gaze shifts slightly, focused now, waiting.

I smile despite myself.

Bentley84: Took the wrong train.

The joke is bad. Embarrassing, even.