Chapter Twenty-Six
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I almost choke on my toothbrush as India hip-checks me, her flannel short-shorts meeting my cotton pajama pants with a solid thump.
“Stop hogging the mirror.”
I bend down and spit before rinsing out my mouth and giving her a dirty look. “How can I possibly be hogging the mirror when there are two of them? Do you need both of them, Your Royal Highness of Vanity?”
She smiles around her own toothbrush and then spits into the sink in front of her and, to make her point, rinses her brush out in the sink in front of me.
“Cris doesn’t mind.”
Oh, the doe eyes. “Don’t you even fake innocence with me. I know every filthy thing you’ve ever done.”
“You’ve done a bunch of them to me.”
True. As I rinse out my own brush, I notice her staring at me, her gaze roaming my bare torso.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
She shrugs, the spaghetti strap of her camisole sliding down her shoulder. “It’s possible Matty asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“Did he now?” It doesn’t even take a second for me to regret the testiness in my tone. Not that India would let me get away with that anyhow. She’s got her hands on her hips, and she’s giving me one of those patented narrow-eyed glares of hers.
“Yes, he did. Do you know why? It’s because he cares about you and he worries about you and he said you’ve been distracted and haven’t been taking care of yourself. You know if anything ever happened to you, he’d be devastated and blame himself.”
“What about you?” I ask, pulling her in front of me and wrapping my arms around her while I rest my chin on the top of her head.
She shrugs, but I can see uneasiness widen her eyes and feel the hitch in her breath. I give her a squeeze, but she won’t meet my eyes, not even in the glass. I’ve upset her and I didn’t mean to.
“You’re going to live forever.” Her voice is all prim and stiff, even though her lips are soft as she kisses my forearm.
“It’s true,” I assure her because India is one of the people who doesn’t like to think about my mortality. Or Cris’s. Or anyone’s really. “I’ve already infiltrated the vampire cabal, I’m just waiting on them to turn me. You know how persuasive I can be. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
She bites me then, and the sharp teeth sinking into my flesh let me know she feels better. I don’t bother to react, not even out of habit. Then she’s unwinding my arms from around her and dragging me by the hand back into the bedroom and over to the bed.
We climb in, and she snuggles up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder and sliding an arm around my waist. Thank god Cris is secure enough in their relationship he doesn’t have a problem with India and me sharing a bed when he’s not around. Sleeping with another person is one of life’s great pleasures, one I miss since I don’t get to request Matthew’s presence whenever I feel like it anymore.
Yes, I occasionally have the privilege with Allie, but exclusively when I’ve beat or fucked him so silly he doesn’t remember to keep distance between us. I would be lying if I said I never take advantage of that.
India is a particularly good person to cuddle up with since she takes zero effort to get into bed with and sleeps like a stone. A solid, still ball of heat. Like a human hot water bottle. I sleep easier when we’re all twisted up together, and I don’t quite know why.
“You are, you know.”
“Hmm?”
I stroke her hair in hopes of diverting her with physical affection. It’s not a crazy tactic. She’s like a cat that way. But she’s not to be deterred this time.
“Distracted. What’s up with that?”
I don’t answer because I’m honestly hoping she’ll fall asleep and forget all about it, and in the morning, she’ll have to hustle out to the office too early to bug me about it again. My India, though—she’s nothing if not tenacious when there’s something she wants. She levers herself onto her elbow and glares at me. “Spill, Walter.”
As with so many things where India is concerned, resistance is futile.
“It’s Hart.” The confession makes my jaw flex. Because even if I’m talking about it, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Her black hair spills over her shoulder as she tilts her head. “You’re still seeing him?”
“I am.”
“That’s…” Ha, I’ve done it. India Burke at a loss for words. I won’t revel in my victory for too long, though. I don’t want her to pout.
“Surprising? Yes, I’d have to agree.”
Not that I don’t date. Not that I don’t have various sorts of partners. I do. This is different, and she can tell.
“Are you not…enjoying it?”
She sounds confused, and she ought to. She knows as well as anyone I rarely tolerate dissatisfaction.
“I am.”
“So the problem is…?”
“I didn’t say there was a problem.”
“No, but you’re acting all weird. It’s making me uncomfortable. Stop doing that.”
A terribly uncivilized snort makes its way out of my nose. “Not to worry, little one. It’s merely temporary. Next time I see you, I’ll be back to my old self.”
She settles back against me, though this time higher up my body so we’re lying face-to-face on the same pillow. It’s a strange privilege, to share this unbearable intimacy with her, knowing I’m one of two people in the world allowed through all the layers of brittle shell and into the tender, innermost heart of India. She looks at me with those bewitching eyes of hers and I try not to blink, but having her scrutinize me this way is unnerving. I’d hate to work for the woman. She’s got to be the world’s most demanding and incisive boss.
That’s when I commit myself to it…to breaking things off with Allie. To stop dragging my feet and find him someone new, someone worthy of him. I’ve had a few ideas kicking around in the back of my head, but all this time I’ve been telling myself he’s not ready. In this moment, I can admit that’s not true. He’s more than ready. It’s me who’s not, and I have to stop holding him back from finding someone who can appreciate everything he is and everything he needs.
The thing is, I could hold onto him, but at the end of the day, I won’t be able to always put him first. My attention is always going to be divided, and at some point, someone is going to need me more than he does and he’s not going to be okay with that. Nor would it be fair to my clients and all the other people who rely on me to have my consideration split so.
As much as I enjoy him, it’s selfish to keep playing at this. I need to cut him loose. When I get back to San Francisco, I’ll do it. Introduce him to some people, see which one he takes a shine to, and then I’ll hand him off. Better than he was before. Someone is in for a treat because Allie’s a downright indulgence.
“I can tell what you’re thinking.”
India’s rarely quiet, but she is now.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have to give him up, you know.”
A whole mess of images floods my mind: me and Allie at a Raiders game while he attempts to explain football to me for the umpteenth time because I’ve never really taken to that game; the look on Allie’s face as I tell him I love him; a small herd of teenagers tromping down the stairs of the townhouse we’d share because, even though I don’t think I could deal with babies, I could see adopting a few queer kids whose parents have kicked them out; kissing Allie at the airport before I have to board yet another plane; me and Allie up at an altar saying I do.
Just as suddenly, they’re gone because that’s not what’s in my future. Too much work to be done, too many chess pieces to move, too many people to save, too many puppet strings to pull. Helping people is the best and most important thing I can do, and goddamn it, I’ll do it. It’s my calling, my responsibility. I can’t see having Allie and having that all at once. Something’s got to give, and I know what it has to be.
“I do. I’ve been having a hard time finding someone who’s good enough for him. He reminds me of you that way.”
I ruffle her hair, and she frowns, shaking her loose curls clear of my fingertips. “I mean it. Haven’t you learned anything from all the people you’ve helped and parceled off?”
She leans over me then, putting her hand to my cheek and stroking my stubble with the pad of her thumb while she looks into my eyes, her gaze so penetrating I feel as though she’s reaching into my soul. Is this how I make people feel? I don’t care for it. Best to be on the other side. For so many reasons.
“You’re allowed to be happy too, you know. If anything, you deserve it more than anyone else. There’s not a one of us who wouldn’t want to see you get your own happily ever after.”
It’s cute she thinks so, but I can’t put that theory to the test. She should know better than that herself. I can’t imagine she’d be anything other than vexed if she needed me to get on a plane and I couldn’t because something, someone, I’d chosen needed me more or at least got first dibs on my time.
“So noted. Now don’t you have to be up early tomorrow? Go the fuck to sleep.”
A smile props up the corner of her mouth, but I don’t think for a second she’s actually dropped this. At least let her put it down long enough for us to get to bed. At any rate, she pats my cheek and bends down to give me a kiss in the same spot.
“Yes, sir.”
That’s more like it. She shuts the lamp off and settles into me once again. It’s only a few minutes before her breath is the deep and even of sleep, until her slim but strong frame is warm, dead weight against me. I try to follow her into dreamland, but instead I lay awake for hours, going through my catalogue of the Bay Area’s kinky eligible bachelors and trying to ignore the images that keep flickering on the screen of my too-busy mind. They feel like an alternate universe, those snapshots of a future with Allie. An alternate universe I don’t have access to, so I should man up and get on with it, give away my Hart.
*
I’ve asked Matthew to help me with my unenviable chore, and as always, he’s done my bidding with aplomb. I don’t like it, but if I have to do it—and I do—I’m going to make sure it gets done right.
On Tuesday he hands me a stack of manila folders. I look up at him questioningly, and he smiles slightly.
“Alphabetical. I didn’t feel qualified to organize them any other way.”
I raise an eyebrow, and a lovely flush creeps slowly across his cheeks, the barest pink that turns his light brown skin the same color as the cameos my great-grandmother favored before she died. I remember sitting on her lap and being fascinated by the detailed carvings, the ivory raised from the oval in a perfect imitation of life. That’s the shade Matthew takes on when he’s self-conscious, but not embarrassed.
“It’s possible I put Post-its on the ones I thought Mr. Hart might favor. Given what I know about him.”
“Thank you, Matthew. That was considerate. Don’t play coy, though. I’m sure you have at least as good an idea of what Hart would like in a partner as Hart does himself. I thought I might review these in the den. Do you have time to join me?”
The unspoken insinuation is on your hands and knees, under my feet, and his eyes brighten before they dart to his computer.
“If you have too much to do, that’s fine. I won’t keep you. This is want, not need.”
“Isn’t it my job to give you both?”
“Of course, darling boy, and you’re very good at your job. Why don’t you tick one item off your to-do list and then join me? I’m sure I’ll still be reviewing these when you’re through.”
Matthew ducks his chin in a quick nod and sits immediately, poised at his computer as if ready to do battle. And he is. With administrative tasks to get to his reward: being my living, breathing footstool.
I tuck the folders under my arm and grab a glass of orange juice on my way to the den. I’d usually have coffee because coffee is one of life’s great socially acceptable pleasures, but I’m already feeling a bit tetchy and too much caffeine would probably nudge that feeling toward edgy or, worse yet, ornery. I’ve got back-to-back clients later today, though if I have my way they’ll soon be front-to-front because they’d make a handsome pair. I’ll have to enlist Matthew to force their meet-cute.
He’d never have clients run into each other, ever, because he’s meticulous that way, but he might, I don’t know, “accidentally” keep one waiting longer than normal? Infatuation at first sight, a few more “chance” meetings, hints sprinkled with care during sessions and follow-up calls, and there you have it: a compatible couple, done and dusted. I’m a motherfucking genius.
Before I can put my matchmaking machinations into motion, I’ve got to deal with this distasteful business.
Slipping into my favorite chair, I put my feet up on the ottoman and immediately miss the feel of Matthew’s lungs expanding under my feet. Wood and leather aren’t as good, but it’ll have to do. Having a Matthew who’s anxious because he has work to do is no good to me either.
Folders to my right, orange juice to my left, and let’s begin.
Within half an hour, I’ve whittled the pile to half of what it was. Unsurprisingly, all but one of Matthew’s selections made the cut. The only one that didn’t is a man I have plans for. I do one more pass to separate the wheat from the chaff, and then I’m left with half a dozen men.
Matthew comes in with a quiet knock to the doorframe. “Can I get you anything, sir?”
I raise my glass, and he doesn’t wait for further instructions, just takes it and returns a minute later with it filled with another measure of juice. Once it’s in my hand, I shove away the ottoman and point to the floor. He sinks like a ribbon and positions himself at the precise distance.
We both sigh when I cross my ankles at his sacrum. Perfection.
I flip through the folders one more time, each of them bearing a Post-it because, though he’s modest, Matthew knows people nearly as well as I do.
Phillip, Cyrus, Seb, Wiley, Arctic, and Julian. I’m going to make one of them a very lucky man. It’s possible I should let Allie have some say in this, but choice might paralyze him and as I told Matthew, I’m not sure he could even identify exactly what it is he wants. With encouragement and open communication, I think he could put names to them and say what he doesn’t want, but he’s still not quite at the projective state yet. Truthfully, a lot of tops will enjoy the uncertainty.
I flip through them one more time, considering them carefully. All financially solvent, all emotionally stable, all sadists to some degree. I trust them to treat Hart well, so now it’s down to tastes and that ever-elusive chemistry.
“Matthew?”
“Yes, sir?”
I list off the names and ask him to rank them from one to six. He hesitates, but I tell him it’s an order so he rattles them off in an order that nearly matches my own.
“What don’t you like about Phillip?”
“Oh, I like Phillip very much.” A miniscule wriggle of his hips confirms. Oh, yes, I remember that night. Phillip did quite a number on Matthew, and oh, did he ever enjoy it. “However, I don’t think he’s the best fit for Mr. Hart. A bit too attached to protocol. I don’t think he’d tolerate Mr. Hart’s more…unrefined aspects.”
Right, the swearing. I find it charming, but Matthew’s right, Phillip would not. Not in a fun-to-correct way either. They’d grow frustrated over what should be a misunderstanding or a bit of play. Phillip goes in the discard pile.
“Wiley?”
“May I be frank, sir?”
“Always.”
“I’ve seen the way Mr. Hart admires your physique. And mine for that matter. Wiley might be too bulky for him.”
It’s true Wiley’s a bit of a bear, and I’d have to agree with Matthew’s assessment that Hart has an eye for leaner men. Not that build has anything to do with effective dominance, but off-the-bat attraction would be a good start. I send Wiley back to the pond. He’s a wonderful top; perhaps I’ll make him my next project when I’m finished with Hart.
We go through a couple more and then we’re left with Cyrus and Julian. I weight them in my hands and try to picture them with Allie. This is futile because, when I see him being hurt by someone or being pleasured, it’s always by me. Which is what happens when I hold on to my charges too tightly for too long. I should’ve brought him to more parties, forced him to play with more people, but he never seemed quite ready.
I’ve done the science on these two, and they have equal marks for and against. Now it’s time for the gut, but at the moment my gut is useless because, as they say, it’s got shit for brains. Perhaps Matthew’s will have better input.
“Between Julian and Cyrus, which one would you pick for Hart?”
Julian’s the classic British boys’ school type top: enjoys paddles and buggering, and he’s quite handsome. Raised in Hong Kong by a Chinese mother and an English father, he’s got fabulously British-accented English to show for it. He’s a trans man who doesn’t have any interest in surgery to transition, partly because I know he’s planning on a family and wants to have babies himself. He binds and packs though and has perfected the art of walking through the world as a man.
Meanwhile Cyrus looks like an Adonis: blond hair long enough to pull into a low club and beautifully lean. He’s a fashion photographer, and he dresses to kill. He frequents the clubs and looks absolutely drool-worthy in the leather pants and boots he favors. Abs even I’d like to lick if I didn’t think we’d tear each other to shreds in the end. He might appear to be mild-mannered, but the man can be stone-cold when he’s topping. Perhaps a bit too cold.
I appreciate Matthew’s thoughtfulness, knowing he’s giving this due consideration. When he answers, it’s with confidence. “Mr. Davies, sir.”
Julian, then. “Why’s that?”
My question’s more out of curiosity than anything else. I happen to agree, but I’m interested to see if Matthew’s reasoning is the same as my own or if he’s thought of something else that will tip the scales further in Julian’s favor.
“Must I answer that, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Because he’s more like you.”
That hits me square in the chest, an impact right to the heart that jolts me in a way hits do. It obviously doesn’t hurt, but I can feel pressure, force, and I do. I clear my throat to get rid of the sensation.
“Right. Well, I guess we’re done here, then. I should get ready for Collette.”
“You’ve got Tariq first today, sir.”
“Yes, of course…” It’s not often I feel adrift, but I do right now. I have work to focus on, not this yenta business. It’s done, then. Julian. Julian and Hart, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. Well, more likely Allie being tied to the trunk while Julian stripes his shapely ass with a cane or birches his back and then fucks him until his abs and pecs and the fronts of his thick thighs are scratched by the bark. Details. Details that happen to be getting me hard, but details nonetheless.
I swing my feet off Matthew’s back and take up Julian’s folder, leaving the rest on the floor because Matthew will take care of them as he does with everything else. I’m about to leave, but there’s something else I need to do.
Striding back over to Matthew, I take a deep breath before I lay a hand on the back of his neck and stroke beneath his ear. “You did as you were asked, Matthew. I’m not unhappy with you. Go back to work.”
“Yes, sir.”