Chapter 13

Blake's long legs fall in stride with mine as we make our way back to the hotel. The sun is but a whisper in the sky, giving way to the start of another evening full of promise and possibility. The night sky isn't what I'm used to, though. Here in downtown Miami, the moon and stars are well hidden by the myriad of manmade lights filtering out of the various bars and clubs.

"I've made arrangements for you to have a room of your own," Blake announces, his voice overtaking the welcomed silence.

"I don't know why I didn't get a room of my own in the first place."

Blake sighs. I can hear him inhale, allowing the sticky warmth of the night fill his lungs before slowly pushing it all out again through his nostrils. It's the type of sigh my mom would always give me when I was younger. She called it a 'sigh of patience.'

"Phil will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning," Blake continues. "I will take him out to breakfast before we start our day. You may order room service; please order whatever you'd like. I will make sure to get you a copy of our itinerary prior to picking you up at the hotel. Any questions?"

"Yea. How would your fagtoid boyfriend feel if he knew you attacked me earlier today?"

Blake doesn't sigh this time. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and I see the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The sight makes my stomach quiver again. Is he thinking about our kiss again? Do I want him to?

Stop, Callum. Just fuckin' stop.

"He wouldn't mind," Blake answers quietly.

I frown, surprised. "What? Do gay dudes just like – have a different set of relationship rules?"

This time Blake sighs again.

"Callum, despite your grotesque mindset regarding the gay community, our relationships are every bit as 'conventional and normal' as straight couples."

Yea. Except there are dicks everywhere.

Blake and I come to a stop light. A small, elderly woman is already waiting at the corner, her eyes fixed forward and her hair pulled back into a tight bun. I expect her presence to be enough to deter our current conversation topic, but Blake continues on as if she isn't here.

"I met Phil four years ago," Blake explains. "We dated, casually of course, for the first two. It was a perfect arrangement for the both of us; I was busy with work and Phil wasn't ready for commitment."

The light changes to red, and the neon, white stick-figure glares inside its box indicating for us to cross the street. Blake pauses, ushering the elderly woman to walk ahead of us. She eyes him up and down warily. Her look goes unnoticed by my boss.

"By year three I was beginning to lose my patience," Blake admits, and he lifts his wrist again to fidget with his cufflink. "I wanted something with more substance. So around this time last year, I told Phil if he wanted to keep me in his life, he needed to commit. If he still wasn't ready, I was prepared to move on."

For some unknown reason, that ludicrous feeling of jealousy prickles inside me again hearing Blake talk about Phil. Blake waves a hand through the humid, Floridian air, shaking his head as if pulling himself from a distant memory.

"To make a long story short, Phil agreed to commit. His terms in doing so, however, were that we would not live together, and that whenever we weren't around each other, we were allowed to do as we pleased – physically speaking."

I snort. "I wish women had that type of mindset."

Blake hums in his throat. "I wasn't keen on the terms. It took some negotiating on my end. Eventually I agreed to it, but with a condition."

"Which was?"

"That even if both of us could 'do as we pleased,' any encounter we created outside our relationship had to remain purely physical."

I laugh, humorlessly.

"So basically you can fuck whoever you want as long as you walk away with zero emotional ties?"

Blake nods, frowning at my choice of words. "Correct."

I slide my tongue along my top row of teeth. The 'terms' of Blake's relationship with Phil absorb into my brain and settle in the most uncomfortable way. It's not like I want a gay dude to have feelings for me, but to know up front that he has none and never will.....well, it's vexing.

I'm usually the one with no feelings. I'm usually the one demanding that things stay purely physical, cutting off all emotional ties that might strap either party into something they really don't want in the first place.

Yet after Blake's confession, I'm left feeling like the stupid pawn in his romantic game rather than the game maker.

Again, though, it's not that I want a gay dude to have feelings for me.

I'm just saying.

Hell, I don't know what I'm saying.

The two of us reach the hotel entrance. The man standing outside opens the door, sweeping a hand for us to enter. His pants are creased down the middle, a crisp and professional look to match the flawless prestige of the hotel.

He gives a slight bow out of respect when we pass him, and the grand, glass doors give way to a rush of cool air. Never before has air conditioning felt so wanted. Or needed.

Blake's fancy shoes click against the shiny tile of the main foyer with every step he takes. His gaze is trained forward, shoulders back, and posture filled with unbreakable self-assurance. I always thought I was a confident dude, but this joker – he is on a whole new level.

A question burns the tip of my tongue, and by the time the two of us reach the elevator, curiosity forces it to spill from my lips.

"So if you've been seeing Fagtoid Phil for a year now, what number am I?"

"I don't follow. And please, watch your language."

I roll my eyes and smash my index finger into the 'UP' button of the elevator. "I mean, if you've been allowed to fuck around with men for the last year, where do I fall? What number am I in your list of conquests?"

It's not like it should matter. I'm not gay; I shouldn't have even been on his 'list' to begin with. Those facts alone should be enough to keep my mouth shut and my curious thoughts at bay. Yet for some reason, my desire to know the answer gnaws at me.

Blake glances down at me. A sparse bit of color blooms in the tips of his cheeks, a look I've never seen him sport before. He clears his throat and reaches down for his cufflink again.

"One," he answers. "Just you."

____________

The sound of his voice stirs me awake. It's muffled and disoriented, but it's there – strong enough to pull me out of a dreamless sleep. I pry my eyes open and my heart picks up speed as the voice increases in volume.

Knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

"...think he's up yet?"

"This won't take but a minute," I hear Blake answer the unfamiliar voice.

Then I realize who it must be. Phil. I kick out of bed and pull on my faded khaki shorts from last night. I don't bother with a shirt. Mentally I assure myself this choice is due to sheer laziness, but a deeper, more insecure part of me knows it's to impress Blake while in the presence of his boyfriend.

I run a hand through my disheveled, sandy-colored hair and clear away the dryness from my throat as I walk to the door. There's no reason for me to be nervous right now. If anything, I should be relieved Phil is here to focus Blake's attention away from me.

So why are my hands sweating?

And why is my heart ready to fly right out of my chest?

My sweaty fingers wrap around the door handle and I tug it open. Bright, florescent light streams in from the hotel hallway. Shadowing its light stand two well-dressed men. Blake stares down at me, his eyes leisurely raking down my naked torso.

His companion – a thin and clean-cut male – does the same, raising a brow when he's finished with his visual appraisal.

"This is your new assistant?" he asks, whispering to Blake.

I narrow my eyes on the brunette, his question inflating my defenses a notch or two. Or ten.

"I'm not his assistant," I correct him frostily. "I'm the Administrative Specialist."

The brunette grins, his eyes blazing with mischief. "My, my. He's feisty too. No wonder why you're keeping such close tabs on him, babe."

My jaw tightens. Setting aside the fact that this prick's last comment was spoken as if I wasn't standing right in front of him, he felt the need to address Blake with an affectionate pet name too. He may as well whip his dick out and piss all over Blake's leg just to get the hem-hawing out of the way.

Blake clears his throat and hands me a piece of paper. "I apologize for waking you, Mr. Greene. Here is the work itinerary I promised you. I will be by to pick you up by 9:00 AM sharp. Please be ready."

"And I'm Phil," the sinewy male beside him announces, sticking his hand out in introduction. "The boyfriend."

"I know who you are."

I stare at his hand, hating it. Hating it even more for not knowing why I hate it in the first place. Was that the same hand that probably touched Blake only minutes ago as they dressed before coming by to see me?

Fuck that.

I snatch the paper out of Blake's hand, ignoring Phil's attempt at congeniality. Having them standing at my door infuriates me. I don't know why, but I don't like it. Any of it. I shut the door in both of their faces, fingers still sweaty, and a frantic heart still racing with uncertainty.

What the fuck is happening to me?