Page 3 of A Cold Hard Truth

“I don’t,” Remington said, and it was a half lie. He just didn’t want to be alone, but he definitely didn’t know how to ask for that.

“Pizza?”

“Sure.” Remington stretched out his legs and realized he was still wearing his work clothes. “Do you want to order it?”

“I make minimum wage,” Jace said, holding out his hand.

“Your boyfriend has to be a millionaire.”

“You're a literal doctor,” Jace reminded him.

Remington stood up and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, dropping it into Jace’s waiting hand. Jace wasn’t wrong. You wouldn’t have known it if you looked around the apartment the two of them shared, and Jace didn't know it, but Remington had as much money available to him as Callahan and Sebastian did. Maybe combined. But he hated it and he hadn’t wanted it, and being an archivist was not on the list of approved careers his parents had scored out for him.

Being gay wasn’t either.

But that was another thing they didn’t know.

“No pineapple,” Remington said.

Jace rolled his eyes. “I’m not new.”

“I’m going to go shower.”

“I know.”

Remington’s shoulders sagged and he slipped out of the living room, closing the door to his bedroom behind him before stripping out of his clothes and giving himself a hyper-judgmental onceover in the full-length mirror he had propped in the corner of his bedroom.

Remington was tall and thin, all limbs and sinewy muscle. He wasn’t much to write home about; he knew that. But he’d read books with slender heroes, and they always fell in love. They always had their day.

And he would have his.

He felt moderately better after a hot shower. He heard the water running on the other end of the apartment, so instead of rushing back to Jace, he sat on the edge of his bed. Dressed in a pair of black sweats, he pulled his phone off the charger and searched out the dating app Jace had mentioned last time they’d talked about Remington’s situation.

It was a free download and a free trial account, so before he could talk himself out of it, he signed up. He didn’t know what to say about himself, but he was fairly certain saying he had a degree in library sciences wouldn’t help him and talking about books wouldn’t help him, so he listed his height, which always helped him, six foot three.

The app wouldn’t let him not upload a picture, but he didn’t want to use his face, so he took a picture of his midsection—which Jace had told him was phenomenal on more than one occasion—then he sent the profile into the abyss of the internet and threw his phone onto the bed and walked out of the room.

“You’re indecent!” Jace balked when Remington walked out in nothing more than sweats.

He looked down at his chest and his stomach, flat but not defined. Then he studied Jace, who had far better muscle definition than Remington could ever hope to have, also not wearing a shirt.

“Look at you with the big words.”

“It’s a three-dollar word at best.”

“Did you order the pizza?”

Jace flopped back onto the couch and propped his legs up on the coffee table just as the doorbell rang. “Sure did. Can you get it?”

Remington collected the pizza from the driver at the door, tipped him accordingly, and then grabbed plates from the kitchen and joined Jace on the couch.

“Does Callahan dote on you this way?”

“No one takes care of me the way you do.” Jace took the plate and pulled a slice of pizza out of the box, settling back beside Remington with a relaxed smile.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re a natural caretaker,” Jace went on, unsolicited. “You make decisions, you make choices. You’re helpful and thoughtful.”