Page 68 of A Matter of Fact

Well.

He wore dark green slacks and a white button up with the top two buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled up toward his elbow, exposing his forearms, and that shiny Rolex around his wrist. He was on the phone, with the device cradled between his ear and his shoulder. When he saw Beckett, his smile reached his eyes, and when he saw the cupcakes, he smiled wider. He held out his hand, palm up, and Beckett set one of the cupcakes in his palm.

Rhys stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in, shoved the cupcake in his mouth then held up a finger, indicating he’d be off the phone soon. Beckett nodded and toed off his sneakers, closing the door behind him.

“Jeremiah,” Rhys said into the phone around a mouthful of cake. “No. You’re not listening.”

Beckett couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end of the line, but Rhys’s entire expression soured at whatever it was. He stalked out of the room, slamming a door behind him. Beckett hoped the call didn’t get worse. He set the cupcakes down on the kitchen counter and went into the living room. Instead of sitting, he stared out the large window, standing so close his breath puffed hot against the glass.

From the other room, he heard Rhys speaking. He was loud and he was angry, and even though Beckett couldn’t make out the words, Rhys sounded so utterly capable and in control, Beckett’s cock twitched. Did he have a competence kink? Because listening to Rhys dress down the person on the other end of the phone was way hotter than it should have been. He rolled his neck, listening to the tone with which Rhys utterly dismantled whoever Jeremiah was, and he startled when the door opened.

He turned, face red as if Rhys would somehow know what he’d been thinking about. But when Rhys rejoined him in the living room, his expression didn’t offer Beckett any indication of how he was feeling about anything at all. It was nearly blank, detached, and Beckett covered his cheeks with his hands, hoping the bulge between his legs wasn’t visible.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair and then bracketed his hands over his hips, scowling at the wall.

“Things are complicated.”

“Can I help?”

“Unlikely.” Rhys’s posture deflated and he shuffled to the kitchen, where he grabbed another cupcake from the plate on the counter. He bit the top off first, then sighed and finished the rest.

Beckett went to him and slid his arms around Rhys’s waist, resting his cheek against the middle of Rhys’s back. Rhys went rigid for less than a second, and he curled his hand over the place where Beckett’s fingers twined over his stomach.

“I was wrong,” Rhys murmured.

“Hmn?”

“This helps.”

Beckett smiled and closed his eyes, breathing in the starchy smell of Rhys’s undoubtedly dry clean only shirt and the way it mixed with his soap and that spicy cologne. It was ludicrous that Rhys evensmelledrich, and Beckett probably smelled like two year-old boxed detergent from the laundromat.

“Would you like to get lunch this weekend with my brother and his boyfriend?” Rhys asked, markedly changing the subject.

“I think the question is if they’d want to get lunch with me,” he said.

Rhys turned his head and frowned at Beckett over his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“First off, can you stop frowning?” He reached up and poked the corner of Rhys’s mouth with his finger, drawing a scoff out of his mouth. Rhys turned in Beckett’s embrace so they were chest to chest. “Secondly, I don’t know. Because it’s me.”

“That’s exactly why they would want to.”

“Have you ever brought a boyfriend home to meet your friends?” he teased.

“I haven’t had a boyfriend in years. Or friends.”

“That’s honestly…” Beckett wasn’t sure what to say, and Rhys seemed to pick up on it because he bent down and pressed a kiss against his mouth to keep him quiet.

Beckett was already hard, and it didn’t take much to get him harder. Rhys made a gentle noise against his mouth and smiled.

“I do want to get lunch with them,” Beckett said, wiggling his hips and trying to shake his cock into a more comfortable position. “But I work this weekend.”

“Dinner then?”

“It would be late,” he said.

“I’ll wait up.”