Page 30 of Devil's Kiss

“I don’t have an attitude.”

“Ha!” Jordan’s eyes widened, and then he tore open the brown paper bag. “You, my friend, are full of attitude.”

Derek frowned as Jordan pulled out a gooey-looking bar of?—

“Whatis that?”

The grin that flashed across Jordan’s lips was wicked. Then he swiped his finger through the sticky amber and brought it to his mouth to suck it clean before letting out a dramatic moan. “A salted caramel bar. It’s delicious.”

No shit, Derek thought as he watched Jordan repeat the move. But he wasn’t thinking about the caramel bar.No sir.He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man now reaching for his coffee as if he hadn’t just fellated his finger. After Jordan took a sip of his drink, he glanced over at Derek to see why he wasn’t talking. He cleared his throat and tried to remember that they weren’t here on a date.

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t really like caramel.”

“Wait,” Jordan said, raising a hand, palm up. “Youdon’tlike caramel?”

Derek sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave a shrug. “No, not really. Sweets in general, actually.”

“Oh myGod. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I just don’t like them.”

Jordan looked him over. “Is it because of your workouts? You’re worried about putting on 0.001 percent of body fat? Because I have to tell you, one measly little bar won’t do it. And I’m sure your metabolism is off the charts anyway.”

Derek looked at the sticky bar sitting in front of Jordan and screwed his nose up in distaste. “Nah, that’s not it. It’s too rich or something. Maybe because I didn’t really grow up eating sweets? I don’t know. It just doesn’t appeal to me.”

Jordan slumped back in his chair and shook his head as he licked his fingers clean. “I’m horrified. Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ve got nowhere to go.”

Although Derek meant his words in an offhand way, the reality of them was so close to the truth that it automatically pulled him from his easygoing mood and propelled him right into a shit one. Something he didn’t hide well, apparently.

“Derek?” Jordan sounded wary as he reached across the table to touch Derek’s fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He trailed off as their eyes met, and as the warmth of Jordan’s touch seeped into him, Derek stared over at the wide brown eyes looking back at him. “What happened with your dad?”

If he was going to do this, he needed some distance. So Derek slid his hand away and picked up his coffee. He took a sip and then flicked a brief look at the man now waiting for him.

“Nothing,” he said, and watched Jordan’s eyes rove over his face, as if he were trying to work out the underlying meaning to the word.

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“I’m not sure how much you know about my family…” He let his words hang between them, wondering how much of this festering wound he’d have to expose.

“Like I said earlier, I don’t know much, but I heard your father is…” Jordan hesitated, and that made Derek scoff.

“A drunk, homophobic prick?” he supplied.

“Well…”

“It’s okay. That’s putting it mildly. He’s a fucking monster. For most my life he conducted our conversations with his fists and had no problem telling his faggot son repeatedly that he disgusted him. Trust me when I say that nothing you call him is worse than what I’ve already thought.”

Jordan looked stunned by his words, but when the surprise melted away and was replaced by compassion, Derek got up and started pacing to rid himself of the adrenaline and fear that came from talking about the fucker. It was as if thinking about him, or mentioning him, would somehow conjure his father right there with them.

“Derek, it’s okay. There’s no rush.” Jordan paused as if weighing his next words, then asked, “What happened?”

“He didn’t hit me for a change, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Does he usually?”

“Only when he’s been drinking.”