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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PERRY

St. Clare leaves to shower, and the place where he was sitting haunts me like I could still reach out and touch him. Sitting so close should have been a lesson in hygiene, given we’re both covered in dry sweat, but I only wanted to lean in more.

There’s something going on in my head, and after learning about how Elle always thought she was straight until she met Margot, I have a guess at what it is. And it’s not the first time.

Some men are intimidating. I look up to them. Am drawn to them. Maybe sometimes that respect turns to interest, and that interest becomes something that gets my cock going.

I’ve never acted on it. Never had it come on so strongly that I wanted to act on it, but with St. Clare, knowing that he’s available and would potentially want that is giving me thoughts I’ve never thought before.

The last time I had this reaction to someone, it was one of the dads at a kid’s birthday party I was working. He snuck away for a joint, and when I stumbled upon him, we shared that joint between us, him holding it to his lips and then to mine, progressively standing closer and closer before he cuffed me on the shoulder of my Trolls costume and disappeared back into the house .

He gave off asshole vibes. We didn’t speak a word. I was able to shake off the burning lust easily and get on with my day like nothing had happened.

But I don’t even smoke weed—my mom would have killed me—just like I don’t usually get all tongue-tied around men and draw smiley faces on their cups.

I’d thought St. Clare was going to kiss me and moved closer .

I’d thought he was going to kiss me, and now I’m disappointed that he didn’t.

Huh.

Maybe this whole thing is supposed to be my journey of self-discovery. Forget the madmen with guns—myself included—all these events were purely meant to bring me and St. Clare together. The universe is a wild and wonderful thing.

At this point, I need a silver lining, and I’m clinging to it.

The sound of the shower reaches me from down the hall, and I’m struck by a sudden thought.

St. Clare is naked.

Totally naked.

Not very far away.

He fills out those suits, and his shoulder felt nice under my hand earlier, so I can’t stop my thoughts from straying to how muscular he is. I’m a big guy, mostly due to my natural state of desperate survival and fast metabolism, but his muscles are different. Gym built, I’d say. Nothing like Lars, but as I sit there, filling in the blanks and trying to remember what his body looked like the night we met, my cock gives a little tug of impatience.

I’ve been hard since he was sitting next to me, and I wonder if he was the same. I wonder if he’s in the shower right now, water streaming over his front, hand wrapped around his dick.

I groan and press down on my groin. No matter how flirty and good-looking he is, I can resist this. It’s not hard. I do it a lot.

Margot came out when she first started high school, so it’s not like I’m ashamed of these feelings. It’s more complicated than that. I’m one part convinced it’s all in my head and doesn’t count if I’ve never been with a man, and the other part doesn’t want to … like … encr oach on Margot’s space. I take so much from her that if I’m queer too, it’s another thing she has to share with her ridiculous little brother. She had a hard time being herself in high school, but she did it anyway, whereas I was too focused on keeping my position on the football team to let myself think of anything else.

Margot had to do the hard yards.

I got to hide.

Suddenly deciding that I want to kiss a guy and then just doing it feels like a slap to the face of all of that.

Or maybe I’m confused.

It’s not a stretch for me. I’m confused about ninety percent of my life that being confused about this, too, checks out. If I’m still making this many excuses to ignore my attraction, then I’m probably not ready for it, am I?

Before I can get answers to any of my questions, the front door clicks open and Lars walks in, those melon-smuggling arms full of bags.

That are probably full of food.

I perk up. “What did you end up getting? You left too fast for me to put an order in.”

“I’ll add that to my list of life regrets.”

“I appreciate it.”

Lars almost smiles as he dumps the bags onto the kitchen counter. “Got this for you.”

I watch as he reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a T-shirt that he throws at my chest. I catch it and then hold it out to see the front. It’s a puppy with floppy ears, big eyes, and a goofy expression. Underneath the image are the words “Friends fur-ever!”

It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. “You do love me!”

“Don’t get excited. It was that or a Seattle tourist shirt, and that was the only one with an animal on it.”

“Friends fur-ever …” I drag the word out and give Lars my puppy dog eyes. “You’re a big softie under all that Johnny Bravo swagger, aren’t you?”

“I don’t swagger. ”

“But you are a softie.”

He still doesn’t acknowledge me.

“So what’s St. Clare’s deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like … why would someone want to kill him anyway? Is Saint Clare’s a front for something?”

“It’s a nightclub.”

“Yeah, but you know most nightclubs are a front for drugs … or, umm …”

“Umm?”

“Well, nefarious deeds.”

“Nefarious deeds, huh? You watch too many movies.”

“It wouldn’t be so common in movies if it wasn’t true.”

Lars pulls out some crackers and cheese slices and throws them both at me. “If you’re eating, you’re not talking.”

“Not true. I’m talented enough to do both. At the same time.”

“No one wants to see that.”

“I’m just saying that if you think this will shut me up, it won’t.”

He hums and starts unpacking the bags. “I’ll remember fudge next time.”

“I’m up for the challenge.”

I don’t notice the sound of the shower has stopped before St. Clare joins us, clutching a towel around his waist, wet hair slicked back and dripping onto his neck.

“Did you find clothes?” he asks Lars, and it’s lucky no one expects me to talk because shirtless is a good look for him.

He’s not as big as I’d originally imagined, and I adjust that image to mesh with the real deal. Soft lines and round pecs and broad shoulders at odds with his trim waist. The towel is slung seductively low, and neither of them pays it any attention as Lars hands over some clothes and St. Clare turns to get changed in another room. As he walks away, I clock a drip of water slipping down the groove of his spine, and I follow its path all the way to the swell of his ass, barely covered by the fluffy material .

A loaf of bread hits my face, and Lars’s laugh follows it.

“What was that for?”

“Looked like you needed to come back to Earth.”

St. Clare is gone—pity—so I turn my attention to Lars instead. “How do you know you’re straight?”

He moves into the kitchen and starts putting everything away. Maybe I should help him, but this is an important discussion, and concentrating on more than one thing at a time isn’t my strong suit.

“I have a best friend who’s gay, have never been all that concerned about labels, but when it comes to attraction, all I’ve ever been interested in is women.”

“Right. That’s … conclusive. But tell me: what if it’s only ever women, and then, occasionally, you’ll see a guy who gives big Dom vibes, and that sort of does it for you?”

He stares at me. “Wait. Wait, wait. Tell me … tell me you’re not talking about?—”

“ Shhh !” I throw a look back down the hall. “Maybe not professional will-spank-you Dom … just … would respectfully tell me what to do and be super confident and good in bed type of …” The words I’m saying suddenly catch up to me. “You know what? Forget I said anything.”

“Wish I could.”

“This never happened.”

“Wish it didn’t.”

“Pass me that bottle of Coke, please? I’d like to start attempting to drown myself.”

He hands over the bottle, then crosses his arms on the counter. “Take it easy. We still need you.”

“For what? Sexual harassment? I can tell you that you have a great ass, too, before I off myself if you’d like?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t. What I do need from you is to find out this name for us. You said you could.”

“Sure. Luther will be able to tell me.”

“You sound confident about that. ”

“No reason not to be.”

Lars runs his eyes over me, but not in the sexy way St. Clare does. More in the can’t believe I’m real way. I’m taking it as a compliment. “No reason other than the fact the guy takes money to facilitate crime.”

“Yeah, but he owns a labradoodle.”

“And?”

Now, I’m struggling to believe Lars is for real. And it’s not a compliment. I explain slowly. “He owns a labradoodle. One of the purest pooches on earth. No one who owns a labradoodle is a bad person. It’s, like, the law.”

“The law.”

“Never happened.”

“And you’ve seen to this personally, have you?”

“Don’t believe me. You’ll see.”

“Well, considering you’re doing it tomorrow, at least if you die, it means I won’t have a chance to get attached.”

If I die.

Well, that’s one way to smack me in the face with it, I guess.

Full confidence in Luther, obviously, but also … what if I’m wrong? Could I actually fucking die? What if St. Clare is right and they really were targeting me?

That means I actually almost died today, and I have to say, being on the other side of things isn’t a great feeling. What would Margot think if I suddenly died? Just … never came back to her? Would she be searching for me the way St. Clare has been searching for his brother?

Would she finally get a moment to relax then?

It would be easy enough to be like, “nah, not gonna do it,” but we don’t have any other options. Either try to get Luther to spill the info or play hopscotch between housing until these guys finally catch up with us.

All I can do is hope that Luther is the doodle-daddy I think he is.

Being reminded that the big D could be coming your way helps put things into perspective though. Does it matter if I’m attracted to St. Clare? Or other guys? If something happens to me tomorrow, no one will know much of anything about that.

At least then I won’t need answers to the millions of incessant questions I have.

I force a grin Lars’s way. “Guess I better not die, then,” I tell him. “I can’t let you get out of liking me that easily.”