Page 40 of Pretty Mess

I grimace. “They are a bit sticky.”

He goes to the fridge and removes a couple of bottles of water. After tossing one to me, he removes the cap on his own and gulps down the contents in great gulps. I roll onto my front, ignoring my own water in favour of looking at him. He’s become a source of fascination to me.

He throws his empty bottle into the bin, and I settle back in the sheets, sure he’s about to leave. It’s his usual pattern, so I’m amazed when he climbs back into the bed and pulls the covers over his legs. He settles back against the pillow, staring moodily at the wall, his grumpy mood from earlier making a return.

He’d lost his attitude quickly when I’d dropped to my knees and deepthroated him. My days of practising with a banana were obviously worth it. I wish my career guidance teacher at school had told me these were lucrative skills in the job market.

The thought of school makes me think of my brother, and I sneak a glance at my phone on the bedside table. I want to check my messages to see if he’s replied. He hasn’t answered any of my texts this week, and Cath said she hasn’t seen him either. I passed worried a while back, and now I’m officially getting frantic.

My fingers twitch, but I restrain myself. I definitely remember Julian’s fierce insistence on not looking at my phone. “They’re a customer. Not some random bloke you picked up at the pub. They deserve all our attention,” he’d scolded.

“What’s the matter?”

I jerk and look over at Cormac. “What?” His eyebrow rises. “I mean, pardon.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t bother. I gave up expecting manners a fortnight ago.”

I snort and poke him. “Shut up.”

I’m still amazed at my behaviour, but his eyes twinkle. “It’s been like keeping company with a yeti, although I’m pretty sure a yeti wouldn’t demand answers for his increasingly ludicrous questions.”

I grimace. “I know. I continue to break all of Julian’s rules.”

“Does he have a lot?”

“You have no idea,” I say darkly. “The World Health Organisation issues fewer dictates.”

He chuckles and immediately looks discomposed. I eye him covertly. I like making him laugh. It doesn’t happen often, but he has a beautiful smile. His whole face softens for a second, free from the fierce concentration he typically wears.

I shift onto my side, pillowing my head on my arm. “I’m afraid I’m not the usual sort of bloke you pick up.”

“You make it sound like I choose my men in the same manner as someone buying groceries in Sainsbury’s.”

“I somehow think you don’t do that very often. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’d have been in the discounted aisles,” I say glumly. “Sorry for coming first.”

His lip twitches. “You can’t help your poor impulse control.”

I eye him and decide to just ask my question. He can, and probably will, refuse to answer. “How many men have you been with from the club?”

To my surprise he eases to his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“Oh my god, you have tocount?” I exclaim.

He shoots me a look that sparkles with reluctant humour. “I’m a busy man, Wes.”

“I’ll say. You’ve probably given Casanova a run for his money.”

“Hardly. I certainly would never have been climbing in and out of the windows of my conquests.”

“Yes, but is that just your age rather than inclination?” I say sympathetically and then gasp in horror at what just came out of my mouth.

He’s going to finish this thing with me now, and I can hardly blame him. My mouth drops open as he gives a huge roar of laughter. It’s very contagious, and I find myself grinning back at him.

He chokes off the laugh and rolls to his side, scanning my face. “What?” I ask softly.

He raises a finger, and I hold my breath as he traces my face, lingering over my cheekbone before tracing over my lips as gently as a butterfly. I resist the urge to kiss his fingers, knowing instinctively that he wouldn’t like that. Instead, I watch him quietly.

“I find myself thinking of you when we are apart,” he whispers, and my eyes widen.