Page 14 of Resist Me Not (Bloody Desires #4)

I choose a matcha matte, not only because of Mr. Zappy but because they are delicious and slightly less caffeinated than a normal latte. I’m three sips into the iced concoction and heading home when someone calls out to me.

“Walker, is it? Curtis’s boyfriend?”

My blood freezes, and not because of any ice headache.

I slowly turn around to see a pair I vaguely recognize from the few of Curtis’s work events I attended as his date, a man and a woman who I think are also dating or maybe just coworkers with benefits. I do not remember either of their names.

“Hey. Yeah. But no.”

They stare at me blankly as they walk over, apparently having been about to enter the coffee shop as I exited.

“ Yes , I’m Walker,” I correct. “No, I’m not Curtis’s boyfriend. Not anymore.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry to hear that,” the woman says, touching my arm but only barely with just the tips of bright red nails. “He didn’t mention that the other night. But it is so good to run into you. Everyone is freaked that he is MIA.”

“He ditched on this hugely important sales call yesterday,” the man pipes in. “Up until this point, we weren’t too worried. I mean, he was just coming off of the… um…”

“Go on, Trent, you can call it what it is if they’re not together anymore,” the woman dismisses how Trent trailed off.

She leans closer to me and mock whispers, “They call it the Coitus Convention. Total bone town. But Curtis missing that call has him on thin ice. But also, like, has us concerned. He parties hard, sure, but he never misses a call.”

“He once took a conference call after an all-nighter at our holiday party while lying on the floor of the break room,” Trent adds.

Yep, sounds like Curtis.

“So, have you heard anything since you two split?” the woman asks, and then gets this sort of flat look on her face like someone scrutinizing an annoying fly buzzing around their head that they’re about to squash. “When did you two split? Recently?”

“Um, just the other week.” I stay vague, because if normal people can be hard for me to read, then sales people are impossible. They’re built to read between the lines and color in their own with a thick, glossy veneer, even if she’s not trying to trap me into admitting something.

I don’t have anything to admit!

“Well, if he doesn’t turn up soon, the VP is getting the cops involved,” Trent says, maybe a little less dissecting of my face with his eyes, but I can’t be sure. “Every other method of getting in touch with him or figuring out what happened during or after Coitus Con has turned up nada.”

“You don’t happen to know how he broke his wrist, do you?” the woman asks, and I really want to slam my matcha and bolt—or throw it in her face. “He was being really guarded about it. Furniture moving mishap? Please. Was it something super embarrassing maybe?”

“Uh…” Before I can think of anything better than accidentally spewing the truth, something arguably worse crosses my line of vision behind the pair.

Because a block down from us, I spot Trey at the crosswalk, about to cross the street. He told me he was going to be near Yale Place all day, which is all the way across town. Even if he was heading back to his hotel now, being on this street makes zero sense.

Unless he lied.

“What was that?” the woman tries to get my attention, but I am officially done with this conversation.

“I have to go,” I say and dart around them to follow Trey.

They thankfully do not yell after me using my name. Knowing how observant Trey is, he’d probably hear them. Which means tailing him is insane, because he is so going to catch me, but what the fuck, man? Why would he lie?

This area is busy enough that the throng of people helps to hide me. Of course the crowd also makes it difficult to keep Trey in my sights. He is moving away from my apartment, so it’s not like he’s on his way to see me. And he wasn’t coming from the right direction to have come from my place.

I check my phone, trying to balance looking for new texts, drinking my matcha, and keeping track of Trey’s trajectory without getting too close.

No new messages from him. He has his shoulder bag like usual, which means he’s working, right?

Maybe he got a line on some hot new place to check out and changed plans?

It’s not like he owes me telling me every move he makes.

Damn Bryan for making me paranoid.

Damn the sales twins I just left too.

And fuck Curtis for being missing!

Trey takes a left before the next crosswalk, and I have to hover behind the building at the end of the block before peering around it.

Sometimes in movies the person you’re tailing knows you’re tailing them and is waiting for you!

Or just happens to be looking your way when you least expect it.

But when I peek, he is half a block down, still heading away, and then…

He goes into a building. I hurry to catch up so I can be sure which building he entered, and it’s a Saks Fifth Avenue.

I’ve followed him to one of the ritzier areas of downtown in my rattiest pair of jeans and vintage Breaking Benjamin band T-shirt from at least a decade ago.

While Trey would blend right in shopping here, I feel like a before photo.

But shit, I’ve followed him this far. I have to find out what he’s doing. It’s not like a Saks Fifth Avenue is the type of unique establishment he’d write about, and as far I know, there is nothing special about this one compared to others.

I’m at more risk of being spotted once I’m inside, because I can’t be sure where he went. I stay low, hiding behind displays and trying to avoid any salespeople who might loudly ask if they can offer me assistance—or yell at me for bringing my matcha in with me.

I see Trey come out of an aisle but blessedly turn away from me just as I round some shelves of cookware. I keep my distance again but take a chance on sending him a text.

Walker: hey! study break. thinking of u. still on Yale?

I watch him pull his phone from his pocket, read the message, and… aw, smile when he reads it. He sends a message back.

Trey: I am. With all the places I need to hit, I’ll be here all day, but tomorrow night, I’m all yours.

That fucker ! He is lying right to my face! Er, phone.

But why? All he’s doing is browsing Saks. It’s not as if…

My blood freezes worse than it had from the sales twins.

It’s the guy. Creepy alcoholic adulterer guy!

Trey looks up from his phone and seems to spot him too. Then seems about to turn my way!

I duck into an aisle of linens for super fancy table settings and clutch my matcha like it’s the landline during a horror movie. Feels comforting but not going to save you. idiot!

I start for the exit, trying to pick the best route out that won’t leave me in view of Trey. Why? Why is he following that man? Is he following him? Why else would he lie to me? I don’t even know how to respond to his text now, but he sends me another one before I can.

Trey: I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am, doctor.

I was! Now, the best I can manage in reply is:

Walker: it’s all I can think about!

Fuck! What the hell do I do now?

It’s still all I think about into the night and next day.

Again and again, I keep debating just cancelling our date, but what do I even really know?

It’s all too weird and circumstantial and maddening.

It might be nothing. It might mean he’s CIA.

Or a hitman. Or that I’m a paranoid lunatic who needs his inhaler three times after that debacle at Saks.

Four now, as I take a puff while standing outside Trey’s hotel room more than an hour early for our date. I still can’t decide if I’m going to call it off when he answers the door or blab the whole mess to him so he can laugh at what a freak I am.

Or kill me.

Fuck .

I still dressed up. It only seemed polite.

Tie, button-down, but no jacket or even a sweater this time, since the weather has been getting hotter.

I’m also not a complete asshole. I texted him I was heading over early as soon as I left my apartment, but once I’m at his door and actually knocking, I still have no idea what I’m going to say.

“Walker,” Trey answers with his usual effortlessness and resonant voice. “I didn’t expect you—”

“So super early, I know,” I cut him off, unable to stop the apparent word vomit about to spew. “I am so sorry I gave you, like, no lead time with that text, but I just… um…” I literally cannot finish my sentence because I am utterly flabbergasted by what I see behind Trey.

He looks amazing, naturally, in a full Bond tux, which makes me feel hugely underdressed.

In my defense, he did not tell me we were doing black tie!

But the incredible thing is the room. He’s decked out his hotel room like the restaurant from our first date, complete with fairy lights around the window and draping from the ceiling above a small two-person table, with a bottle of wine chilling.

And it’s all really nice place settings and linens and even candles—just like in the area where he was browsing the aisles at Saks.

I am a fucking moron.

“You just…?” Trey prompts with a devastatingly handsome smile, leaning on the door but making sure it is open enough for me to see the view, all this romantic effort he went to just for me.

“I just… was too excited and couldn’t wait to see you.”