Page 26 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)

Chris’s head rested against my shoulder, his breath slow and even, his body warm beside mine as we cruised through the darkened sky. The cabin lights were dimmed, casting everything in a soft, muted glow. Outside the window, the vast expanse of night stretched endlessly, the occasional shimmer of city lights far below reminding me that reality still existed beyond this fleeting moment.

I stared at the seat in front of me, not moving, scarcely breathing. Something had shifted. I could feel it in the weight of Chris’s body against mine, in the way my chest clenched—not with lust, not with momentary satisfaction, but with something deeper, heavier. My hand twitched against the armrest, an instinctual urge to reach for him, to tangle my fingers in his. I didn’t.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Chris sighed in his sleep, nuzzling unconsciously closer, his warmth seeping into my skin, his trust in me absolute. And it hit me with brutal, suffocating clarity—this wasn’t just about sex anymore. We’d crossed a line. And fuck, I needed to get back on the other side.

I turned my head slightly, looking down at him, at the way his lashes fanned against his cheek, at the barely-there curve of his lips, so content, so unaware of the war waging inside me. I should have felt in control. I should have been able to remind myself that this was temporary, that it was just physical, just release. But instead, all I could think about was how easy it felt. How right. How much I wanted to stay in this suspended moment, where no one was watching, where there were no expectations, no looming obligations.

Panic curled low in my stomach, tightening its grip with every breath. I felt lost. I didn’t know what to do.

* * *

The plane landed in Providence just before midnight, the wheels jolting against the tarmac. Chris stirred beside me, letting out a soft, sleepy sound as he blinked blearily up at me. Then he stretched, long and slow, like a cat shaking off the last traces of slumber.

“We’re home?” he murmured, his voice thick.

Something bitter twisted in my chest at the word. Home. I forced a nod, grabbed my bag, and led the way off the plane.

Outside, winter slapped the warmth of Florida off my skin. The Rhode Island cold seeped into my bones, creeping under my collar, and into my lungs. The scent of jet fuel and de-icer filled the air, a sharp contrast to the salt and sunscreen I could still taste on my lips. Down there it was easy to forget it was December; here, we didn’t have that luxury.

We slid into the backseat of a taxi, the heat blasting too strong, making the air feel stale. The cab smelled faintly of pine, but it was artificial and cloying, doing nothing to mask the underlying scent of worn leather and exhaust. Chris let out a quiet yawn beside me, rubbing at his face, still lost in the hazy afterglow of our time in Miami. Just a few hours ago, we’d been naked on the beach, tangled together as the sun melted into the horizon. Now the city around us rose in sharp lines and frosted panes, unyielding and distant, just like the life I was about to step back into.

I sat rigid, my hands clenching and unclenching against my thighs. My pulse thudded too hard, something restless clawing at the inside of my ribs. I felt caged, like I was already losing something I hadn’t even let myself have.

Chris shifted slightly beside me. “You okay?” His voice was low, still soft with sleep.

A sharp breath left my lips. “I’m fine.”

He paused. Then, “You sure? You seem—”

“I said I’m fine, Chris.” It came out sharper than I intended, the words cracking through the stale air.

He flinched—just a flicker of movement, but I caught it. His lips parted like he might push back, but he hesitated. Instead, his leg brushed against mine, light and fleeting, like he wanted to ground me. I barely had time to register the warmth before he pulled away.

Guilt festered instantly, rotting beneath my skin. I almost said something, my hand landing on his knee as if it had a will of its own. But I kept quiet, and the rest of the ride passed in thick, heavy silence.

When the cab finally rolled to a stop in front of his building, Chris reached for the door handle, but I was already moving. I stepped out first, grabbing his suitcase from the trunk before he could protest.

“Zac, you don’t have to—”

“Just come on,” I muttered, dragging the luggage toward his building.

“Look, I’m a grown-ass man and I’m perfectly capable—”

“I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Chris sighed but didn’t argue, walking beside me, then passing me to lead the way up the steps. The lobby was quiet at this hour, the overhead lights buzzing faintly as I followed him up the stairs. We climbed in silence, my grip tightening on the handle of his suitcase.

At his door, he fumbled with his keys, then unlocked it. “You wanna come in?” he asked, voice quieter now.

“Not tonight.”

Another pause. His gaze flickered to mine, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure how this was supposed to go. Neither was I. For weeks, every time we’d parted, it had been with hands tangled in clothes, mouths desperate and claiming, his body flush against mine, reluctant to let go. But now the air between us felt different. Thick with things left unsaid. I know he felt it too, even if he didn’t understand it.

Chris shifted his weight, biting the inside of his cheek. “I had a really good time,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight. “Yeah. Me too.” The words felt inadequate, too small for what they were supposed to hold.

He lingered, like he was waiting for something— for me to reach for him, to crack a joke, to do anything but stand there like a fucking statue. But I didn’t have it in me.

Instead, I reached out and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him in—not for a kiss, not really, just to rest my forehead against his for a moment. He exhaled, leaning into it, his fingers ghosting over my shoulder.

Then I pulled away.

Chris searched my face, something flickering behind his eyes, but he didn’t ask. Just nodded. “See you tomorrow at work.”

I forced a small smirk that felt wrong on my lips. “Yeah.”

He stepped back into his apartment, and I turned before I could watch the door close.

The cab was still waiting outside, its headlights cutting through the cold night. As I slid back into the seat, the warmth inside did nothing to thaw the chill creeping into my heart. I stared out the window at the snowy streets, where the lights cast pools of pale gold over the wet pavement as the city blurred past. The cab drove farther away, taking me to my home, every mile dragging me closer to a life I wasn’t sure I fit into anymore.

* * *

When I stepped inside my condo, Chantelle was there, waiting for me.

She sat on the couch, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. Flawless, despite the late hour—sleek ponytail, pressed slacks, a blouse that hugged her figure with ruthless precision. She looked up as I entered, her gaze flicking over me in quick assessment, taking in every detail—the way I hesitated at the door, the looseness of my stance, the faint scent of salt air still clinging to my skin.

“Welcome home,” she said smoothly, slipping her phone onto the coffee table. She stood up with easy grace, crossed the room, and kissed my cheek, the scent of her perfume coiling around me like a noose.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Thanks.”

“Dinner’s waiting.”

Not so much an invitation as it was an expectation.

We sat across from each other at the dining table, candlelight glittering against the polished wood. The risotto was lukewarm, the salmon fillet slightly overcooked—microwaved, no doubt, after waiting untouched for hours. She didn’t comment on my delay. Instead, she talked while I ate, filling the silence with updates on the wedding preparations—seating charts, caterers, cake flavors. A house she’d found, one she was certain I’d love. “We should go see it before someone else snags it,” she said between sips of white wine. I nodded, answered when required, let the conversation move along its intended course.

I barely registered when dinner ended. She took my plate, cleared the table with quiet efficiency. I took a quick shower while she stacked the dishwasher, my mind still tangled in the Miami heat, in the press of Chris’s body against mine, in the memory of sun-warmed skin and the taste of salt on his lips. And then we went to bed.

She reached for me in the dark. Fingertips skimming my stomach, trailing lower, the smooth press of her body curling into mine. Familiar. Expected. Yet, something inside me recoiled. Being with Chris never felt like cheating. But this—this did. I pulled away before I could stop myself.

She stilled, her hand lingering against my skin for a second longer before she withdrew. A quiet beat stretched between us. Then—

“Well, that’s a first,” she murmured, propping herself up on one elbow, watching me with that keen, assessing look. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “Just tired.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t argue. There was no surprise, no anger—only a quiet, measured understanding, as if she’d already prepared herself for this moment. And knowing her, she probably did.

She held my gaze. “Are you still having sex with someone on the side?”

A long silence. But I had never lied to her. Never denied it. “Yes,” I said.

She inhaled slowly, exhaled through her nose. A flicker of something crossed her face—something almost like amusement, but colder, sharper. “I see.”

I swallowed. “You said you didn’t care.”

“I didn’t,” she admitted, smoothing a hand over the sheets. “It made things easier. You were relaxed. Focused. More manageable. It was fine for a while.” A small pause. “But now it’s time to end it.”

The words landed like a stone in my gut.

No fight. No theatrics. Just a simple command. Because she knew I would listen.

I held her stare, my pulse hammering. “And if I don’t?”

She sighed and settled against the pillows, her expression unreadable. “I know you, Isaac. You burn too hot, too fast. You get restless. You need an outlet.” Her nails traced an idle pattern on the sheets. “And before the wedding, that was fine. But it’s one thing to let your fiancé blow off some steam—it’s another to have your husband humiliate you by keeping a side piece. We’re building something that’s supposed to last. I don’t have time for distractions, and neither do you.”

A warning wrapped in logic. A demand cloaked in reason.

She reached out, brushed her fingers over my wrist, her touch soft but calculated. “I need you to be steadfast, Isaac. I need you present.” Her voice was gentle, coaxing, but beneath it lay steel.

Chris’s face materialized in my mind—his head on my shoulder, his laughter in the waves, his voice rough with want. But it didn’t matter. He was still practically a kid with his whole life ahead of him, and this right here—this was mine. My future. I wasn’t about to throw it away over something that was never going to last.

I rolled onto my side, staring at the dark, my chest tight, my stomach hollow. Tomorrow, I’d end it. Tomorrow, I’d tell Chris it was over. Tomorrow, I’d do what needed to be done.

Even if the thought of it sat like a lead in my heart.