Cross Island

by Santino Hassell

  It was true. Victor had seemed to notice the tension in the room. He’d fully turned to us and was mean mugging Aiden hard. I’d seen him angry, frustrated, and vulnerable, but this was the first time I’d seen him take the measure of someone.

  “You’re getting a boner over him giving me the stink eye,” Aiden crowed. “And you’re ready to send him on his way? Really?”

  A denial nearly sprang off my tongue, but I was still watching Victor. His expression was foreboding, but all I could do was imagine how it could transform into one of keen desperation to get fucked until his knees gave out. Him admitting he enjoyed rough sex had stayed in my mind for days. Especially when I’d retreated to my room to be alone with my imagination and my fleshlight.

  “Just give it time,” Aiden coaxed. “Maybe this whole thing will die down now that the guy knows you have a security detail. In the meantime, you and Victor can keep making friends who will inevitably screw each other. From where I’m sitting, you may as well have him test up now so you can tap that raw—”

  “Can you not?”

  Aiden held up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

  “Well, stop saying it. I already warned you to stop talking about his sexuality.”

  If I were him, the word ‘warned’ would have set me off like an M80 on the Fourth of July. But he was Aiden, who didn’t react to anything other than an actual threat, so he just gave me a dopey smile.

  “I hate to say it, but you’re having feelings for that dude. Whether you’re just wanting to be his friend or his mentor or his lover, or all three, I have legitimately never seen you this overprotective of someone.”

  I grabbed my briefcase without speaking. What was the use in denying it? He was right.

  “Will you ride it out a little longer?”

  Another peek through the glass showed Victor’s steady gaze was on me. I was still firm on the fact that I didn’t need him to protect me, but his unwavering attention definitely had a certain… effect on me.

  “For now, yeah.”

  Aiden fist pumped. “You’re awesome.”

  “If that’s the word you want to use to describe someone being badgered into compliance.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I still appreciate you. I just want to keep you safe, man.”

  “I barely go out.”

  “You meet dudes off Grindr,” Aiden pointed out. “You go running. Next weekend, we’ll all be at the wedding and it will be all over social media. It’s a prime opportunity for some dickhead to try it.”

  I’d forgotten the wedding, and the reminder sunk my mood. I disliked events, particularly ones where people would expect me to mingle and emote. Thankfully, Caleb and Oli were keeping their wedding small and private. They were also hilariously having it at the penthouse where Liberty X—a reoccurring exclusive sex party—was housed.

  “I already said I’d wait to end this,” I griped. “Now get out of the way so I can leave.”

  Unfazed, Aiden threw open the door with a dramatic flourish. “You know you love me, Clive.”

  “You are moderately endearing.”

  “That’s like calling me part of the family.”

  I walked out biting back a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

  “You fuckin’ love it.”

  Aiden thumped me on the back with one of his huge hands before waving at Victor. Surprisingly, he didn’t wink or leer or do anything to indicate he knew a secret. Although, that was more Oli’s MO than Aiden’s. Belatedly, I felt bad for being such a grouch.

  “Everything good?” Victor asked, watching Aiden lumber away. “Looked like things were getting heated.”

  “It was fine. Just a difference of opinion.”

  I ignored every other person in the office before walking out. We entered the elevator, standing side-by-side with his arm brushing my own.

  I wasn’t typically a close stander, but I didn’t mind touching him. We barely did other than occasions when we passed each other too close in a hallway, or when he grabbed my arm or pulled me out of the street due to his hyper paranoid behavior about cars when we were jogging, but… Something electric passed between us when it happened. It wasn’t always sexual, but there was a strong current to the connection we had.

  That same current was keeping me on my toes as I waited for something more to happen between us. Despite all my strongly worded denials with Aiden, he hadn’t been wrong about my attraction. Or my overprotectiveness. And after nearly forty years on this planet, I could tell when something was inevitable. And me and Victor sleeping together felt inevitable.

  The question wasn’t if it would happen. It was when.

  Cross Island, ch 9

  Chapter Nine

  Victor

  The places Clive shopped were wild.

  The realization that he had a wedding coming up was apparently important enough for him to drag me around on an entire shopping expedition for new shoes and a new suit. Not just some off the rack business from Macy’s, though. No, Clive was too classy for something that straight forward. He had me drive into Manhattan, park on the crowded streets of NoHo, then walk to some clandestine alley where we had to be buzzed into a special suit boutique.

  As extra as the entrance was, part of me had still been expecting a regular store—just with racks of overpriced jackets. Instead, we walked into some shit that looked like a cigar lounge from a gangster movie. Patterned wallpaper, velvet couches, and a full bar filled the waiting room. Not to mention the fact that Clive had a whole appointment with the tailor. He’d paid for the material in advance.

  It was another in a long list of reminders of our differences. I owned two suits, had paid for neither with my own money (my uncle had gotten one and Kenneth Stone supplied the other), and wasn’t about to drop cash for a third when the other two were still good. My interest in clothes was nonexistent, but I couldn’t deny that there was something fascinating about watching Clive in action.

  I’d already picked up on the fact that he was way particular about everything from what he put in his body to what he put on it, but this was next level. He sipped a cocktail while leisurely examining swatches of fabric, running his long fingers over ties, and allowing himself to be measured and fitted for the perfect three-piece to be altered. It should have been boring, but… it wasn’t.

  First off, he looked amazing even without the suit being altered perfectly for his body. It was black with an indigo shirt and pretty much made him look like a movie star. The way he scowled at fabric and analyzed his reflection did weird things to me, too. I’d known a lot of intense people in my life, but he had a quiet fierceness in his expressions that totally captured my attention.

  I liked watching him tell people in clear direct words what he wanted, how he wanted it, and when he wanted something done. He wasn’t rude or even curt with the staff he clearly knew well, but there was power in his voice that I enjoyed. In fact, I was getting off on it.

  Every time he shook his head or said “no” without an explanation, I had to fight a smile. Part of it was me wondering how it felt to be that sure of yourself and to have that much control, and part of my fascination had to do with me imagining what he’d be like in bed. Bossy, for sure. He’d want all the control. But would he default to slow sensuality or the kind of hard fucking that used to make me nut?

  Clive glanced at me once the tailor left us alone in the fitting room. His dark eyes slid over my tattered jeans, Timberlands, and worn bomber jacket. I prayed to tio’s God that I didn’t sprout wood with him paying so much attention to me. Usually I was good at being professional, but usually we weren’t lounging around while he was half-naked.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said when he didn’t stop studying me.

  “What exactly do you know?”

  “That I’m way out of my league sitting in this fancy-ass store?”

  Clive turned to me fully, standing there with his shirt unbuttoned to expose his muscular torso, and belt buckle undone in a way that sent vi
vid images flooding my mind. Like him sliding the tongue of that belt out and tossing it to the side just before he pinned me down with his hips. Apparently suit shopping made me horny.

  Warmth crept up my neck. I licked my lips, and he followed the movement with his deep dark eyes.

  “That’s not what I was thinking,” he said.

  “Then what were you looking at?”

  Clive opened his mouth, closed it, then raised an eyebrow. “You’re next.”

  I had a feeling that wasn’t what he’d begun to say but didn’t push it. Especially not when my theory was more a product of wishful thinking than anything else.

  “Next for…”

  “To be fitted. Obviously.”

  I snorted. “Yeah right.”

  Clive took a step closer to me until he was standing nearly between my sprawled thighs. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

  “You must be if you think I got money to drop on a fitted—”

  “Bespoke.”

  “Bespoke suit,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Come on, man. Be real.”

  “You’re not paying for it, asshole.” Clive nodded at me. “You’re going to that wedding too.”

  “Yeah, as your bodyguard. No one gives a fuck how I look.” A thought occurred to me, and my mouth sank. “What, you need the help to look a certain type of way once we’re around all your rich friend—”

  “Stop.”

  Clive slipped the crisp dark blue shirt off his shoulders, still standing inches away with all of that smooth brown skin in touching distance. I’d gone years without feeling tempted, but ever since our conversation about Raymond and Michael… there was a comfort between us that let my mind stray. It felt safe to be myself around him, and real self was painfully attracted to him. Not just his body, but his honesty and all of that confidence and power.

  “First, stop throwing the help comment in my face. I already apologized,” he said, carefully sliding the shirt onto its hanger. “Second, I want you to be fitted because I want to see how you look in a decent suit. Your shoulders are too broad and your arms too long to walk around in something off a rack.”

  “What difference does it make?” I asked, incredulous. “No one’s looking at me that hard.”

  “I am. We’re together every single hour of every single day.”

  “Nope. I keep my distance at QFindr.”

  It wasn’t entirely true. I usually leaned against the wall in full view of his office and watched him throughout the day. Cataloged the flat looks he gave staff who came in with pointless questions, and hid a grin when he flashed one of his rare smiles at Aiden, Oli, or Caleb. Him liking them so much caused me to like them too. I’d even started saying good morning. The first time I’d spoken to Caleb directly, he’d beamed so hard that I’d pitied the poor bastard. What was his life like if he was happy to get acknowledgement from me?

  “What am I, an eyesore?” I asked when he kept staring me down.

  “You’re eye candy,” Clive said matter-of-factly. “And I want to see what the eye candy looks like in a decent suit.”

  I sat back on the plush couch, legs still spread, and blinked at him. Was he saying he wanted to dress me up for his own personal enjoyment? Judging by the slight tug at the corner of his mouth, and the assessing way he kept examining my shoulders, that was exactly what he was saying. If he were anybody else—even the QFindr guys or Kenneth Stone—I’d have snapped on him real quick. Made it known that I wasn’t anyone’s plaything for them to dress up and control.

  Except, it was Clive saying it, so it turned me on a little.

  A lot.

  And I wanted to please him.

  “Fine.”

  His smile curled up fully. “Thank you. What colors do you like?”

  “Black.”

  “And?”

  “Black.”

  Clive laughed. “Predictable.”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say? I don’t like standing out.”

  “Too bad, because you do.” Those dark eyes swept over me again before he turned to carefully hang the shirt on one of the racks. He grabbed his own sweater from where he’d draped over the back of another chair, and inch by inch, his smooth dark skin vanished beneath it. “I know it probably seems ridiculous to you that I pay so much attention and spend so much money on clothes, but it’s one of the few things I allow myself besides sex.”

  I’d noticed. Besides working out and attending to his wardrobe, Clive had a pretty straight forward life. Work, home, and the random one-night stand. He didn’t go out with friends, invite people over, or do anything that could be described as a splurge besides occasionally order Thai food or sushi.

  For someone so sophisticated, so wealthy, he had a relatively simple existence.

  “You know what I’ve been wondering?” Clive asked, watching me in the mirror. “What do you allow yourself? We’ve been living in the same house for over a month, and I have no idea what your one thing is. Your vice or release. How you spoil yourself.”

  It was a dangerous question. A loaded one.

  The first thing that popped into my mind wasn’t shopping or food or alcohol. It wasn’t marijuana or partying or going out to the city. It was those moments, late at night, when I closed my eyes and revisited fantasies I hadn’t entertained in ages. Fantasies that used to be about Raymond but now starred Clive. Dirty daydreams where he rode my ass, and I rode my fingers trying to replicate the portrait my brain was vividly painting.

  “I don’t have anything,” I lied. “I just exist.”

  Clive frowned. “Liar.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  Unconvinced, he crossed his arms over his chest and returned to standing over me. “What about your ink? For as much as you have, you must enjoy it.”

  Without thinking, my hand came up to press against my neck. It was where his eyes had landed since it was the most visible tattoo, and yet it was the only one I regretted getting. A tattoo of my parents’ initials. Well, and Stephanie’s, but I didn’t regret hers.

  “Or maybe you don’t,” he said reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  “It’s fine.” My response came too quick, but I was constantly on edge with worry that one day my defensive reactions would result in him pulling way the hell back. “I do love my ink, even the dumb tattoos I got as a kid. But this one? It’s for my parents and Steph. I’ve been meaning to blot them out, but I didn’t want to spend money on it, you know?”

  “I don’t know, actually. You don’t say much about your parents.”

  My mouth drifted up in a tired smile. “What’s to say? They’re the type of people you and your friends have only heard about on sad news stories or movies about the crack epidemic that exploded like a bomb in Queens, right?”

  I expected surprise, but instead a hint of sadness crossed Clive’s face. “Never repeat this, but you would be surprised with how much you’d have in common with Aiden and his husband. Their childhood was a nightmare I can’t begin to imagine for the same reasons you’re describing.”

  It gave me pause. Especially since I instantly wanted to know more. I’d pegged Aiden’s tough guy Irish-Queens accent right away, but had figured he’d just come up there in a decent area. Knowing there was more to his story, and he and Chris’ husband’s story, had me rethinking a lot of the stuff I’d assumed about the people my sister had welcomed into her life.

  “You would like him,” Clive said gently. “And Jace. I’m not one to set up play dates, but you should consider that not everyone is—”

  “They’re with Chris,” I interrupted. “And he doesn’t like me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know.”

  Clive’s face went carefully neutral. He wanted to disagree, but likely knew he had no real leg to stand on since it wasn’t his past or his drama, and he was just trying to be positive for my sake.

  “Is it because you still have trouble hiding the fact that you hate Raymond?”
>
  The question was a sucker punch that turned my jaw into glass. Was that what he thought? What Stephanie thought? Apparently, the crack of pain I felt every time I saw his pretty boy face made me look murderous instead of like puking.

  “I don’t—That’s not—” I shook my head, frowning. “Look, I don’t hate him. Being around him just makes me uncomfortable.”

  Clive took a step closer, but he didn’t speak. He was waiting to see if I’d tell him more instead of slamming the vault shut, but ever since the night when we’d shared our secrets I had no desire to keep them to myself. Even though memories were coming back as soon as I thought, really thought, about why Ray’s proximity sometimes made me feel like I was suffocating.

  “I spent four years not thinking about any of them,” I said, voice lowering to a gruff whisper. “Then I come back, and they’re all still close. My job puts me around them. Around him. It’s like being choked when we’re in the same room. My breath cuts off.”

  Clive’s eyes narrowed. “Because you still have feelings for him.”

  “What? No!” I hadn’t realize the possibility was so ridiculous until he said it out loud. With a frown on his handsome face, like the idea bugged him. “Because Raymond is—Look, him being my first big gay obsession, is tied to a bunch of horrible shit. You understand? The way I used to lash out to play big man just in case anyone could tell I was desperate for him to notice me. How I acted like a fucking asshole child and made people hate me. And most of all, the fact that I had this sick fixation is why—”

  “Where are you going? Why don’t you just stay here for the night.”

  Shawn gives me a once over before turning away again. “I’m going to find your boy.”

  “What the hell? Why is Raymond even relevant?”

  “You fucking tell me.” Shawn goes from zero to a thousand with that question. He turns and shoves me away from him, so hard I slam into a chair and trip. “You just said you wish he wasn’t in your head all the time, right? That you don’t want to be thinking about him?”