5. Brooks

CHAPTER 5

brOOKS

I didn’t breathe until the elevator doors closed and probably not even until the upper floor of the club was reached and they slid open again. There was glass all over the floor, a pungent mix of vodka and vermouth along the outside of my leg. Alex was standing in front of the elevator doors when they opened, his expression immediately switching from annoyance to concern.

“What took you so long?” he asked, frowning at the glass beside my feet.

“I was waylaid,” I said, switching the one remaining drink to my free hand so I could shake the other one dry.

“By whom?”

Alex shoved his foot against the elevator door to stop it from attempting to close between us. He flagged down someone behind him, who showed up with a little broom and dustpan to clean up the mess I’d made. I stepped over the broken glass, apologizing profusely to the employee and handing the one remaining drink to Alex .

“I ran into someone I slept with before,” I said.

“That’s not uncommon for you,” he teased, “especially not here.”

“Months ago,” I said, watching as the employee finished cleaning up after me. I apologized again, and he waved me off.

“Also not uncommon.” Alex took a sip of the martini and then smiled when he realized it was Dylan-made. He handed it to me and I took a larger drink to calm my nerves.

I watched the elevator doors slide closed for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. I held my breath, needing to know if Tate was going to step inside and ride it up. If he was going to come after me again. That would have made twice in one night he chased after me, neither of which would make up for the time he walked away unannounced.

But it was a fair start.

“That man I stole from Ford,” I said, still staring at the doors. “The one he paid off before Kale knew about Boston.”

“That was forever ago.”

“I know.”

Alex took the drink back out of my hand, smirking as he watched me watch the doors.

“I was surprised you sent him on his way that night,” Alex mused, pressing his shoulder into mine so we could both face the elevator.

“I didn’t,” I muttered. “I told him to stay and he left.”

“Ah. The trust was broken then.”

The doors opened and, as expected, Tate was there. Beside me, Alex let out a low chuckle and stepped forward at the same time Tate stepped toward me.

“Exactly,” I said .

“Sounds like it’s worth a conversation,” he suggested.

“I doubt it.”

Alex was already walking away from me, he and Tate passing midway between me and the elevator. They locked eyes, and I couldn’t see the look Alex gave him, but Tate’s expression immediately soured.

“You’re a piece of shit,” I said, throwing my voice so Tate would know I was talking to Alex and not him, even though the sentiment wasn’t far off for either of them.

“So I’ve been told on more than one occasion.” Alex raised his glass just as the elevator doors closed behind him and Tate came to a stop right in front of me.

I studied him quietly and carefully, trying my best to focus on his face in front of me and not the memories of his face while my dick was buried in his ass. My mind was quick to wander, though, which wasn’t going to be good, considering it was imperative I remember the bomb Tate had dropped on me just as the elevator doors closed between us.

“Let me explain,” Tate said.

I frowned, shaking my head. “You lied to me.”

“You didn’t ask if I was a virgin.”

“I asked if there was anything I needed to worry about,” I reminded him, whisper-yelling across the short space left between us. “That’s generally something to worry about.”

“It was something for me to worry about, not you.”

“I beg to differ.”

Tate stopped, tilting his head back and rolling his eyes at me like I was a child who had told him I wanted to argue about the color of the sky.

“What if I had said something about it?” he asked, cocking out his hip and resting his hands on the slim and protruding bones.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you,” I said.

“Exactly.”

I pursed my lips, having just proved his point.

“That’s not…” I bit my tongue, flicking my stare up toward the ceiling like the answers were there instead of tangled in my throat. “The way I fuck isn’t for beginners. Your first time shouldn’t have been so…”

“Amazing?” he supplied.

“Aggressive.”

“It was perfect.” Tate clasped his hands together in front of him and took another step toward me. He was painfully close, the tops of his knuckles barely inches away from my chest. I hated that he was taller than me, that he had the upper hand physically when we were vertical and not horizontal.

“It was wrong,” I said.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” Tate shrugged.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

I made a mental note to murder Alex over brunch the next day for leaving me alone. Turning on my heel, I did my best to walk away from the conversation, but Tate reached out quickly, stepping forward with one long leg and closing the space between us. He curled his fingers around my arm and brought me to a stop.

“Let go,” I warned, not turning.

The release came quickly with a curse under his breath that sounded pathetic enough I turned back to face him, folding my arms over my chest with a tired sigh.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he muttered, letting down whatever bravado he’d been wearing before. “I’ve fucked my way through half the city, it feels like, and no one makes me feel the way you did.”

A surge of jealousy flared in the center of my chest. “You what?”

Tate rolled his eyes at me. Again.

“Well, not really half the city,” he said. “I think that’s physically impossible.”

My jaw twitched, and Tate swallowed nervously.

“You can’t act this way,” he whispered. “It’s not fair.”

He wasn’t wrong, but it wouldn’t have been the first time I did something selfish when other people were involved. I had no right to care what he did on his own. I had no ownership over him. I didn’t even know his last name, but there was something about the thought of it. Picturing him chasing down strangers around the city, running after the high of my kind of sex? It made me feel equal parts triumphant and furious all at the same time. My shoulders pressed back and my chest puffed out, and a tight knot of anger burned in the pit of my stomach. “I’m not a fair man, Tate.”

His nostrils flared.

“And I never claimed to be,” I said softly, taking a step away from him.

I didn’t need to look down to know we were both hard. If we’d been any closer together, our cocks would have probably touched. I could already feel the heat radiating off of him, from his breath to his body, to the way his fingers trembled between us.

“I don’t want fair,” he said. “I want you.”

“You lied to me.”

“I omitted the truth,” he countered .

“You disobeyed,” I whispered.

Tate’s lips parted, his chin quivering. I closed my eyes and swallowed, fighting back the urge to hook my fingers over the visible tops of his teeth and tug him to his knees so he could suck my cock. The way I wanted him was dangerous, considering he’d already proven himself to be untrustworthy. I knew better than to fuck partners I didn’t trust, and he’d already shown me…

“I’ll do better.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I flexed my hand into a fist at my side, releasing it and stretching my fingers against the outside of my thigh. Tate held his ground, unwavering in the pursuit of what he wanted, which was apparently now…me.

“I haven’t met anyone else like you,” he said, stare dragging over my face. “And I’ve tried.”

Another knot in my stomach.

“Don’t remind me,” I said, before immediately asking, “How many?”

He managed a laugh, mouth twisting around the corners like he knew he’d already won his prize. “Do you really want to know?”

No.

“How many?” I asked again.

“Seventeen.”

I rolled my neck, tilting it back to get a stretch after it finally cracked, releasing some of the pressure I’d been carrying since running into Tate at the bar. Seventeen was far from egregious, and if he expected a dramatic reaction out of me at the number, he was going to be disappointed.

“Maybe you should have tried harder,” I suggested .

Tate scoffed. “Are you going to fuck me again or not?”

“I haven’t decided.” I ran a hand through my hair, shoving the strands away from my face. It was a lie. I had decided before he’d even come after me the second time.

“Maybe go piss and we can get a drink,” he suggested, throwing back what I’d said to him at the end of our first encounter like the cocky little virgin he was. “See what happens.”

“You’re not in charge here, Tate.”

“I know.” His cheeks flushed and he flittered his eyelashes at me, playing coy.

“You go get me a drink,” I said instead, “since it was your little confession that ruined mine.”

“I think your fingers ruined yours,” he interjected.

“I think my fingers ruined you .”

His eyes went wide, and for the first time all night, he looked appropriately chastised.

“Go get me a drink, Tate,” I said again, infusing all of the demand into the request I’d originally intended.

“Should I call you Sir?”

“I’d honestly rather you didn’t,” I choked out, clearing my throat.

My friends were the ones into those kind of games. I preferred being in charge of a far more level playing field.

“Another martini?” he asked.

“It’s Alex’s drink of choice,” I said.

“What’s yours?”

I dragged my tongue across the front of my teeth, finally reaching down to adjust the aching bulge between my legs. Tate’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t look down.

“Make your best guess.”

Tate stepped back and looked at me from my shoes to my hair, gaze dropping back down to linger on the erection between my legs. He smirked and nodded, then disappeared into the elevator, undoubtedly returning to his friend, Dylan. I sucked in a breath and finally walked away from the elevator, needing to find a chair before my legs gave out entirely.

Everything in my body wanted to fuck Tate, but my brain was screaming no at the top of its lungs. He hadn’t proven himself to be trustworthy. If anything, I felt far more than deceived over his failure to disclose something as important as being a fucking virgin. If I had known, I never would have…

And that, I realized, was the problem.

Tate was a twenty-four year-old man, and when I met him, he’d been a virgin. If I had known, I wouldn’t have touched him, and he was probably tired of getting that response over and over and over, so he’d picked someone and decided not to share that integral piece of information so he didn’t get shot down again. He could have just as easily found himself with a man who had much blander tastes than me and everything would have been fine.

Knowing he’d been pursuing men, trying to replicate the feelings I gave him, did more for my ego than I’d ever be willing to admit, but I needed to decide if I had it in me for another go with him. I needed to be honest with myself about what I wanted in a partner, if I even wanted a partner…

It had been so long.

Before I could make up my mind one way or another, Tate was back, an Old Fashioned in hand.

“I thought you left,” he said, sounding almost out of breath with worry .

“I make a habit of showing up where I’m meant to be,” I said. “You should try it sometime.”

Tate set the drink on the table beside me, then sank down into the open chair across from me.

“Okay, Brooks,” he said, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair, looking up at me from beneath the fan of his lashes. “I think I will.”