8. Callum

Wishful thinking had my brain believing Landon had looked at me with something more in his gaze as we'd been tangled up together. An awakening of what I'd felt for him since day one. The possibility of exploration and eventual satisfaction.

I'd been tempted to do more than pull him against my side, but that action had startled him into some revelation. Rather than pushing for more or overcrowding his already filled head with too many new feelings, I focused on our reason for being on a tropical island.

So like an idiot, I'd opened my mouth and given him a bit of information that would light him up. I just hadn't considered the idea of breakfast with Zack would rip Landon from my arms as though I was disposable. That his hard-on against my thigh was exactly what I'd reasoned it away as. With how quickly he'd attempted to escape the bed to get ready to meet Zack, I realized that his body's supposed response to being in close proximity to me had meant nothing.

Heart heavy where I lay by myself, I pressed my palms against my face, exhaling slowly until my lungs completely emptied and burned.

Why did love have to hurt so damned badly?

In fairy tales and romance books, his especially, everything was rainbows and rose-colored glasses. Fluttering in the chest and breathless anticipation.

Regardless of the pain, my dick still ached to burrow inside Landon's body and claim him as my own. I longed for everything with Landon that he wanted with Zack.

Fucking Zack.

"Goddamn," I muttered as my dick bucked against my briefs at the memory of the escort.

What situation had I gotten myself into? I loved Landon, but something about Zack called to me and not like a gentle whisper on the breeze. We were talking a shrieking wind with hurricane force, laying waste to my existence.

His words from the night before about sexual assault and going to jail had hit me even harder though.

Memories had slammed into me like a foot to the sternum, breath-stealing and staggering. And even though the trauma from my own past strengthened my resolve to nurture Landon, I couldn't help but feel ashamed over the choices I'd made that had ruined more than one life.

Landon didn't know it, but he was my means of making atonement of sorts even though we hadn't been involved back then. He was my secret second chance to do right after I'd failed my brother all those years ago.

My cell rang, breaking through my thoughts from the troubling memories.

I rolled to grab my phone off the bedside table, aware of the shower running in our suite. Recognizing the number, I answered without hesitation. "Hey, Cyn, what's up?"

Cynthia, Landon's kickass editor, didn't waste any time with small talk. "How set in stone is the release date for this manuscript?"

I pushed upright to sit against the bed's headboard. We were already behind schedule due to some bullshit Landon had to deal with a few weeks earlier, and I'd lined up promotional events across social media, podcasts, newspapers, and magazines—sans pictures of Landon, same as always. He had a pen name for a reason.

"There's not much wiggle room," I replied, unease trickling down my spine like a droplet of sweat.

"Well there's a serious plot issue going back to book three in this series." Cynthia went on to lay out the problem, a massive overlooking of the fact Landon had killed off a secondary character, who showed up in his latest manuscript and held a prominent part in the plot for book eight, which was currently being edited. Not an easy erase or fix.

"How the fuck did I miss that?" I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face.

"His death in book three was that last minute add-in with the others," Cynthia said, and I cursed again, remembering her suggesting Landon rain down some bad shit on characters who hadn't deserved to live anyway. It had been an unexpected twist, one that had ended up shooting the book to the top of the charts because it'd drawn so much emotion from readers.

Seeing as how Landon was a complete pantser and wrote his stories from the hip, I wasn't surprised by the mistake. He'd made plenty over the years of his publishing career but nothing so substantial that it ruined an entire plotline.

How the fuck had I missed it too?

"We don't have time to fix this," I said, staring at the bathroom door Landon had disappeared behind.

"Maybe if he sits his ass down, figures out how to weave in a new character from scratch to take the dead dude's place, and does nothing but type for the next three days straight, we might."

We're fucked.

The shower had shut off, and I chewed on the inside of my lip.

Did I drop this bomb on him now in the hopes he would have the remainder of our vacation to take care of this mess? Or did I allow him the chance to set right what he'd been desperate for since childhood?

Yeah, given the choice, there was no way would Landon would ever pick his job over Zack.

That man would always come first.

I swallowed hard at that truth, knowing even I, his best friend and rock over the years, took a backseat.

Best to let him get that shit with Zack straightened out over breakfast—hopefully—then spill the news he needed his focus elsewhere for the next couple of days. Maybe he would be able to pull some magic out of his overly active imagination.

"Let me talk to him, but send me your developmental notes in the meantime," I said, about to commit Landon to something that might prove impossible. But what choice did we have when the countdown to release couldn't be stopped without major consequences? "We'll get this taken care of and a manuscript back in your inbox before the end of next week."

"That'll be pushing the ARC schedule."

"Only by a couple days. I'll spread the word that the manuscript is so hot he burned his fingers ensuring everyone's satisfaction. Building up the hype a little more will only ensure his fans are knocking down doors to get their hands on a physical copy."

"If anyone can incite fans' need to buy, it's you," Cynthia said with a snicker.

But I wasn't laughing.

I pressed my lips tight and hung up a second later after bidding the editor a better day than the one ahead of me.

From the first manuscript that had magically appeared on my desk, I'd been smitten with the unknown author. His weaving of words, regardless or perhaps because of their eroticism, had spoken to me and invoked a physical response that had surprised me. I'd felt attraction before but never with consuming focus.

Mere words typed on paper had changed my life.

I'd literally dug up the roots I'd planted deep in the publishing world and left New York behind. Rearranged my entire existence to make myself available to an author who had potential, quiet charisma, and a spirit alluring enough that I couldn't refuse him a single thing.

Add in the fact he needed to be looked after, a firm disposition to keep him in line and on track, and I'd been a goner for the beautiful boy with amber eyes.

It'd been eight years since I'd first spoken to Landon over the phone, and I didn't regret one choice in leaving my job in marketing to work as his PA. Laboring for a secret, breakout indie author proved ten times more fulfilling and lucrative than any desk job at some skyrise in Manhattan where we pushed cookie-cutter books in the hope of making us all a few million.

There were less restrictions, more independence, I had control without anyone higher up the chain breathing down my neck, and I got to watch over Landon. While some probably saw me as more of a babysitter than personal assistant, I loved what we shared as best friends and roommates.

But I want more.

The thought echoed in my head as the bathroom door opened, releasing rolling steam.

Landon exited like a supermodel, freshly shaved and his hair done, a towel wrapped around his waist. His slender yet muscular arms and chest were still damp from his shower, and my tongue salivated to lick the droplets off him.

The man wore sensuality like a second skin in the way he walked, spoke, and thought up raunchy stories. He was a sexual creature, which had almost led to his demise not long before we'd met. While I knew about the hookup apps on his cell, I wasn't aware if he utilized them.

Sure, we didn't spend twenty-four-seven together, so there was a possibility Landon got laid when his hand just wasn't cutting it, but he'd never admitted to doing so. And I would never ask. It wasn't my place, nor did I want to hear about someone having access to his body when I didn't, all thanks to the man who owned his heart.

He shot me a grin, easing my hurt over how quickly he'd left me alone in my bed, but he didn't linger. His fine ass skipped toward his own room to get dressed.

I imagined that his sole focus was on first gaining Zack's forgiveness, then getting his hands on the man or vice versa.

An image bloomed in my mind, one of many secretive sights Landon had brought to life with his words, but this time, the character's bodies intertwined and writhing in need weren't faceless. Zack and Landon lived in vivid color in my mind.

Oh fuck.

A hard swallow bobbed my throat, desperate need sending blood straight to my groin.

The draw to Zack was potent beyond measure, equal although different in feeling than Landon's hold on me. But, I didn't sense being torn in opposite directions or a need to choose or focus on one attraction over the other, exactly as Landon had spelled out in the first book of his I'd read. A gay triad that fulfilled the three men how each needed.

I'd never considered a poly relationship to be sustainable like in some of the erotic stories Landon wrote, but the picture in my head made me pause. I could see myself sitting and watching Landon and Zack together. Imagining the various ways they would fuck and how a third—me—could blend into their passion stole my breath.

I slid from my bed and ambled to the bathroom where the scent of Landon's bodywash flooded my lungs as I filled my fist with a few days' worth of cum.

All while imagining the three of us together.