Chapter 13

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

“Are you coming on Saturday?” Bevan asked as he stabbed a piece of chicken. It was a late lunch, but the only chance they had to catch up before Bevan’s exhibition and performance. It was part-art and part-live music, and he’d been putting it together for a while because he wanted to do something different from playing in small venues. He should be getting record deals, but then Cillian might be a little biased where his friends were concerned.

“Of course I am.” Cillian always attended when he got free tickets, especially when it involved his friends.

“And are you bringing a plus-one?” Bevan gave him a pointed look.

Quite often, he took Bevan as his plus-one. They were friends, and they had similar tastes, which made it easy. He couldn’t do that this time, given that Bevan was the one performing.

“I haven’t decided.” Which was the truth. He scooped up some rice and beef, so he didn’t have to form a full answer. He should bring Anthony. It would be an opportunity to see him again, though they had been messaging over the last several days.

“Does that mean you’ve got no one to ask except me? Or that you’re seeing someone, and you aren’t sure about it?”

Bevan could read him far too well after all these years knowing each other. “All of the above.”

He had other friends he could ask, but they liked to pretend that they preferred opera and other elevated pursuits. They wouldn’t admit that they enjoyed a beer before a show in a theater that only sat fifty people. That they might laugh too loud or be seen having too much fun.

If he had free tickets to the opera or the ballet, then they were the ones he’d invite. They’d sit there perfectly composed with their polite smiles on, judging everyone around them and being judged in return.

“So who is he? Do I know him? Have I fucked him?”

Cillian laughed. “Probably not.”

“Have you fucked him?”

“Yes.”

“Your place or his?”

“Mine.”

“So it’s serious. How did Snap take being kicked out of bed?”

Cillian rolled his eyes. Just because he had someone in his apartment, didn’t mean it was serious… only unusual. And in this case, more convenient. “I don’t know what it is. Complicated.”

“Do tell.”

He scooped another mouthful of beef that didn’t require nearly as much chewing as he gave it. How much did he say? He was hesitant, but he wanted to talk about Anthony, to be told that he wasn’t making a massive fucking mistake. It didn’t feel like a mistake, and he remembered what they felt like.

Bevan frowned. “How complicated is it? Is he married to a woman? Is he married to a man and bringing you in as the third?”

“Nothing like that.” It wasn’t his place to discuss Anthony’s past, but then he didn’t want his friends to meet him, to ask, and then be stunned into questioning silence.

“And yet you still can’t say… Is he an international spy?”

“That might be easier to explain.” He set down his fork. “No judging me until I finished talking.”

Bevan’s eyes widened. “You’ve got a sugar daddy, so you never need to work again.”

“I fucking wish.”

“No, you don’t. You’re an attention whore. You love the applause.”

Cillian lifted his hand, leaving only the tiniest gap between his thumb and finger. Even though they both knew he loved the applause much more than that. “His name is Anthony, and he’s thirty-six. Tall, dark hair, gorgeous.” And leaving him sleeping to practice, instead of waking him up for round three, had been very difficult.

“Does he have a gay brother?”

Cillian snorted. “His brother is an asshole.” He drew a breath. “If I give you his name, you’ll either remember or be able to search him up.”

“This does not sound promising… Who is he? What did he do?” Bevan already had his phone in his hand.

Cillian leaned forward and lowered his voice so the tables nearby wouldn’t overhear them. “White collar crime. He just got out.”

“Of prison?” Bevan hissed.

Cillian nodded and bit his lip, only half regretting saying anything. Everyone deserved a second chance, but did he need to be the one giving it? Not that Anthony had given him any reason to doubt.

“What is his name?” Bevan asked.

Cillian gave it to him and waited.

“Oh yeah, I can see why you went there.” Bevan turned his phone to show Cillian a photo that he had already seen a dozen times. It was ten years old from around the time of the trial. “This is not your normal… I mean… he made a royal cock up… and spent nearly a third of his life behind bars. Did that not fuck him up?”

“He seems lovely, and he admits to fucking up, and that he was angry at first, but he’s retrained and is looking for a fresh start.”

“Which is very noble, however, there are going to be people who love you, who aren’t so generous and may not approve.”

“They’re going to slam doors in my face.” That was a concern, given that he’d spent a long time getting those doors opened in the first place. How many years would it take before being seen with Anthony in public was acceptable, or was the answer never?

Then there was the Hayden situation, which could also result in his delicate house of cards collapsing under the weight of the scandal.

“Yeah… I can get away with tapping that… but you rub shoulders with the kind of people who clutch their pearls.”

“His family are those kinds of people. He comes from money, and they cut him off.”

“I guess the question you need to ask yourself is if he’s worth risking everything.”

That was the million-dollar question Cillian had been avoiding.

But it wasn’t even the most complicated part, and he couldn’t tell Bevan about that without explaining the whole Hayden situation. If he opened that Pandora’s box of worms, there would be no stuffing the slimy mess back in.

Before this thing with Anthony got any further, he should tell him. He’d wanted to tell him over coffee, but he hadn’t wanted to end the night on a sour note, and he’d been running out of time…

“Do you think he’s using you for your connections?”

If anything, he was the one using Anthony, because he was the one with the problem Anthony might be able to solve. He couldn’t solve any of Anthony’s problems. “I don’t know anybody who needs a graduate librarian, do you?”

“Librarian?”

“He’s not allowed to do his old job.”

“Oh. He has no job, no money, and no connections?”

“Correct…” Cillian knew how it sounded, and it wasn’t good. Anthony seemed like a great person, and they had a fabulous connection, but would that be enough?