Chapter 9

CHAPTER

NINE

Cillian sipped his second glass of red wine and gazed at Anthony. The pizza was gone, and his mind was very busy making an important decision—did he trust Anthony enough to take him home?

He wanted to. Over dinner, he’d noticed the way the corners of Anthony’s eyes crinkled when he laughed; that he wasn’t afraid to talk about what had happened, though he didn’t give too much detail, either. He’d also learned that one of his friends was still in prison, and that he wasn’t supposed to see either of them. Cillian couldn’t imagine being told not to see his friends—his real friends, not his society friends—but if Anthony did, he risked going back to jail for another year.

What would Bevan make of Anthony?

Bevan was Cillian’s ex. They’d dated—well, they’d slept together frequently at uni—and had remained friends. Bevan would tell him to go for it; that he was overthinking one night of fun. He hadn’t been on a decent date in six months, but he didn’t want to hook up and have his love life sold to the highest bidder. He wanted some fun.

But if he was having fun with Anthony, did that make it better or worse if he asked for help with Hayden? Yes, that had been his initial plan, but that wasn’t why he’d agreed to dinner.

“You’re looking very serious,” Anthony said.

Shit. Now he had to say something.

He had to decide… or let Anthony decide.

Cillian smiled and leaned forward. “I was wondering if we should bother going to the bar next door when we can go back to my place for a drink.” Though he had a reasonable assortment to offer, he doubted Anthony was interested in checking out his liquor shelf.

Anthony’s eyes widened, his smile faltered, and then the shocked expression disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Had he not expected sex as a possible outcome?

Anthony took a drink of his wine, stalling for time.

Maybe Cillian had misread the situation. Maybe he liked Anthony more than Anthony liked him. Fuck, getting knocked back by a man, who by his own admission hadn’t gotten laid in a decade, was a new low.

Anthony put down the glass, looking at the wine, not Cillian. “That sounds very tempting.”

He waited for the but… There was definitely a but.

Sure they hadn’t discussed anything, but there were plenty of ways to have fun naked. Anthony must remember what to do in bed. He hadn’t forgotten how to kiss—not that they’d kissed again.

Or was something more serious going on?

Had he caught something in prison, which meant they needed to be extra cautious?

Or was dating a musician with an unstable income not worthy of Anthony Davidson?

He’d stolen sixteen million without blinking. Cillian didn’t know what one million looked like unless it was in cattle—and that was a lot of cows. His brother would inherit the farm, not him. For which he was grateful, as the last thing he wanted was to be trapped back home, getting up at dawn to run the farm.

Wow, it really was him.

Cillian eased back, regretting saying anything. He should’ve broached the subject of Hayden instead of thinking with his dick. Stuck to business instead of trying to mix business and pleasure. He should know better, but apparently he never learned.

Anthony made several glances at him, appearing unsure. Cillian felt that down to his toes.

Right, this night was done. He’d take a cold shower, and next time they met, he’d bring the conversation around to Hayden. Hopefully without discussing his little issue.

Cillian lifted his hand and signaled to the waiter for the bill.

Where there had been easy conversation, now there was tension-filled silence like a note stretched too far and leaving the listener gasping.

Anthony reached for his wallet.

“I’ve got this.” Right now, he was the one with the money.

That Anthony’s parents cut him off after he’d been sentenced was shocking. They refused to speak to him now he was out. If not for his sister, he’d be on the streets. It made Hayden’s animosity toward Anthony that much worse.

Anthony had shrugged it off, mentioning how his parents had encouraged them to be competitive, which included competing against each other for monetary rewards and parental love. Cillian’s family wasn’t perfect, but his parents loved them all and encouraged them to follow their hearts. Nan too. Perhaps that came from growing up under his grandfather’s boot. Perhaps his grandfather’s parenting skills were also the reason his uncle was sitting in prison.

They’d cut his uncle off, but murder differed from stealing. Or at least it was in Cillian’s family.

“We can split it,” Anthony said.

“I picked the place,” Cillian countered.

“I don’t need charity.”

Ah, his pride was getting in the way. Was his pride also stopping him from getting laid?

“When you pick the place, you can pay.” Cillian smiled. The bill wasn’t extravagant—his budget didn’t run to that. One bottle of wine, some pizzas, and garlic bread. He’d chosen this place because it wasn’t expensive, and it served great food.

Anthony nodded and Cillian was sure he was thinking of places to take him to, to even the score. It was easy to imagine him ten years ago. The ambitious young man swept up in the thrill of success. At the edge of his mind the question lingered, would he do it again? While Anthony claimed he didn’t want to go back to prison, that wasn’t the same thing as staying on the right side of the law.

And it really wasn’t any of his concern.

“Drinks or no drinks?” Cillian asked, keeping his voice light, even though he wasn’t sure what this was anymore. Anthony’s lack of enthusiasm hadn’t killed the lusty hope coursing through his body.

Was he asking too much?

“I’d like a drink…”

That was progress. “But…? If I’m not what you like in men, please say it and save the awkwardness.”

Anthony shook his head. “You are gorgeous, but I don’t know what you like.”

Cillian shrugged. “So come with me and find out.” He didn’t want to discuss his sexual preferences in the restaurant. “Unless there’s something you need to tell me?”

“It’s been a long bloody time.”

“So you said.”

Anthony drew in a breath.

Was it a performance issue? Not hard or too fast? Anthony needed to give him something to work with. “It’s up to you… or I can drive you home.”

And then get himself off and never message Anthony again.

Except for the other issue. Fuck, he’d made a mess of this. No, he’d made the mess years ago, and since he hadn’t managed to clean it up on his own, he needed help.

Anthony glanced away as the waiter placed the bill on the table.

Cillian picked it up and stood. “Why don’t you tell me when we reach the car?”

Perhaps he needed to make a confession and couldn’t find the words with so many people around. The hot and cold was killing him. There was heat in Anthony’s gaze, even as he physically drew back.

They got up and Cillian paid the bill before they stepped out into the warm evening air. Anthony’s hand brushed against his as though seeking a connection. For a heartbeat, Cillian considered keeping some distance and saving his sanity, but he didn’t. He let Anthony’s fingers lace with his.

He couldn’t remember the last man who’d held his hand. There wasn’t usually this level of closeness or affection, or at least not in a while. He wanted to pull free. Anthony didn’t get to jerk him around because he was dealing with some shit.

They reached the car and neither of them pulled away.

He didn’t want to make the first move this time. Anthony needed to step up. “So…”

Anthony watched him, his eyes dark, the streetlights catching in them like stars. “So, if I fumble this… tonight… is there a second chance?”

Cillian sighed with relief. It wasn’t him. “You’re thinking that far ahead?”

“I’m being realistic. I want you. I have no idea why you want me. I might… I might be shit.”

Cillian leaned in and kissed him to silence the doubts. “Every time I get on stage, I wonder if this will be the time my fingers freeze, and I forget how to play.”

“How could you forget how to play?”

“Exactly.” Cillian’s fingers trailed over the front of Anthony’s thigh. “We’re just playing, and if we happen to come, then that’s a bonus.”

“Just playing.” Anthony punctuated the words with kisses.

“No pressure,” Cillian agreed. His dick pressed against the fly of his jeans, ready for the bonus now. He wanted Anthony’s hands on him. Fuck. The ten-minute drive to his place would be either tense or a tease.