Chapter 12

12

QUILLON

" D o you think everyone believes we're boyfriends?" York asked me the next morning over breakfast, a farmer's omelet with a heap of veggies, ham, mushrooms, onions, and a few bits of bacon. The melted cheese on top made it even better.

I frowned. "What brought that question on?"

York scraped his beard. "After Marnin called us out, I said we should practice more. But you only kissed me that one time."

Sweet Jesus and all the saints, it was way too early to deal with this. As if watching York suffer all that emotional pain the night before hadn't been bad enough. I had ached to do whatever possible to take his pain away, to kiss him and tell him everything would be better. But all I'd been able to do was hug him and be there for him, but it had hurt me to hold back.

"We've grown closer in other ways over the last two weeks, don't you think?"

He forked a big piece of omelet into his mouth and chewed, the thinking lines on his forehead deepening as he considered my words. "We have," he finally said. "But I'm not sure it amounts to the same thing. Physical intimacy is different."

"I'm not gonna kiss you again." It came out a little more sharply than I had intended, but I didn't care. I would do what was necessary to get that idea out of York's head. "Despite what you seem to think, kissing you is not my job or my duty. In fact, it's very much the opposite."

"I'm not following. What's the opposite of duty?"

"Something I'm not supposed to do, not allowed to do," I said between clenched teeth. "Which is what kissing a client is. Clients are off-limits."

"Even when you're pretending to be their boyfriend?"

"I've never had to do that. Well, I did go on a pretend date with a woman who was a client, but she only held my arm. I never kissed her."

And never wanted to, but I left that out.

"Oh, okay." York looked…disappointed. But surely, I had to be wrong about that.

"Why would you want more kissing?" I dared to ask. I should've let the whole topic go, of course, but I couldn't. Not until I had figured out what that look meant.

"Oh, I reasoned it would help sell our cover. And I didn't mind it."

I swallowed, avoiding looking at him. "You didn't mind it?"

"No. You're a good kisser, I think. The kiss was a little brief and superficial to get an impression of your full capabilities, but it was a promising appetizer."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this man was gonna be the death of me. The way he dropped truths like that, without any idea of the implications of what he was saying. "Thank you for that glowing review. I'll make sure to share it with my next date. Maybe it'll help seal the deal."

"Is that a thing?" York's frown deepened.

"No, but neither is reviewing someone's kissing abilities, so there's that."

He put his fork down. "You're irritated with me."

"I don't think you realize how confusing this is, York."

"Why?"

"I'm a gay man. An openly gay man, I might add. Kissing another man is never a job for me, not even if it's in the line of duty, as you suggested. It's impossible to separate who I am from what I do. So when you casually talk about kissing again, that's…" I blew out a breath. "That impacts me more because of who I am. It doesn't leave me cold, if that makes sense."

He took a bite again and chewed. "You mean a physical reaction. Getting aroused."

"Yes."

"And that makes you uncomfortable?"

"Jesus, wouldn't you feel embarrassed if you got an erection in front of a coworker?"

"That has never happened to me."

"Probably because you've never kissed a coworker."

"I have." He waved his hand vaguely. "I call temporary insanity. She was attractive, but I should have known better."

"Because she was a coworker?"

"Well, that too, but mostly because she had that ‘I'm ready to settle down and have babies' vibe, which I understand when you get to a certain age, but that's not me. We had two dates, and then she got frustrated with me for prioritizing my work over her. We weren't in a relationship, and she was already disappointed in me."

"Was she right?"

"That I valued my work over her? I was on the verge of a major breakthrough and was eager to keep working at it, so yes, probably."

I couldn't blame him for that, knowing what he had ended up developing. Apparently, she hadn't understood. "Was she a scientist too?"

"No, she was in HR. That was lesson number two. I shouldn't try to be with someone who likes chatting."

I pointed my finger between us. "We talk."

"Yes, actual conversations that have a topic. Not shallow, aimless, endless prattling."

I snorted. "That bad?"

"That depends on your definition. She once held a ten-minute monologue on whether she should choose zinnias or coneflowers for her garden. Do I look like I care?"

That poor woman. Something must've shown on my face because York sighed. "I wasn't mean about it, I promise. And I wasn't the one to break off our relationship, if you can even call it that after two dates. She did, ranting about me not knowing what I was throwing away."

"Clearly, you weren't a good fit."

"Yeah, and after that, I concluded I'd be single for the rest of my life. I'm not built for relationships."

"Is that what you think?"

He shrugged, looking away. "It's hard to come to another conclusion, no? I'm in my forties now, so if I had been, I would've been married or whatever by now."

"Or you haven't met the right person yet."

"Sure, but as someone who understands statistics, I have to say the odds are not in my favor. But it's okay. I've made my peace with it. I don't miss it. Maybe because I never had it, so I don't know the difference."

This man was breaking my heart in so many pieces, and the worst thing was that he had no clue he was doing it. He was so unflinchingly, so casually, and so brutally honest about himself, and every time, it hit me full in the feels. "You don't miss sex either?"

Why had I asked that? Shit, how incredibly inappropriate was it to ask a client that. York, however, didn't blink an eye. "Not really, which is probably indicative of some kind of problem, but I don't care." He let out a deep sigh. "I find sex very confusing."

"Why?"

"Other men seem to be all about sex all the time. That's generalizing, of course, but from what I see and hear from coworkers or online, sex is on their minds a lot. That's not the case for me at all. I like sex, don't get me wrong, but it's not something that occupies my mind all the time."

I could hardly complain because I'd been the one to bring this up, but Jesus fuck, why was I talking about sex with York? Still, I didn't change the topic. "Maybe you have a lower sex drive? Could have a biological reason."

"Maybe, but there's a definite psychological component as well. Men are expected to like sex and to focus on sex."

"Society puts that pressure on men, yes."

"But I don't feel like that at all."

"You're not a conformist, York. And no offense, but you're wired differently from most men as well."

"Intelligence and sex drive aren't mutually exclusive, are they?"

I loved the way he approached the discussion with the same rational curiosity and intensity he did everything else. "No, but I think you may be much more aware of your own thinking about this than most others are."

"You're talking about self-awareness."

"Self-awareness, self-reflection, yes."

York cleared the last bit of food from his plate. "Do you have a type?"

"Come again?" I hadn't seen that one coming.

"A type. Is there a kind of guy you're generally attracted to?"

Six-foot tall, nerdy, brilliant guys with too-big ears, a shy smile, and a pair of brown puppy eyes…or was that too specific? "Other than some general age requirements, not really. I do like to be able to talk to someone, so it helps if we have things in common or if someone has broad interests."

"I read somewhere that for gay men who are looking for a partner, appearance matters more than for straight men in women."

"Gay culture can be somewhat hyperfocused on looks, yes. The stereotype that gay men are vain and know everything about fashion isn't entirely devoid of truth."

"I find that interesting. It suggests a level of superficiality I wouldn't be comfortable with."

No, he wouldn't be. I couldn't picture York in a gay club, for example, though, in all honesty, I'd outgrown that scene as well. "I'm not on board with that either. When I was younger, I was okay with the casual hookups, with blowjobs in the restroom of a club, but now…" I shrugged. "I guess I raised my standards."

York wrinkled his nose. "Public restrooms are vile. I can't imagine either giving or getting a blowjob there would be sexy."

I chuckled. What an absurd conversation, yet it fit this man. "It's not about sexy, and trust me, when your cock is being expertly sucked by a twenty-one-year-old twink, you stop caring about hygiene."

"Why twenty-one?"

"‘Cause you have to be of legal drinking age to be admitted to a club."

"But they're interested in that? In sucking off older men?"

I quirked an eyebrow. "You calling me old?"

"Older. I said older, not old. You have to admit that compared to a twenty-one-year-old, you are…"

"A grandpa. Yes, I'm well aware I'm old enough to be their father, thank you. Again, not a concern in restroom stalls when all you want is a blowjob."

York pushed back his empty plate, licking his lips. He had such a nice mouth. And I liked his beard, which was the perfect length. Long beards weren't my thing—too much ZZ Top association, perhaps—but a short one added so much character, especially when it was neatly trimmed and sprinkled with gray.

When I dragged my eyes away and looked up, York was studying me with those intense brown eyes. He could look at you as if you were a puzzle he was figuring out, an equation he was trying to solve. A little unnerving sometimes but also strangely endearing. And I was honored to be worthy of his attention. "What?".

"I keep trying to picture you in a dirty restroom stall with some kid sucking your dick, but I just can't. Nothing about that computes."

"Well, maybe that's a sign that you shouldn't put too much effort into it." I kept my voice light, but the idea of York trying to imagine my cock was…stirring. Which brought us full circle and back to my argument for not wanting to kiss him again. Not for selling our story anyway. If I kissed him again, it would be for real. Because he wanted me to.

"You're probably right, but I'm trying to merge this into what I know of you, and somehow it doesn't fit. It's an incongruence, and those bother me."

"Not everything is as black and white as math," I said gently.

"You want me to change the subject."

"Very much so, yes."

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else but then nodded. "Next time, you can say so directly. Just tell me to drop it, and I will."

"I wasn't at that point yet, but if I had been, I would've done that…knowing that you'd respect my boundaries."

"That's one promise I can make. I will always accept boundaries and the word no."

I reached for his hand, and much to my surprise, he took it and threaded our fingers. "I know, York. I've never doubted that."

Those beautiful eyes softened, and a smile spread across his lips. "You know what? I think we're becoming friends."

"I think so too."

He beamed. "Now I have two friends."

Friends. I would be the best friend this man had ever had. If I could give him even a little bit of the unconditional love he should've received from his parents, I'd be grateful. He deserved it.