Chapter 17

17

YORK

I wasn't quite as straight as I had thought I was.

After a sleepless night and lots of tossing and turning, that was the only rational conclusion I could come to. I had spent hours analyzing what had happened, and when I'd had the courage to be honest with myself, I'd come to a few conclusions.

One, Quillon was insanely hot. I'd already thought him attractive with his clothes on, but naked, the man was a work of art. Like Michelangelo-level of perfect with that sculpted body.

Two, if I had been straight, I would've walked out of there faster than I could've said, "Sorry." But I hadn't. Not even realizing Quillon was masturbating had been enough to break through my…my stupor, my daze, my temporary moment of insanity mixed with a high dose of rudeness. Anyone else would've gotten the fuck out of that bathroom, but not me. And after much deliberating, the only explanation that seemed plausible to explain my behavior was that I was not straight.

Three, I was attracted to Quillon. Maybe I should've put this conclusion before the other one because the fact that I was attracted to Quillon meant I wasn't straight, but it wasn't the order in which I had reached said verdict. Granted, one could argue my reasoning was a circular one, but whatever. For once, I didn't care about the validity of the argument. My concern was the rightness of the conclusion.

I was a man who always prioritized rationality over emotions, and in this case, my brain couldn't put into words what I felt in my…heart? Soul? I'd never allowed my feelings to win over my mind, but I had no other choice. Whereas my brain kept running in circles, my heart knew the truth.

Fir had once explained the concept of "gay for you," which had always seemed silly to me. You were straight or you weren't, and the idea that one could be straight their entire life and turn gay for one specific man seemed not credible to me. But now I had to admit that maybe that was what had happened to me—just like it had for Auden when he'd fallen for Keaton.

Around two in the morning, unable to sleep, I'd decided to test it by watching some gay porn. Yes, I had gotten aroused, but that was a mere physical reaction. I wasn't attracted to those men. If I'd run into them and they'd asked me out or whatever gay men did—asked for a hookup, maybe?—I would've refused. Then I did some more research and looked at pictures of who were arguably the hottest men alive—though I left out Tomás and Tiago because hello, awkward much?—and again, nothing.

I wasn't attracted to men. I was attracted to Quillon. Sure, that still made me not straight, which I was fine with. Or bisexual. Also, not a problem. I didn't care about the label. The implications, however, were a different matter. Maybe I'd need to lose another night of sleep pondering the consequences.

Or I could tell him.

For once in my life, I reacted on impulse and called Fir, who picked up quickly, like he always did.

"Everything okay?" he asked. "You don't usually call in the middle of the day."

"It's ten-thirty in the morning. That's not the middle of the day."

He chuckled. "It is for me, honey."

He had a point. The man got up at the ass crack of dawn. "I have a question."

"I'm between patients, so hit me with it."

"Is it possible I'm attracted to Quillon?"

"Yes."

"That was quick."

"Not a complicated question."

"I saw him naked yesterday."

Fir whistled softly. "Well, that would do the job, I'd think. That man is gorgeous."

"He was masturbating."

"Jesus, York, what the hell?"

I sighed and explained what had happened. "I couldn't walk away from him. Even when he turned his back toward me, I had to force myself to walk out of that bathroom."

"What did you want to do instead?"

"Touch him. Run my hands all over his wet body and explore him. Get naked and jump into the shower with him."

"Yeah, that definitely qualifies as attraction."

"I'm not attracted to other men, though. I watched some porn and looked up pics of hot men, but they did nothing for me. It's Quillon I want."

"If you ask me, you're not primarily attracted to his body. It may have been the trigger for you to realize you like him, but it's not the reason."

"What do you mean?"

"How long have you been living with him now? Four weeks?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Tell me what he's done for you in that time other than protect you."

"I'm not?—"

"He cooks for you, right? And he makes sure you eat?"

A warmth rushed over me. "He does. Every morning, he makes this hearty breakfast because he knows I'll skip lunch and wants me to eat well. He gets me healthy snacks too. Like, I'm working, and suddenly, a cup of tea with some cashew nuts lands on my desk. Every night, he cooks dinner. He's a great cook. The other day, he made this amazing risotto, and I love it when he makes Thai food. When I fall asleep in my chair or on the couch, he covers me with a blanket. And he thinks I don't know, but he sleeps in front of my bedroom door every night on a simple mat on the floor. He doesn't fall asleep until I do, and he's up before me."

Even as I was talking, the truth of my words sank in. Quillon had been taking such great care of me. More than a friend would have. He'd gone above and beyond.

"He threw you a birthday party."

Even thinking about it made me all verklempt again, and I wasn't an emotional man by nature. "That was the best day of my life. I still can't believe he did that for me."

"He knew what it would mean to you because he's been paying attention. He's a good man, honey. You're not attracted to him merely because he's hot. He is, but he's also kind and nurturing and caring."

The lightbulb came on. "You're saying I'm… Holy shit, I'm in love with him."

Fir stayed quiet.

"I've never felt this for anyone. He makes me feel… Jesus, Fir, he makes me feel at home. Like he's become my home."

The door creaked behind me, and I swirled around. Quillon stood there, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open. I had no doubt he'd overheard me. Well, that took the decision out of my hands.

"I gotta go," I told Fir.

"What? Why?"

"Quillon heard me."

"Go. We'll talk later."

I ended the call and lowered my phone.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I apologize. It wasn't my intention to eavesdrop."

"I know."

"But I heard you talking, and I was wondering what was going on because you sounded different from when you're talking to yourself."

"I was on the phone with Fir."

"So I gathered."

"You heard what I said to Fir." I didn't pose it as a question.

"Not if you didn't want me to. I'm very good at forgetting things."

I quirked an eyebrow. "You're capable of forgetting you heard me say I've fallen for you? That's some serious skill."

"York…"

"It's the truth, Quillon."

He didn't say anything, though his eyes spoke volumes. Tortured was the right word for it, this look of being caught in an impossible situation. From his point of view, he was.

"You like me too," I said softly. "I know you do. I may suck at social cues, but I know it's the truth."

"I'm—

"You cook for me. You make me eat healthy. You take care of me in every way. You stood by me when I faced my parents. You held me when I broke down. Twice. You threw me a surprise birthday party and invited all my friends. You like me, Quillon."

A muscle in Quillon's jaw twitched. "You're my client, York. My protectee. That makes you off-limits."

"I understand, but that's not an answer to my question."

Quillon held up his hands. "Let's pretend this conversation never happened, okay? For your sake and mine."

"You know I suck at pretending."

"Then work harder at it. With your intelligence, you can do anything you set your mind to."

I took a step forward. "But I don't want to pretend it never happened."

"Then force yourself to. This can't happen, York. It can't."

Another step forward. "My entire life, I've been different from everyone else. I've always stood out. Never quite fit in anywhere. But you make me feel like I belong. With you. How can you ask me to pretend that's not real? Don't you realize what this means to me? What you mean to me?"

He stared at me for a long time, and I held his gaze, unafraid to show him the truth. How could I be afraid when what I felt was so big and wondrous, so real? Like a current inside me, a buzz in my blood, a purr in my head.

"You're straight," he said, but he didn't try to make that argument convincingly.

"Obviously, I'm not."

"Bicurious?"

I shook my head as I took another step. "As attractive as you are, and I really do find you hot, that's not it either. I've fallen for you because you're you, because of your kindness and tenderness and the fact that you seem to understand me when no one else does. You see me, Quillon. You really truly see me."

We were now so close his breath brushed over my cheeks as he sighed. "I wish I could?—"

"Do you like me? That's all I'm asking. Do you feel the same?"

He closed his eyes for one, two, three seconds, and then his lips were on mine. He held my face between his hands and kissed me like I had never been kissed. Our previous kiss had been firm and almost aggressive, but this one was so soft and tender I felt like I was floating.

Our tongues met, and the neediest little sound formed in the back of my throat. I flung my arms around him and plastered myself against him, kissing him back with a hunger that was new to me.

"York," he whispered. "My sweet nerdy…"

I couldn't respond because his tongue was in my mouth again, so I closed my eyes and poured all my feelings into that kiss, which grew faster, deeper, more heated. I couldn't get enough of him. He'd let go of my face and was now holding me with one hand around my nape and the other almost possessively on my ass. When he gave a little squeeze, I squealed into his mouth, which was probably why he did it again.

I didn't think about it but widened my legs to invite him in, and he froze. His whole body went stiff. Shit. He'd just realized what he was doing.

And as I'd expected, he let go of me and stepped back, his cheeks red and his lips wet and swollen. "York, I?—"

"If you tell me you regret this, I'm going to be very upset with you."

His expression softened as he cupped my cheek. "I can't ever regret kissing you, nerdy. I should, if only because it goes against every professional standard I've ever held myself to, but I can't. It also can't happen again. As much as I want to, I can't. It would mean compromising your security, and that's not a risk I'm willing to take."

"I'll accept that…but please answer my question. You owe me that much."

He smiled softly, a sweet, almost sad smile that made my belly weak. "Of course I like you, nerdy. I've been in love with you since the moment I met you."