16. Olivier

Well, isn't this a sight? There's a half-naked doorman in my bed. How the mighty have fallen. And I'm most definitely referring to him.

A week ago, he was too good to take more from me than the use of my mouth, and now look at the bastard.

But seriously…look at him. The gorgeous man in my bed.

"Are you gonna lie down or what?" he asks.

I do my best to keep my expression bland. "As long as you're sure you don't snore," I quip.

"I don't. Silas would have told me."

Before I ask who the fuck is Silas? I take a breath. It's none of my business. "Silas, huh?" I ask instead as I pull off my shirt and walk to my side of the bed.

"You wouldn't know him. He's just another doorman."

"You never know," I say. "I meet a lot of doormen."

"Meet or glide by?"

"You act like I never acknowledged you, when you and I both know I did."

"Hm. Still, I doubt you'd be able to pick Silas out of a lineup even if you have been through his building."

I want to ask, is he as good-looking as you, but I don't. I might not have ever felt attracted to a man before, but I do notice the good-looking ones. And Drew is nothing if not exceedingly handsome. If we had equal social standing, he'd be major competition.

I don't have a hard time attracting women or anything, but I bet they swarm Drew like flies. And I don't love the feeling that thought gives me, either. I'm attracted to him. I just told him I was "his" and I basically meant it. The only thing I am pondering was whether he meant it when he said "mine," or if that was just a heat of the moment thing.

Because it definitely got me hot.

I pull back the covers and get in bed. Unsure how to play this, I remain on my back, a healthy distance from him. I have no idea what I'm doing.

"Are we ever gonna get past this whole class difference thing you have such a chip on your shoulder about?"

He flops roughly over, and I turn my head to find him glaring at me. "Chip on my shoulder?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"You think I resent you because you're rich?"

"I'm not rich," I say. "My parents are. I have nothing. But yes, I do think you resent me for that."

"I resent you because you shove it in my face."

"How do I do that?"

"Don't play games, Peach. We're not doing games, you and me. We're either straight up with each other, or I'm outta here."

I swallow hard, hoping he doesn't notice. "All right fine. So I showed off a little for you. You're intimidating, if you haven't noticed that about yourself."

His brow scrunches. "What?"

"There's the resting bitch face, for one," I wave a hand to demonstrate that his expression right now is a perfect example. "And honestly—you're a good-looking guy. Better looking than me."

He snorts. "What?"

"Don't act all coy, Drew. You came to the city to be a model. It's not like you don't know what you look like."

"So, what? You like showing me up?"

"I mean—I didn't realize how much of a rise I was getting out of you. I figured you just thought I was an idiot and blew it off. I didn't know I'd—" I shut myself up. I don't want to presume anything.

"What?" he asks, though. "What didn't you know?"

"That I'd gotten under your skin? Maybe?"

He huffs. "Yeah, well. You did." He rolls onto his back, no longer glaring at me but staring at the ceiling instead.

I do the same, letting out a breath. "So, about what you said earlier. When we were talking about Elodie?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you stand by that right this second?"

"I might need to sleep on it. I was pretty—wound up."

"Okay, yeah. Sure."

The fact that his possessiveness from earlier could be waning disappoints me some. No one's ever "claimed" me before. It was a turn-on in more ways than one.

I try to make myself comfortable on my side facing away from him, but it's not how I normally sleep. Behind me, he's breathing unevenly, like sleep hasn't caught up to him yet either.

My mind keeps reeling back to the kiss I'd tried to take from him, and the way he jerked away. I can't help wondering whether the rest of my life is going to be like this—wanting something I can't have and having something I don't want.

Since it's obvious neither of us is asleep, I flip over to make myself comfortable in my usual sleeping position, dragging a pillow between my legs with a hook of an ankle. My toes accidentally brush his knee, but he doesn't flinch away. He's still looking at the ceiling, his arms now folded behind his head.

"Are you comfortable?" I ask. "You don't have to sleep here—or I could even?—"

"I'm fine," he mutters.

"Do you…" I let the words trail off. I was going to offer to suck him again, get him back out of his head and allow him to drift off to sleep. I'm not gonna say it would be a selfless act or anything. It would help me, too. To finally put an end to the tension that still seems to constantly crackle between us. At least for this morning.

"Hm?"

"Nothing," I say, in an uncharacteristically shy way. Needless to say, I'm being introduced to many, many new aspects of myself these days.

"I'm not a very good cuddler," he says like he thinks that's what I'm angling for. "I'm not a hugger either. I have a big personal space."

"Totally get it." Although I am a hugger. And a kisser. And a cocksucker, too, apparently.

I was raised with a ton of affection—too adorable to resist, I'm told—and I depend on physical touch more than I should. It's been difficult to be denied it by my parents, friends, and even Drew to an extent. The way he is willing to touch me fills one need, but it certainly doesn't qualify as affectionate, and trust me, I'd never ask that of him. Especially after he reacted so strongly to my impulsive attempt at a kiss.

He sighs heavily. "That being said, I think I might like you a little closer if you're willing."

I blink in shock. Hesitation is probably flashing in neon over my head.

"You'll just have to understand that if I shove you away at some point, it's not you, it's me."

What is he saying? It almost sounds like he wants to snuggle up with me on this gray, depressing day. "But you're offering?" I ask.

"I'm asking," he says, surprising me again.

Me, being me, though, I say, "That's a first."

"Look, if you don't want to…"

I'm already shoving the pillow between my legs aside and scooting closer. He unfolds one of his arms and wraps it around my back. With his other hand, he pulls my bare leg over his lap. My hand falls to rest naturally on the center of his chest where his heartbeat is vibrating his breastbone.

He sucks in a quick, quiet gasp, but I suppress mine. My junk is now pressed firmly against his hip, and if I know myself well enough, which I'm pretty sure I do, it's about to get hard again.

"Okay?" he asks, which is exactly what I was about to say.

We really are two bumbling idiots. I feel like we're in a photo shoot and someone is posing us to look like lovers. Is this how gay guys really do it? Like, is this normal, or are we doing it wrong?

"Is this weird?" I ask, because he wanted straight up.

"I don't know. Is it for you?"

"I don't know, either," I agree.

"Do you hate it? We don't have to."

"No, I like it fine," I rush to say. "Just checking in."

He sighs again, but it's not an annoyed sigh. More of a heavy, possibly even contented one. "I'm into it," he says, though it sounds a little grudging, if I'm going to nitpick.

I press my lips together so I don't say anything stupid. My head is resting in the crook where his arm meets his shoulder, where the masculine scent of him is strongest. It's dizzying to be this close to his face again. To feel his low voice rumbling his chest. To hear his breaths move in and out of his nose.

"I think I like the feel of you," he says, sounding a little drowsier.

There goes my cock, responding with a pulse at the thrill his words just shot through me. "I like the feel of you, too."

"I'm trying not to overthink it too much," he adds. "But it's hard."

"Yeah." I quietly acknowledge.

"Well, we're in it together now," he says with a mirthless laugh.

It makes me almost smile. "I guess so." There aren't words to express the gratitude flooding me, especially regarding his use of "we" and "together."

It's the first time since my arrest that I feel something other than alone.

Did I see this coming?

Has all the attention I've paid him, the showing off women and the lavish life I lead been a ploy to make him notice me the way I've always noticed him?

Was my constant assessment of his handsomeness more than sizing up the competition? Or was attraction at the root of it all along? Was I, in fact, "asking for it" when I answered the door naked that day.

Because I think I might have been.

Not that I wasn't loving life and squeezing every last drop of pleasure I could from it before, but it was taking more and more booze and cocaine to stem the boredom. For being only twenty-four, I'm pretty jaded. Same places, same faces, a routine with no purpose other than to be invited back—wherever.

I've never really had dreams or ambitions or goals. I never needed them. I have everything. I know that. But I also took it for granted, which, yeah, I guess I can acknowledge made me too carefree.

Drew has all those things—goals, ambitions, dreams that admittedly have been stomped on, but still. It's admirable. I would never say that to him, it'd sound patronizing as hell, but he's the first person I've ever been with who's had to really try for something. He's also the first person I've ever known who's failed.

I want to kiss him. Not on the mouth necessarily, but on the cheek, which I could with a slight stretch of my neck. Just to let him know I see him. At least—some.

And also, maybe to hint that I'd like to see more.