5. Chapter 5

Imentally shake myself as my hungry eyes cannot break away from Alec.

This day has been a disaster. I'm an imposter in the art community and an arsle. I meant to push Alec away because he reminds me too much of what I've lost. That pain is always under the surface, itching to infect everyone around me. I cannot let that happen.

Instead, I've acted as if he's lazy and self-centered. And he's the opposite of those things, which makes my behavior worse. I'm not usually an asshole, but I have been to him. Blaming my issues on the stress of trying to figure out my life and the past is a coward's excuse.

I have only been a javlar to him.

Because Alec represents all the things I cannot have.

Swearing in Swedish sounds appropriate to my muddled mind.

After I use the restroom, I see Madyson and Jayce standing at a high-top table. This is a side of her I have never seen. She's so happy, the joy is radiating out of her, and Jayce is completely enthralled.

My body moves on instinct away from them.

The crowded bar is ultra-modern with lots of high-end liquors on display with pink-and-purple lighting. The shelving seems to be recycled metal. It's exactly the type of place I would go to have fun when I needed a break from reality. I can only imagine how many men have fallen at Alec's feet in this bar.

I spot Alec sitting on a stool. Alone. He's watching a hockey game. Several guys bump into me as I stare. Two touch me as they apologize, and their hands linger too long to be anything other than probing interest. But I only see Alec.

He said it wasn't a big deal that he could draw Madyson's vision, but it's a very big deal to have that talent. I have to admit his eye for detail and drawing is superb. In my effort to isolate myself, I haven't been fair to him.

Alec has found his way into my brain and does not want to leave. He's the visual equivalent of an earworm. His dimples make an appearance when least expected, and I fantasize about doing dirty things to them.

My attraction deepens as I get to know him and see how much he cares about his friends.

But Madyson said he's into casual sex.

A part of me wonders if I could have a piece of his happiness without hurting either of us.

I don't know how to reconcile the different parts of him into a whole man. I know he's a great friend from how Madyson talks about him. Tonight he looked out for everyone's needs and noticed my headache.

But he's guarded and deflects with humor.

There is some darkness under all of his radiant sun. That fascinates me and it's what drives my desire. If he already has that darkness, I won't break him with mine.

Ridiculously, my feet take me to him without my permission. I continue to watch him as a few guys approach and leave after his polite rejection.

The fact that he's declined the opportunity for sex fills me with irrational relief.

"Hey." I squeeze in next to him.

Alec looks at me in surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you left with Joanne."

A glance at my phone shows that twenty minutes went by while I stared at him from across the bar.

"I left my phone in the booth," I say slowly, and I'm sure he can tell I'm lying. "You?"

"Just chillin'." He eyes me with curiosity, but his playful warmth has disappeared.

"How did you get connected to The Q Solutions?" I ask, trying to fit the pieces of him together.

As he turns on his stool to face me, his leg brushes mine, creating a spark of intimacy. I hope he cannot hear my sharp inhale.

"A kid asked Cole for a donation, and he dragged me to the center to volunteer."

I study him intently, and even though I have no right, I push. "You could donate instead of volunteering. What's the real reason?" We had corporate sponsors out-donating each other to get their names next to ours in the media, attaching themselves to our fame. He isn't doing that.

Alec lets out a laugh, but it isn't genuine. "How could I not want to help queer youth? The fundraiser will be filled with hot, rich guys. My dream." He winks, and his dimples almost make me forget he hasn't given me an honest answer.

"Tell me," I demand, surprised to see a flicker of attraction in Alec's eyes.

"You don't want to know," he says hesitantly.

"I do." I am desperate to make up for my terrible behavior and place a hand on his forearm, goose bumps erupt.

I don't think he is going to answer me, but after a long silence, he says, "I wasn't there, but Cole said the kid was gay and looked homeless. When Cole asked me to volunteer with him, he was in a horrible place because he thought he'd fucked things up permanently with Shane. Cole needed the distraction, and I wanted to help him."

Alec's attention is directed at the TV instead of me. "I met the kid who'd come into Unframed Art and assumed he reminded Cole"––he inhales deeply––"of me."

Subconsciously, I've moved in between his legs and squeezed his thigh before I notice we are too close. He doesn't meet my gaze and my hands drop away from his arm and thigh. I let the heaviness of the moment sit between us, honored that he willingly told me the story.

My belief his carefree personality hides deeper issues is correct. I'm torn between walking away and getting closer. My life is complicated and walking away is the smart choice.

I assume he's finished talking, but he continues.

"Cole and I bonded over our shitty parents. He helped me when I was desperate, and I hope to pay that forward."

Finally, his eyes meet my gaze and his shoulders drop.

"Your idea is going to make a difference for a lot of kids." There is so much more to uncover about Alec. He masks a good heart behind his appearance and loud mouth. I greedily want more of him.

"So tell me more about your charity." His soulful brown eyes wait for my answer. I feel guilty about the success of a charity with such a small impact and my inability to contribute to their worthy cause in a meaningful way. I have never felt so inept.

"It is not as important as yours," I admit.

"But you must've seen a need and wanted to help with something. I'm surprised it's not environmental. Give me the basics." He nudges me and I cannot say no.

"Fotboll is huge in my town." My lips turn up to hide my embarrassment. "You call it soccer. Unfortunately, kids were getting minor injuries playing on poorly maintained fields. I raised money for a new field and it caught the attention of a big corporation. Soon, we were repairing and constructing new fields for youth fotboll all over."

"And you asked professional athletes to help?" he prods.

I nod and he makes a hand motion for me to continue. Although I like Alec, I'm not discussing my past, so I give him basic facts. "Yes. I met Madyson and Jayce through my friend Lars, a New York Enforcer's hockey player."

He reaches for me and I expect him to shake the actual explanation out of me, but a twink slides up next to us as if I'm not there.

The twink wraps his arm around his biceps. "Hey, Alec," he purrs, "long time no see."

Fighting the impulse to rip the man's hand off Alec is harder than it should be.

"Hey," Alec responds without his flirty smile, appearing annoyed.

Instead of giving the man his attention, Alec's eyes are on me and that subdues my hot spike of jealousy. The thought of Alec with this man turns my stomach. Alec's dimples appear, but they are for me, not the man clinging to him.

He tugs Alec's arm, and Alec spares him a glance. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of something."

The twink pouts and says coyly, "Come find me when you're done. I'll make it worth your while." He smirks at me and struts away.

"See ya, darlin'." Alec gives him a chin nod.

The term of endearment coats my throat in metaphorical acid when I speak. "Is he your type?" I can't keep the irrational accusation out of my voice. My behavior has been unforgiveable, and he doesn't owe me any explanation. I have no claim on Alec. Who he sleeps with is none of my business.

The part of me dying for any sort of human connection insists I could make it my business.

Alec stares at me, radiating disapproval. I'm determined not to break eye contact and not to speak first. It's a herculean effort.

I drop my head, knowing I have been an arsle again, and swear.

"You'll have to teach me to swear in your language so I can keep up." Alec grins as if he's won something.

"I was rude." I'm unsure how to apologize without giving myself away.

"Jealous?"

"No." I stiffen, unwilling to admit the truth.

I'm a hypocrite. I'm obsessed with Alec and his past, while intent on keeping mine to myself. He's the type of guy who attracts attention, which I am trying to avoid. But he is a sun drawing me into his orbit.

"You give me the sign, I'll bend you over and give you the ride of your life." He captures a lock of my hair and wraps it around his hand, making me hard. My body craves the attention, and my mind desperately longs for a fraction of his joy and happiness.

"What if I give you the ride of your life?" I'm not sure what would be worse: taking him up on his outrageous offer or finding out it's a joke.

"That's not how I roll." His tone is light, but he's firm about the meaning—he won't bottom.

That's a deal breaker for me. Everyone has their preference, which I respect. But even in a country as liberal as Sweden, misogyny and toxic masculinity exist. In my experience, it shows up in gay men who think being a top is more manly or the right kind of gay.

It speaks more to identity than preference.

I could never be with a man who belittles being a bottom.

If I had found out Alec refuses to bottom the first time we met, it would make sense to me. But the more I know about Alec, the less I understand. He might be a lot of things, but I don't see him as misogynistic. None of that is important. His response is one of the many reasons this is a terrible idea.

"Then this cannot happen," I say and walk away. The twink winks at me and I tamp down my infuriating disappointment.

Alec is not the guy for me.