Where We Left Off (Middle of Somewhere 3)

“Yeah. Yes, of course I do.”

For just a second I imagined that what I saw in Will’s expression was… disappointment. Which didn’t make any sense, so I must have been wrong. And then whatever it was vanished, the cool mask I recognized from outside the walls of his apartment firmly in place.

“Okay, then,” he said, and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the bedroom.

“Wait, what? Really? Uh, wait, right now?”

At the bed, Will stripped with economy and gestured at me to do the same.

He was perfect, pale velvet skin over long muscles, gleaming with fine golden hairs like he was a marble statue that the sculptor had dusted with gilt. But he looked like he could have been changing in a gym locker room for all the enthusiasm he was showing.

“Umm. This wasn’t quite the way I… thought this would go.”

“What, you want me to seduce you? You were the one negotiating this like a business transaction not five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but I just thought….”

“You thought it’d be romantic? That you’d stay here for a month and we’d fall in love and be boyfriends and soul mates and get married and artificially inseminate your lesbian BFF and have a kid called Mint? That’s not me, Leo. And the sooner you realize that you don’t actually want me like that the better.”

“But I do want you. I—”

“Look, I’m not saying this to be cute. I’m not doing some ‘Oh god, I’m awful, you don’t want me, rending my garments in the rain, tortured and riddled with feelings of unworthiness because my little brother drowned while I was supposed to be watching him and I don’t deserve love’ thing. I’m being honest. You wanna fuck? Let’s fuck. But don’t have the expectation that then we’ll be boyfriends because you’ll be disappointed. And if you do it anyway and you get your feelings hurt, I want you to think back to this moment right here, where I’m telling you it’s a bad idea, so that you don’t blame that shit on me.”

I gaped at him, something shaking loose and jangling around inside my chest, my stomach hollow. He had said all this in a tone that was completely sincere. Genuine. Like he could’ve been giving me advice about someone else.

I wasn’t sure how to tell him that, yes, I wanted him. But not the way he thought. Not in the anonymous, impersonal way that he slept with strangers. I didn’t know how to say that and not prove him right about what else I wanted from him, though. About all those things he said he didn’t want to give.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Will said before I could find the words, and started pulling his clothes back on.

Something made me say, “Wait.” Because part of me didn’t believe it could be true. After everything we’d shared, how close we’d gotten, I couldn’t quite believe that sex would mean nothing to him. How could it?

Sure, maybe this was all I could get from Will for now. But… after we’d slept together, how could Will not realize how good we could be? Realize how it could be different with me than it was with those other guys?

“I still want to,” I said. Will froze, pants half on.

“You do?”

I nodded. He looked uncertain. He had pitched a hardball, fully expecting me to walk away, and I’d taken a swing and hit it squarely. He narrowed his eyes at me.

“I heard you,” I said. “And I accept the limitations of your offer. Just sex, we’re not boyfriends. I get it. I swear.” I sounded at least marginally nonchalant, even if my heart was about to pound out of my chest.

Will crossed his arms. “Okaaaay….”

“Okay.”

“Okay. So we’re doing this?”

“Yeah, just… um, just know that I’ve never… exactly… I mean, I have done stuff—but I’ve. Yeah.”

“Duly noted,” Will said, back in control. He walked over to me and started pulling my clothes off, smirking. “I’ve got no problem whatsoever telling you exactly how I want you to fuck me.”

My knees practically buckled, because, shit, that was hot. “Oh Jesus. Okay. You want me to—right, sure, no problem.”

“Get on the bed, Leo.”

I scrambled to the bed, so distracted by what was about to happen that I almost forgot to store away the image of Will, naked and pale as ice, prowling toward me, thighs tightening and releasing, the perfect cut of muscle at his hips almost ridiculous in its definition.

“Do you have a personal trainer or something?” He just smirked and shook his head, crawling over me in the bed.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It won’t hurt too much.” Then he leered and grabbed my dick.

I already felt ridiculously exposed, and that didn’t help.

“Oh my god, can you at least pretend that you’re taking me a little bit seriously?”

“I take this”—he stroked my erection—“very seriously, Leo.”