Just a Bit Heartless (Straight Guys 13)

Ferrara stared at him searchingly for a moment before nodding. “Jordan, let’s go. Our flight is in a few hours.”

Damiano’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t even look at him.

His stomach in knots, Jordan got out of the bed and followed his boss out of the room.

The door clicked shut after them.

Ferrara remained quiet as they walked toward their rooms. Jordan had trouble looking at him, but he forced himself to. He was a grown man, not a flustered teenager.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said tersely, hoping he didn’t sound as defensive as he felt.

Ferrara eyed him. “Get packed. We’re leaving for the airport in an hour.”

Jordan nodded and went to his room, unsure if he was glad that Ferrara had chosen not to comment on the elephant in the room or not. He would have almost welcomed a reprimand. Anything was better than the tight ball of anxiety and dread that curled in his stomach every time he thought of never seeing Damiano again.

Having finished packing, he trudged downstairs with his suitcase and sat down on the wooden bench outside.

It was a wonderfully sunny day. The birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing around the flowers, the scent of Italian air was as sweet as it had been upon their arrival.

It was a perfect day.

Jordan tried to feel the perfection of it, but the heavy feeling in his chest didn’t leave room for anything else. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was. He couldn’t name it. It was a mix of sadness, regret, wistfulness, and what-ifs.

His heart jumped when there was the sound of footsteps. He turned his head and told himself he wasn’t disappointed when he saw Ferrara approaching him with his suitcase.

Forcing a smile, Jordan got to his feet. “Ready to go?”

He wasn’t sure why he bothered. Ferrara’s dark eyes seemed to see right through him. But his boss didn’t comment on it as they put their suitcases into the trunk of the car.

Jordan carefully didn’t look back at the house as he got into the car. He didn’t look in the rearview mirror, either. He knew him. He knew he wouldn’t come out to say goodbye. Even if—if—he cared enough to do it, he wouldn’t want people to see him caring about anyone. He perceived it as a weakness.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess,” Ferrara said stiffly as the car rolled away from the villa. He was looking out the window, giving Jordan a semblance of privacy as he put himself together.

“It’s fine,” Jordan said with a laugh. “I’m fine. I’m nearly two hundred thousand dollars richer. I have nothing to complain about.”

He hated how fake his voice sounded. He hated how very far from fine he actually felt. Christ, it was so stupid. He’d known the guy for thirteen days. He shouldn’t have been such a mess when he couldn’t even define what Damiano had become to him. Someone not quite a friend and not quite a lover. Someone he loathed, needed, and adored. Someone he understood on an intimate level and didn’t understand at all. Someone who, in different circumstances, in another life, might have become more.

But might have, could have didn’t matter.

His real life waited for him in the U.S.

And there was no place for Damiano Conte in it.

Chapter 18

Jordan had always been good at compartmentalizing his emotions.

That skill now helped him adjust back to his life in Boston. Overall, it was pretty seamless. He went to work, and he was as efficient at his job as ever. He went to his gym on weekends, to work out and box. He ran every morning before work. Every few weeks, he met up with his friends and visited his parents. On the surface, his life was exactly like his life before the trip to Italy.

What happened below the surface was another matter entirely.

He knew he was still a mess, and to his frustration, he wasn’t getting better. He couldn’t use elevators at all, his claustrophobia worse than it had ever been. He had to keep the door to the bathroom open when he showered. He flinched at every sudden noise. He hated being alone in the dark. He slept only with the lights on.

Not that he was sleeping much. He tossed and turned in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and longing for a hard body on top of him. It got so bad that he tried to sleep with pillows on top of him, to trick his mind and give himself the pressure he craved. It didn’t work. He was lucky to get some decent sleep once in five nights, when he was too exhausted to crave anything.

Lack of sleep didn’t exactly help his overall mental state. He was cranky, jumpy, and more snappish at work. He’d never exactly been beloved by his subordinates, but now they grew quiet and wary every time he walked past their cubicles.