Well-Tailored (Thorne and Dash 4)

“That’s mine. It’s private.”

He’d actually been about to tell Marc how impressed he was by the sketches and the work he’d done at the shop. Marc had talent Darius could help him develop, talent that ought to be showcased. But if he was going to be a bastard about it, maybe Darius wouldn’t say anything.

Don’t you dare. He wouldn’t be like that if you weren’t such a donkey’s arse.

“Marc?”

“Look. I’m sorry I’m late. Can we just drop it?”

Dammit, he was going to have to act like a grown-up now. He hated that.

You should be a grown-up. You’re almost fifteen years older than him.

Twelve years. Fucking twelve. That’s not almost fifteen.

Darius did not like to think at all about their differences. Age. Race. Ability to have a polite conversation. They were far too different for… What? A motherfucking relationship? That is not what they were doing. Fuck buddies at most; that was it.

Tell him you’re impressed.

But—

This has nothing to do with how much you want to fuck him. This is about what he can become. What if no one had believed in you?

Wow, his conscience really had it in for him lately.

“Those drawings. They’re incredible.”

“I said… What?”

“The sketches. They’re good. More than good. And so is the work you’ve been doing around here.”

“Yeah?” Marc looked truly shocked.

“I do not give praise lightly.”

“That’s for damn sure, but I was just playing around with those.”

“You ought to do a fuckload more than that.”

Marc shrugged. “Maybe.”

Darius did not like seeing him dismiss his talent. “Make more of those, and bring them in.”

“I’m not—”

He was seriously trying Darius’s patience.

You have patience?

“Do you want to make a career out of this?” He gestured toward the sketchbook.

Marc hesitated a few seconds before saying, “I do.”

“Then do what I said. I think I can get you some theater work.” He had a few connections, and Thorne’s sister, Kathryn, had a lot more. Darius had gotten to know her when he’d donated tailoring for a charity auction she ran.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

Marc frowned. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you are fucking talented.” Did he really not see that? “Now get back to work.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

For several weeks, life continued in much the same pattern for Marc. He showed up to work early. Darius barked at him; he did what Darius asked. On rare occasions, Darius said something mildly complimentary. The work day ended, and he and Darius fucked like mad beasts.

Neither of them mentioned these evening activities to each other or to anyone else. At least Marc didn’t, and it was nearly impossible to imagine Darius having a friend to whom he confessed his conflicted sexual escapades with his assistant.

In the evenings, Marc toyed with ideas for a line of costumes, alternating between telling himself it was a pointless pipe dream and growing more determined to go for it. He’d started sewing a few of his designs, but he wasn’t pushing himself like he should. Darius had only mentioned him bringing some samples in once more. He cursed for a good long stretch when Marc fumbled through some excuses.

Riley—in a phase of tough love—had accused Marc of having a serious self-destructive streak. Where was the line between caution and cowardice?

If I’m asking, I’m probably on the wrong side of it.

At least things were going well for Riley. He’d accepted Thorne’s gift, and they were as lovey-dovey with each other as ever. Riley was now working on renovating the space for the bakery, so Marc decided to check in on him during lunch.

When Marc opened the bakery door, a bell jingled. That was a new addition. He didn’t see Riley, so he called out. “Hello?”

“Come on back; I’m looking at floor samples.”

Marc glanced down as he entered the kitchen. Four different tiles were placed near the window where there was the most light. Marc pointed to the black and white checkerboard one.

“That one.” It was perfect for the retro look Riley was going for.

“Yeah?”

Riley had that worried look he always got when he made a bigger deal of things than he needed to.

“You’re overthinking it.”

“Are you psychic now?” Riley gave Marc a mock scowl. He was rarely truly annoyed these days. In fact, Marc had never seen him happier than he’d been since he and Thorne returned from the lake. Something more than being well fucked by an adoring boyfriend was going on.

“Apparently not. Something’s up with you, but I can’t quite figure it out.” Of course, Riley wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

Riley’s lips quirked up in a slight smile, the kind that says I have something wonderful to tell. “Thorne and I are engaged.”

“That’s amazing!” He wrapped his arms around Riley, holding him tight. Marc had expected it, but not that fast. Maybe telling Riley he was afraid of forever had nudged them in the right direction.

Riley took hold of Marc’s hands. “I want you to stand up with me. You will, right?”