I reach out and skim a finger down his arm. Mitch shivers and closes his eyes. We have so much to discuss but I don’t want to ruin this moment. If I push too hard, he could end up resenting what we did. Instead of drilling him with the hundred and one questions I have, I get out of bed to give him some space.
“We should get cleaned up,” I comment as I pull on my briefs.
Mitch blinks several times. I watch as his expression turns from blissful to confused.
“Oh. Okay.”
Shit. I’m such an asshole. So he didn’t want space. Instead, Mitch looks like he was just slapped.
I reach for his hand as he gets up and grabs his clothes. “Mitch—”
“No. I get it. I’ll meet you in the kitchen after you get…cleaned up.” He turns and storms out of the room.
I groan and rub my face tiredly as I turn on the shower
. After quickly cleaning off, which was a disappointment because I loved having Mitch’s scent all over me, I hurry downstairs to try and fix my fuck up.
I mean, how was I supposed to know what Mitch wanted from me after sex? Does he cuddle? Does he fall asleep? Does he leave right away? Fuck, the man hardly knows what he wants for himself!
When I get to the kitchen, it’s unnervingly silent. My lunch is right where I left it, sitting half-eaten on the table. Annoyed, I dump the food in the trash and put the dish in the dishwasher. I glance at the clock, two in the afternoon. Late enough, I decide as I snatch a beer out of the fridge and flip off the cap.
I’m chugging straight from the bottle when my skin prickles and I feel like I’m being watched. My eyes find Mitch leaning on the doorframe, his gaze laser focused on my mouth. Knowing what it will do to him, I take another long sip, wrapping my lips around the neck of the bottle as if it were his cock. His mouth drops open and his eyes widen at my display.
Good.
Shit. I don’t even know why I’m angry. I’m the one who jumped out of bed like it was on fire. I’m the one who pushed him away after he trusted me enough to give in to desires he’s likely denied his entire life.
Then he opens his mouth and I remember exactly why I’m always pissed off around him.
“Couldn’t keep up the fake boyfriend act for even a whole twenty-four hours, huh Gavin? Picking up guys at the beach?”
My hand tightens around the beer, blood thundering behind my eardrums.
“Fuck you, Hale. You left, remember? With no fucking explanation. Pawned me off on your scary-ass friend to babysit while you ran away like a coward!”
Mitch shifts off the doorframe, standing up straight. His grey eyes turn stormy and his mouth presses into a thin line. “I was doing my job, Gavin. Finding the person that’s harassing you, or have you forgotten about that in your quest for ass?”
Mitch’s entire body is shaking. Now that I know what he looks like under that tight shirt and jeans, it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else. My gaze flicks up to his face. Despite the low blow he served up, I don’t have it in me to fight with him. Under the harsh words and intimidating stance lies insecurity and hurt.
“Was part of your job to kiss me in the bathroom?” He flinches but I continue. “And I didn’t pick up that guy at the beach. He came over to say hi and then I sent him on his way. Ask Marcus if you don’t believe me.” I look around, confused. “Where is Marcus?”
Mitch’s eyes are less hostile, but still cautious. “I sent him to monitor the front gate. It’s swarming with reporters. They know where we are.”
I glance down at my bare feet while picking at the label on the beer. “Yeah, Marcus said something about that.” Lifting my head, I meet Mitch’s eyes again. “It’s not going to get better for a while. The paparazzi, I mean. Me coming out,” I shrug. “They’re not going to let it go overnight.”
Suddenly tired, I finish my beer and grab another. When I hold one out to Mitch he shakes his head. I take a seat at the table and open the new bottle.
Mitch sighs. “I know. I’ve gotten a bunch of calls from friends and family wanting to know what’s going on. I guess I didn’t think about the repercussions in my own life.”
Mitch seems to be torn—having to decide between joining me and having a civilized conversation or storming out of here again and pretending nothing happened between us.
“You had to know your family was going to want to know why you’re suddenly out in public with a man. One who appears in the tabloids.”
“Yeah. I didn’t think it through. I’ll call them later.”
He takes the seat across from me, but his body language is guarded. Large, sinewy forearms cross his broad chest. Mitch leans way back in his chair. Probably to get as far away from me as possible. His jaw is rigid, the muscles pulsing beneath his skin. My eyes drop to the smooth line of his throat and my hand unconsciously rubs the spot on my own neck where Mitch left his mark.
Those intelligent eyes zero in on my fingers. His pupils enlarge and I watch, transfixed, as the expression on his face turns from restrained to lust-filled.