Well-Tailored (Thorne and Dash 4)

“But once you’re not working there…”

“No!” Marc shouted. “I’m not getting involved with another man who doesn’t want me. I’ve done that. Tried to turn the wild ones, the ones who say it’s only sex. I’ve pre-pre…tended they don’t mean it. Look what that’s done for me.” And yet, he was involved. He didn’t want to admit it, not to Riley, not to himself, but no matter how hard either of them tried to deny it, he and Darius had a relationship, a very, very fucked-up relationship.

Riley laid a hand on Marc’s arm. “It’s true you’ve dealt with an uncommon number of assholes, but Thorne said it was just sex between him and me. And look at us.”

Thorne had been lying to himself. He and Riley had been on fucking dates, for God’s sake. It was all he could do to get Darius to talk to him while they worked. “Thorne never meant it.”

“He wanted to mean it.”

Just like Darius. “That’s differ…not the same.”

Darius wasn’t going to change. He wasn’t Thorne. And just because Riley had what he wanted, that didn’t mean Marc ever would.

He groaned. “I’m already getting a headache, and it’s not even morning.”

“You think you can walk to the guest room if I help?”

“Of course I can.” Marc barely made it a step before he slipped and nearly brought them both down. Then he managed to catch his foot on the edge of a rug and stumbled forward. A few more steps. Just a few. Or was it more? If the room would stop spinning, it would be easier to tell. Finally, he hit the edge of the mattress and tumbled down.

“Don’t you want to take your clothes off?” Riley asked.

It took him a few moments to register the question. “Clothes are good.”

“You know I love you, right?” Riley asked.

He tried to answer, but he wasn’t sure he made a sound. His eyes were already closed, and he couldn’t make them open again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Marc dragged himself to work the next day, sicker than he’d been in a long time. Fuck Thorne and his fucking smooth bourbon.

As soon as Darius saw him, he rolled his eyes and poured him a cup of coffee. “Drink that. Slowly.”

“I—”

“I don’t want an explanation. I want someone who can get work done today.”

“I’m fine.”

“Hmpf.” Darius offered him a bottle of ibuprofen.

“I took some already.”

“How many?”

Marc thought about that for a moment. “Two.”

“Take two more.”

“I—”

“Trust me, that’s prescription strength, and with your head pounding like I imagine it does, you need it.”

“Thanks.”

Marc had expected to get told off, to at best be shoved into the back and given tedious tasks that would induce a headache on a good day.

Marc somehow survived the first two clients, knowing that afterward they had a long break when he could hide in the workroom and not talk to anyone. He tried to focus on the work he was supposed to be doing, but when Darius came back from running errands, Marc realized he’d been staring into space most of the time Darius had been gone.

“Have you gotten anything done?”

Fuck. Now he was going to get bitched at. “Um… Not really. I’ll stay late. I’m sorry.”

“Did you eat breakfast?”

Marc grimaced. That morning he’d stopped by his apartment on his way to work, but the moment he stepped into his kitchen, the thought of food had sent him running for the toilet. He’d left after nothing but a few sips of water.

“Here. Eat this.” Darius opened a bag and pulled out a Reuben bagel.

“Really?”

Darius nodded.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t think you were the caretaker type.”

Darius frowned. “Neither did I.”

With every bite of bagel, the fog hanging over him all morning dissipated a bit more.

“We don’t have any clients scheduled after this next one.”

“We don’t?” Marc looked at the schedule. Darius was right.

“So I thought we’d close early.”

Maybe the fog wasn’t gone after all. Could drinking too much damage your hearing? “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

“But you never—”

Darius shrugged. “What’s the point of working for yourself if you never take time off?”

“Um…”

“I’m going to see what movies are on.”

This day was getting stranger every minute. “Are you proposing that we go to a movie together?”

“If you decide to tag along, I guess I won’t stop you.”

Maybe Marc was still unconscious in bed, dreaming all this. Ugh. That meant he’d wake up and go through the headache and nausea all over again.

Darius frowned at his phone. “Never heard of that. That’s shit. That’s even worse. Who would watch that cockweasel? Fuck it! There’s nothing on.”

“Not one movie you want to see?”

“Not one.”

“I have a lot of movies at home. Riley’s a bit of a fanatic, and we put together quite a collection.”

Darius arched a brow. “Are you inviting me over?”

“If you happened to follow me home, I wouldn’t kick you out. It might hurt your feelings.”