Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

“Where’s Vera, by the way?”

“Vera?” Mitch repeats.

“Yes. My assistant. Where is she?”

Now it’s Mitch’s turn to look sheepish. “I sent her away.”

“Well what the hell, Hale. She was already here. I do need to make a living, you know.”

What a high-handed asshole. And once again, I’m ashamed to admit that it totally turns my crank. The thought of Mitch all bossy and demanding as I get on my knees in front of him…shit.

“Sorry.” He sounds contrite and I did just injure him, so I let it go. “So,” he continues, “tell me about the pressure point trick. Why you learned it.”

I sigh. “My dad was—is a complete douchebag. He never felt that I was,” I make air quotes. “Manly enough.”

Mitch laughs and his gaze travels up and down my body, stroking me like a caress. “You look like a man to me.” Then he realizes how that might sound and his cheeks pink up. I notice that faint twitch in his eye.

Hmmmm, embarrassment equals twitching? Interesting. And fuck, he’s adorable in a big, powerful, non-swearing, uptight FBI kind of way.

“Yeah. Most people can’t tell I’m gay. I know that. I just wasn’t interested in the same things as my dad. He was career military—Air Force. While in the service he wrote a military thriller, sold millions of copies, a producer bought the rights to the franchise, we moved to L.A. and now he’s just another Hollywood asshole.”

I glance over and notice Mitch’s beer is gone. “Want another?” I ask, pointing at his bottle.

“Sure.” I take the empty and return with a new one for him and one for me.

“So your dad does what now?” Mitch asks, adjusting the melting icepack on his arm.

“Besides make my life miserable by reminding me what a failure I am? He’s a producer and a consultant on military films. You know, making sure everything is authentic. That was after his own movie franchise finished.”

“What franchise is that??

? Mitch takes another long sip. I watch, entranced, as his full lips wrap around the neck of the glass bottle and his throat works to swallow the beer.

Christ, it’s hot in here.

“The Hero Series,” I murmur, waiting for the inevitable response.

“The ones with Reid Tannen? I love those movies! Man, Anti-Hero is one of my favorites.”

Of course he loves them. Who doesn’t? I shouldn’t complain. Those movies gave me a privileged upbringing. Private schools, a mansion in Beverly Hills, I could surf every single day because I lived on the beach and had more free time and money than most kids.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch says, reaching out to put a hand on my leg. It’s cold, from gripping the beer, but I can still feel the heat of his touch through my jeans.

I glance down at his hand then up at his face. “Sorry for what?”

“For your dad being a douche.” Sincerity exudes from his kind face.

“Thanks,” I whisper, caught up in those gorgeous eyes.

“What about your mom? You said she was from London.” Mitch pulls his hand back and adjusts the sopping wet towel. When he can’t get it to sit right, he gives up and dumps it on the coffee table with a wet splat.

I shrug. “After, ummmm, high school, she brought me to London to live with my grandmother, her mother. Hawke came with me. He had…personal reasons of his own to want to leave L.A. The intention was for me to stay in London long term, but I met Adam and Dax and Hawke’s uncle was able to get us into some big clubs here, so I came back.”

“And your mom?”

“She stayed behind and filed for divorce. Still lives there.”

My head hurts, I’m emotionally drained, and I’m still horny as hell from hearing Mitch whacking off in the shower this morning. I stand up and stretch.