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He didn’t hear the door to the bathroom open and was only made aware that there was someone else in here by the sound of the lock being turned. He looked up. In the mirror, Reece Mackenzie was approaching him.
“Hi,” said Patrick. “I should get be getting ba—”
Reece grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, and for one wild instant Patrick thought he was going to hit him, that Reece had somehow figured out what he really was and it had made him sick with anger. Patrick’s fingers were curling into a fist when Reece pulled him forward and kissed him forcefully, almost violently, his tongue hungrily prying apart Patrick’s lips.
Patrick did not resist, or shove him away. He simply marveled at what was happening, and it was like reliving his first excruciatingly nerve-racking visit to a gay bar, when a delicious, terrifying possibility finally entered his head for the first time: Am I not the only one?
And then he began to kiss Reece back, bringing one hand up to caress his rugged jaw, using his other to pull him closer. The longer the kiss went on, the more they grabbed at each other, desire fueling desire. You never really knew how hungry you were until your first bite.
Finally Reece drew away, just long enough to guide Patrick by the hand into the nearest stall and shut the door behind them.
“I’ve wanted to do this ever since I first saw you at that Vanity Fair party,” he said.
If Patrick’s face hadn’t been flushed already, it would be now.
“You’re kidding,” he said. “But you’re…you.”
“Shut up,” Reece leered, and kissed him again. Reece’s breath was hot in his mouth, slightly sour from the beer, and Patrick didn’t realize the pants of his suit had been unzipped until he felt Reece’s hand sliding inside his briefs.
“Fuck, you’re big,” Reece breathed. “I knew you would be.”
Reece shoved him back against the wall, cupping his face firmly with both hands. He kissed him even harder, forcing his mouth open with his fingers. It was rough, needful, and Patrick recognized that fervor. Had felt it in a hotel room in Birmingham when he signed a piece of paper finally allowing him to crack open the door of his own cage.
Reece understood him. Reece was him. Maybe—
Metal clanged against Patrick’s teeth, an unpleasant jolt.
“What—” he began, at the same time that Reece said: “Sorry, I usually take it off—”
Oh. Of course. Reece was wearing a wedding ring.
“One sec,” said Reece, pulling at the platinum band on his finger.
“No, hold on,” said Patrick. What had felt outrageously hot just seconds ago now struck him as…What was the word for hooking up with a married man in a bathroom stall while his wife was in the next room? He imagined Will would call it something like “clapped” or “minging.” Never mind the word for the plummeting sensation Patrick felt right now.
“Brianna,” he said. “She’s next door.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Reece, closing in again.
“No,” said Patrick, reaching down to pull up his pants. “Your wife is next door, I’m not OK with that.”
“Fine,” said Reece. “Let’s get a room. We’re in a hotel.”
He was willfully missing the point, Patrick thought, and it suddenly made him a lot less attractive.
“What would your wife say,” he asked Reece, “if she knew about this?”
Reece shrugged. “Probably that she’ll take the car and expect me home in an Uber later.”
“What?”
“Well, I can hardly ask her to take the cab, can I?”
“You mean…she knows?”
Reece looked at Patrick like he was brand-new. “I love Brianna, she’s my partner, but…well, she’s a business partner. Our brands work well together, we respect each other, and we’ve built pretty great lives and careers as a team.” He frowned. “I thought you got that. Simone said—”
“Hold up.” Patrick felt like a glass of ice-cold water had just been thrown in his face. “Simone said? Simone said what?”
