Page 33 of See My Words

You should probably move back. There’s no reason for you to stay. I don’t need you.

If Rylan looked at those words through the lens of their shared history instead of his own hurt and disappointment, they took on a whole different meaning.

I’m sure you don’t want to be here. I can’t imagine you’d want to stay.

Rylan closed his eyes.

Let me reject you before you reject me.

He turned the faucets off with a sense of resolve. That shit might work on Lance and the countless other men and women who didn’t bother to look past Scott’s pretty face to recognize the vulnerability that lurked beneath the surface, but it fucking wouldn’t work on him.

Rylan dried off and brushed his teeth, pulling on a pair of black underwear before padding to Scott’s room. There were no lights on, but the TV still flickered, the sound low, almost inaudible. Scott was in bed, awake, his arms crossed behind his head and one knee drawn up, the thin sheet pooled low around his hips.

As Rylan approached, Scott continued to stare at the ceiling, his face impassive, lips tight. Rylan hesitated and then slowly reached down and pulled his side of the covers back. Scott shot him a brief glance, and Rylan wondered if he only imagined the relief that glowed for an instant in his eyes as he slid in next to him.

They lay there, not touching, not speaking, some police procedural droning on and on, until Scott clicked the TV off and turned on his side, facing away.

Rylan’s resolve wavered for an instant, and he bit his lip. Scott was practically vibrating with tension, his shoulders so tight Rylan could see the muscles bunching under the skin. He took a deep breath before scooting up behind him, inching his arm around Scott’s waist until his palm was resting over Scott’s thundering heart.

Rylan pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I don’t want to go home, okay?”

Scott didn’t reply, but Rylan could feel his body relaxing, little by little, until he was resting fully back against Rylan, his breathing slowing. Rylan buried his face in the side of Scott’s neck, holding him close until they both fell asleep.

* * *

Scott arched his back and stretched, groaning. “What time is it?” he mumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“About seven a.m.” Rylan was propped up on some pillows next to him, his computer on his lap. Scott rolled to his side and watched him type busily for a moment.

“What’re you doing?”

“Editing some photos, returning some emails. I’ve been up for about an hour.” Rylan’s hair was sticking up everywhere, total bedhead, a dark stubble shadowing his jaw, and Scott could see fingerprint smudges on his glasses.

He looked so beautiful it hurt.

Scott cleared his throat. “Any more coffee?” The mouthwatering smell emanating from Rylan’s steaming cup on the nightstand is what had awoken him in the first place. Rylan picked up his mug, took a sip, and went back to his work.

“Mmm-hmm. Fresh pot.”

With another stretch, Scott pushed off the bed and shuffled to the kitchen to get some, and when he walked back into the room, Rylan glanced up from his computer and froze, his mouth dropping open.

Scott stopped midstep. “What?”

“Those—those underwear.” Rylan choked out, and a flush spread from his chest up into his face. “Jesus.”

Scott looked down. After his shower the night before, he’d mindlessly grabbed the first pair his hand landed on, not paying any attention. The tiny briefs were leopard print, in a satiny fabric that outlined everything and left nothing to the imagination.

“Oh.” He shrugged, reaching down to give himself an unnecessary adjustment, enjoying how Rylan’s flush deepened.

“So sexy. And all mine.” Rylan’s voice was low and husky, his eyes glued to every movement of Scott’s hand.

“For now anyway.” Scott had no idea why he said that, and he regretted the words immediately, wishing with all his heart he could take them back as the smile died on Rylan’s lips.

He went back to his computer. “Right.”

Scott hesitated before climbing back into bed and pushing some pillows up behind him. He sipped his coffee once before putting it aside. Rylan typed on, his motions sharp, abrupt.

“Rylan, I—”