Page 53 of Get A Fix

“I swear to God I didn’t get his name.”

“What did he look like?”

He sucked in a breath. “Tall, blond guy, handsome, rich.”

That could have been a lot of people, but there was one blond guy in particular who would have enjoyed getting Ash to screw around on me. One more opportunity to show me how disposable I was.

Using my phone to look up Damien Morrow’s law firm in Chicago, I pulled up his picture and showed it to Robert. “This him?”

Sharp exhale. “Yes. Thank God. That’s him, I swear.”

“Okay,” I said, taking another step back. “Get your shit and go, and don’t come back.”

“No, man, I won’t ev⁠—”

“And listen,” I began, and he froze, waiting. “Don’t do this again. You don’t know who’s got a gun and who doesn’t, and you don’t know who has a crazy-jealous boyfriend with a hair-trigger temper. If I shot you in here, you were breaking in, right?”

The color drained from his face then, and I enjoyed that.

“Use your head, man,” I told him, my voice cold and dark. “If you’d put your hands on Ash Lennox… I don’t have a gun, but I have a knife that would do just as well.”

He was going to start crying, I could tell, so I gave him a dismissive wave, and he picked up his clothes and shoes and bolted for the door. I made sure to lock it behind him, wishing it would slam. That would have been far more satisfying.

Back in the bedroom, I found Ash sitting on the floor, against the wall next to the dresser, face covered by his hands, shaking. For a second, I was terrified and couldn’t move. What if that guy had been someone else, bigger, stronger? My brain was flooded with could haves, and I promised myself that until I wasn’t his guardian anymore, I would not leave his side for a moment.

When he looked up at me, I wasn’t sure what I saw cross his face. Anger, disappointment, pain? Did he think I should have hit the guy? I had no idea what I was looking at. But because I was not the kind of person who ever let things go or didn’t delve, I strode over to him, went down on one knee, and ordered him to tell me what was wrong.

He only stared at me.

“Please tell me,” I asked gently, cupping his cheek.

Quick breath like he was trying to settle his nerves. “I didn’t know that man was in our bed until I walked in here.”

There had to be more. “Yeah, I know. You said.”

“But it’s true,” he insisted.

I nodded slowly. “And I believe you.”

His gaze was locked with mine. “You do?”

“Of course I do. You’ve been nothing but upfront about your interest in me. Why would I think you changed your mind?”

“But you said if you found anyone in⁠—”

“No,” I corrected him. “I said if I found you in bed with anyone else, you would be relegated to the small bedroom.”

His brows furrowed.

“You weren’t in bed,” I pointed out. “The only thing you have off since the last time I saw you is your jacket.”

“Yes,” he agreed, still looking a bit out of it.

“I don’t think for a second that you called someone and set up a playdate when you had no idea how long I’d be gone. That makes no sense unless you think I’m the kind of guy who enjoys watching his partner get fucked.”

“Partner,” he whispered.

“And for the record, I am not. That might be a little vanilla for you, being from LA and all, but I’m very traditional with respect to relationships. Two people in bed at one time is the most I can handle, and honestly, all I want.”