Page 64 of Break Points and Face Offs

“You’re an extension of their lessons, sure. But you’re your own person, too. And success isn’t all about being number one. If you’re not happy, then you’re not successful.”

He brings his glass to his lips before realizing its empty. “I’ll be happy when I’m successful,” he mutters.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’ve got it all the wrong way around.”

He gets up, ignoring me and making his way to the kitchen. I watch as he opens one of the cupboards full of olives and fancy preserves and slides them out of the way to reveal a bottle of liquor.

It’s dark—too dark to be whiskey. Maybe dark rum or brandy.

He pours it into his empty tumbler before he takes a sip and closes his eyes.

“This is liquor,” he says.

He takes another sip and I watch his smooth throat as he swallows, watch him close his eyes and listen to him hum as he leans his weight against the counter.

He looks at me, catching me watching. “Want some?”

I get up and pour my ‘champagne’ down the sink, holding my mug out for him to fill up.

His hand trembles a little as he pours and I steady it instinctively. When I look at him, he’s looking up at me with his dark eyes. I let my thumb rub a gentle circle around his wrist before removing it and placing it on the side of his neck.

His pulse races and his breath hitches.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t kiss me again.”

“Why not? Because you don’t want me to?”

He swallows and I can feel that, too. Heat floods my body, pooling in the pit of my stomach.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Because I want you to.”

I lean down, watch his eyes lose focus and get glassy. Fuck, he’s beautiful. Warmth seeping through the cracks of that icy façade.

“Don’t,” he whispers, just before my lips can touch his. His breath is warm and sweet when he lets it out.

I drag myself away from him, despite what his body is telling me. He’s telling me no.

I spot the disappointment on his face when I drop my hand, just before he turns his back and walks to the other side of the room.

“I can’t do this. I can’t …”

“Why not? Because I’m a man?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t your brother gay?”

“Exactly! And I’m the oldest. We can’t both be.”

“It happens. It’s not that crazy rare.”

“I’m the oldest,” he repeats. “I don’t get to just do whatever I want.”

A strangled laugh escapes me. “Priestley, you can’t just choose not to be gay because it’s inconvenient. That’s not how it works.”